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Sweet Little Maid, A

<h2>CHAPTER III</h2><h3>A Quarrel</h3> "Raining! Isn't that too bad?" said Florence, leaning on one elbow in bed, and looking out of the window. "Hm, hm," said Dimple, sleepily, from her pillow. Florence slipped out of bed and stood looking dolefully at the falling drops. "What do you suppose the birds do, Dimple?" she asked, going up to her, and softly shaking her. "Oh," said Dimple, now awake, and sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes, "I suppose they get under the leaves just as we do under an umbrella, or they go under the eaves, and places like that. I have seen them lots of times. It is raining, isn't it, Florence?" "I said so, long ago," answered Florence; "now we can't go out of doors to play, and it is so nice outdoors. I don't see the sense of its raining in summer." "Why," returned Dimple, sitting down on the floor to put on her shoes and stockings, "that is the very time for it to rain, or everything would dry up." "Well, I wish it didn't have to," said Florence, coming away from the window, and sitting on the floor too. "What color stockings do you like best, Dimple?" "I don't know; black, I think. Don't you?" "I believe I do. My! there is the breakfast bell, and we are only beginning to get dressed. You fasten my buttons, and I will fasten yours, Dimple, so we will get dressed in a hurry." Their fingers flew, and they rushed down to breakfast two steps at a time. "It was so dark this morning that we went to sleep again after you called us, mamma," explained Dimple. "I will excuse you this time, but your breakfast is not as warm as it would have been earlier," said Mrs. Dallas, "and papa had to go away without his morning kiss." "I am sorry," said Dimple. "Cold eggs aren't very good," she went on, pushing away her plate. "What can we do to-day, mamma?" "What should you like to do?" "I don't know," returned Dimple. "My feelings hurt me rainy days, and I don't know what I want." Mrs. Dallas smiled, as she replied, "You might make paper dolls, they are good rainy day people; that would be one thing. Then you can paint." "I haven't but one brush, and I have used up all the books and papers you gave me to paint in." "I can find some more, perhaps, and you and Florence can take turn about with the paint brush." Dimple looked as if that would not suit very well, and Florence seeing her look, felt a little hurt. Paper dolls did not amuse them very long; and when Dimple was ready to color the pictures Mrs. Dallas had found for them, Florence declined absolutely to paint at all. So they both sat with their elbows on the window-sill, decidedly out of humor. "Florence," said Dimple, presently, "I have an idea. Do you see that hogshead down there? It is running over." "I see it," said Florence. "What of it; it isn't anything very wonderful." "Well, you needn't be so disagreeable," said Dimple. "What I was going to say, is this; let's make paper boats, and put paper dolls in them. We can pretend the hogshead is Niagara Falls, and the water that runs down the gutter can be Niagara river." "We will get sopping wet." "Oh no, we won't; it isn't raining so awfully hard. I will put on my rubber waterproof, and you can put on mamma's. We can slip around there without any one seeing us, for mamma is busy on the other side of the house. Don't you think it would be fun?" "Ye-es," said Florence, doubtfully. "Let's hurry and make the boats then. Which paper dolls shall we take? The ugliest, I think, because they will all be drowned anyhow; and don't let's take any pretty frocks, because we can make dolls to fit the frocks when these are drowned." With paper boats, dolls and waterproofs they stole softly down the front stairs, and shutting the door after them very gently, ran around the house to the hogshead. The roses were heavy with rain, and the honeysuckle shook big drops on them, as they ran by. The boats went topsy-turvy over the falls, upsetting the dolls, who went careering down the stream, to the great delight of the children. They played till the last boat load was lost beyond all hope, and then, with wet feet and streaming sleeves, they crept back to the house. "Now, what shall we do? It was lots of fun, Dimple," said Florence, "but I know your mother will scold, when she sees how wet our feet are, and your foot just well too, and see my sleeves. If we change our clothes she will wonder and then—What shall we do?" "I don't think it was a bit of harm," said Dimple, determined to brave it out, "but it won't do to keep these wet frocks on. I know. We will go up into the attic, take them off, and hang them up to dry; then we can dress up in other things. There are trunks and boxes full of clothes up there, and we can play something." "So we can," exclaimed Florence. "That is a perfectly lovely plan. Do you think our clothes will dry before supper?" "Of course," said Dimple; "anyhow it will be funny to put on trains and things. Come on." They raced up to the garret, and were soon diving into the boxes and trunks of winter clothing that Mrs. Dallas had packed away. "Here," said Dimple, on her knees before a trunk, "take this skirt of mamma's," and she dragged out a cashmere skirt. "Florence, see what is in those band-boxes, and get us each a bonnet, while I hunt for a shawl or coat, or something." After much tumbling up of clothing, she found what she wanted, and they had taken off their frocks when they heard Mrs. Dallas calling, "Children, where are you?" Both were silent for a moment, and stood with quickly beating hearts. After a second call, Dimple mustered up courage to answer, "Up here, mamma." "Where?" "In the garret." "What are you doing?" "Just playing." "Well, don't get into any mischief," came from the bottom of the stairs, and then Mrs. Dallas went off. Presently there came another fright: a footstep on the stairs. "Who is that?" asked Dimple, fearfully. "Me," came the answer, as Bubbles' woolly head appeared. "It is only Bubbles," said Dimple, much relieved. "Come up, Bubbles; we are dressing up, and you shall too; but if you dare to tell on us—off you go to the orphan asylum." "I wouldn't tell fur nothin', Miss Dimple," said she, as Dimple threw her an old wrapper. "I am going to be Lady Melrose, and Florence Lady Beckwith. You can be—Oh, Florence, let's dress Bubbles up in a coat and trousers, and have her for a footman." "All right," said Florence, and shaking with laughter, Bubbles was attired in coat, trousers, and tall hat. "Oh, she is too funny," said Florence, holding her sides. "Where is my bonnet?" "That's mine," exclaimed Dimple, as Florence possessed herself of a bonnet with feathers in it. "No, I chose this first," said Florence. "Well, it's my mother's, I reckon, and I have the best right to it." "Well, I'm company, and you're very impolite." "I'm not," retorted Dimple, getting very red in the face. "You are. I'd have my mother teach me how to behave, if I were you, Dimple Dallas." "You horrid, red-headed thing!" cried Dimple, now thoroughly angry. "I'd like to know how you would look in a garnet velvet bonnet anyhow. You'd better take something that's not quite so near the color of your hair." "My hair isn't red, it's auburn," said Florence, bursting into a sob, "and I'm not going to stay here another minute. I'm going straight home to my mother." And she tore off the clothes in which she had decked herself, leaving them in a heap on the floor. She snatched up her wet frock and ran downstairs. Dimple sat quite still after Florence left her. She did not dare to go downstairs for fear of encountering her mother, and yet, suppose Florence should really mean to go home. How dreadful! She considered the question till she could bear it no longer, and, slowly putting on her own clothes, she crept downstairs, hoping as she went from room to room that she would find Florence. She even peeped cautiously in upon her mother, busy with her sewing, but no Florence was to be seen. "Perhaps she has started to go home," Dimple said to herself, in real alarm. "Oh, dear, I hope there hasn't been any train along that she could take." She put on her hat, seized an umbrella from the rack, and sallied forth. It was still raining hard, and as she splashed along, the little girl was very miserable. It was quite a walk to the railway station, and Dimple hurried her steps, fearing she might be too late to intercept her cousin. She entered the waiting-room of the station, and looked anxiously around. No Florence was there. Her heart sank and she turned to go. Florence had really meant what she said. And her aunt and cousins in Baltimore, what would they think of her? The tears began to roll down Dimple's cheeks as she looked up and down the long track. She did not know what to do next. It would be so dreadful to go home and tell her mother that she had driven her cousin away by her rudeness. She was about to turn toward home, when she bethought herself of making some inquiry about the trains; and she entered the waiting-room again. Standing on tiptoe she asked the ticket agent. "When was the last train to Baltimore?" "Next train leaves at 4:50," said the man, without looking up. "Not the next train, but the last train. When did it go?" "Last train!" the man glanced up. "Last train left at 2:15." "Thank you." It was with a sense of relief that she heard him give the time. Florence had not left the house so long ago as that. It was now after four, and two hours had not elapsed since they were playing in the garret. So she went slowly out, but suddenly remembered that Florence was not at home. Where was she? Perhaps she was lost. She didn't know her way about very well, Dimple reflected, and she could easily have taken a wrong turn. "I'll just have to look for her, that's all," thought Dimple; and the little feet pattered along in the rain, getting wetter and wetter each moment. Up one street and down another went Dimple, but there was no sign of Florence, and the child's repentance grew stronger as she traveled on. Her imagination saw Florence in a dozen different plights, each one worse than the last. Accidents of various kinds, disasters of every possible nature, even the very improbable idea that she had been stolen by gypsies, rose to the child's mind, till, terror stricken, she flew along, scarcely knowing which way she went. She was conscious of steadily pursuing footsteps behind her, but she did not turn to look until the feet came nearer and nearer and a soft plaintive voice called, "Oh, Miss Dimple, stop, please stop." Looking around, she saw that Bubbles had followed her. It was a relief to see the familiar face, and Dimple forlornly dropped into her little maid's arms crying: "Oh, Bubbles! Oh, Bubbles, Florence is lost." "No 'm, she ain't," replied Bubbles, with confidence. "Oh, how do you know?" "'Cause she come in de front do' jis' as I was gwine th'ough de yard. I never stopped to ast her nothin', fo' I seen yuh a kitin' down street, an' I put after yuh, lickety-split. All of a suddent I los' sight of yuh, an' I been a standin' on de cornah waitin' fo' yuh to come back. I know yuh 'bleedged to cross to git home, an' I been a waitin' fo' yuh." "Oh Bubbles! Oh Bubbles! I'm so glad, but I'm so tired and so wet, and—oh dear—I'm afraid to tell mamma, and I'm so miserable. I never was so miserable." Bubbles looked as sympathetic as the occasion required, and trotted along by Dimple's side, holding the umbrella over her, and trying to suggest all manner of comforting things. "Hit'll all be ovah befo' yuh is twict married, Miss Dimple, and hit mought be wuss. S'posin' Miss Flo'ence was los' sho 'nough, den yuh might tek on. She safe an' soun'. Jes' yuh come in de back way, an' I'll git yuh some dry things. An' Sylvy won't say nothin'. I jes' know she wont, an' yuh can git dry by de kitchen fire. I reckon Miss Flo'ence mighty 'shamed o' herse'f, kickin' up all dis rumpus 'bout nothin'." But Dimple shook her head. "It wasn't about nothing. I behaved just as mean as could be, and I'm the one to be ashamed. I'll go straight to mamma; it will be best, for she would find out anyhow, and besides, I'd feel a great deal worse if I deceived her about it." Bubbles was not to be convinced that her beloved Miss Dimple was at all in the wrong, but Dimple would not change her mind, being in a state of great humility and penitence, and finally Bubbles gave up trying to dissuade her. Florence had reached home long before. Indeed she had not gone very far before her anger cooled, although she was still very much hurt; but she concluded it would not be right to start off for her own home without a word to her aunt, who had been so kind to her. This thought added to her unhappiness, and she went to Dimple's room, throwing herself on the floor, crying bitterly. The sound of her sobs brought Mrs. Dallas from the next room. "Why, Florence," she said, seeing the little girl prone upon the floor. "What is the matter? Why have you taken off your frock?" "Oh! auntie," sobbed Florence, "please let me go home; indeed, I can't stay." "Are you homesick?" asked her aunt, as she took her up on her lap, and pushed back the damp hair from her face. "Poor little girl!" A fresh burst of tears was the only answer. "Where is Dimple?" asked Mrs. Dallas. But Florence only cried the harder, and her aunt was forced to put her down with an uncomfortable sense of there being something wrong. She went directly up to the attic, but it was silent. Dimple was not there, neither was Bubbles, and no amount of search revealed them. She went back to Florence, who dried her tears and unburdened her heart, and then in her turn became alarmed about Dimple, since no amount of hunting disclosed her whereabouts. Mrs. Dallas was, herself, becoming much worried, when the door slowly opened and a disheveled little figure stood before them, with soaking garments and sodden shoes. For a moment Dimple stood, then ran forward and buried her head in her mother's lap. "Mamma," she sobbed, "it was all on account of the weather. I coaxed Florence out to the hogshead, and then we got wet, and didn't know how to get out of it, and we went up into the attic, and I felt naughty all the time, and we got mad, and oh dear! I wish the sun would shine." "I am afraid from all I hear, that you have been the one to set all this mischief astir," said her mother. "I thought I could trust my little girl. Think, Dimple, what a day's work. You have tempted your cousin to do wrong, first by going out in the wet, and again by meddling with the clothing upstairs; then you hurt her feelings, and quarreled with her, and now you blame the weather for it all, besides setting a bad example to Bubbles. Where have you been, my child?" "Trying to find Florence, mamma. I walked and walked, and I was so worried, and—oh, mamma, I thought all sorts of dreadful things. I went to the station, Florence, and I found out there that you hadn't really gone home; then I thought you were lost, or that the cars had run over you, or the gypsies had stolen you, or that—oh I'm so miserable," she caught her breath, and shivered with cold and excitement. Her mother was unfastening her wet garments. She felt that Dimple's naughtiness had brought its own punishment. "I think Florence has changed her mind about going home," she said, quietly. Dimple raised a tear-stained face. "Oh, Florence, have you?" she exclaimed. "I'm so glad. I don't want you to think I don't love you, for I do. I love you dearly, dearly, Florence, and I think your hair is lovely." This was too much for Florence's tender heart, and she sobbed out, "It was my fault too, Dimple. I said hateful things, and I couldn't forgive myself when I thought you had gone, I didn't know where. I had no business to scare you so. Please, Aunt Flo, kiss us and forgive us, and please, for my sake, don't scold Dimple." Mrs. Dallas gathered the two little penitents into her loving arms. They were so truly sorry, and had suffered really more than they deserved. "I think Dimple sees her fault quite plainly, dear," Florence was told, "but I am afraid you will both be ill, and so I think I must put you to bed, not for punishment, but because you must be kept warm, and must have something hot to keep you from taking cold. Where is Bubbles, Dimple? Wasn't she with you?" "Not all the time, mamma, but she came after me, and found me on the corner. Please don't punish her. She only went out because she wanted to find me." "I understand that, and I know she did not mean to do wrong. She did what she felt to be her duty to you. I'll not scold her, nor punish her, daughter." Dimple gave a sigh of relief, and pressed her wet cheek against her mother's. "Please kiss me, mamma," she whispered, "and then I'll know you forgive naughty me." Mrs. Dallas immediately consented, and when she left the room, two very contrite little girls cuddled up close to each other, and took without a murmur the hot herb tea which Mrs. Dallas brought to them. And the next morning when they woke, lo! the sun was shining, and not an ache nor a pain did either little girl feel to remind her of the dreary yesterday. <hr class="major" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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