Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science, Volume 26 December, 1880. by Various None (smart ebook reader .txt) 📕

Looked A Comfortable Big Creature,  And Belonged To The House Doubtless,

For He Stared At Her With An Interested,  Questioning Look. Presently He

Moved. She Repeated Her Invitation,  Whereon The Cat Slowly Rose To His

Feet,  Humped His Back And Yawned,  Then Deliberately Turned Quite Round,

Facing The Other Way,  And Resumed His Watchful Attitude,  His Tail Tucked

In And His Ears Folded Back Close,  As If To Give The Cold Wind As Little

Purchase As Possible. Baubie Felt Snubbed And Lonely,  And Drawing Back

From The Window She Sat Down On The Edge Of Her Bed To Wait Events.

Accustomed As She Was To Excitement,  The Experiences Of The Last Few

Days Were Of A Nature To Affect Even Stronger Nerves Than Hers,  And The

Unwonted Bodily Sensations Caused By The Bath And Change Of Garments

Seemed To Intensify Her Consciousness Of Novelty And Restraint. There

Was Another Not Very Pleasant Sensation Too,  Of Which She Herself Had

Not Taken Account,  Although It Was Present And Made Itself Felt Keenly

Enough. It Was Her Strange Sense Of Desolation And Grief At The Parting

From Her Father. Baubie Herself Would Have Been Greatly Puzzled Had Any

Person Designated Her Feelings By These Names. There Were Many Things In

That Philosophy Of The Gutter In Which Baubie Wishart Was Steeped To The

Lips Undreamt Of By Her. What She Knew She Knew Thoroughly,  But There

Was Much With Which Most Children,  Even Of Her Age And Class In Life,

Are,  It Is To Be Hoped,  Familiar,  Of Which Baubie Wishart Was Utterly

Ignorant. Her Circumstances Were Different From Theirs--Fortunately For

Them; And Amongst The Poor,  As With Their Betters,  Various Conditions

Breed Various Dispositions. Baubie Was An Outer Barbarian And Savage In

Comparison With Some Children,  Although They Perhaps Went Barefooted

Also; But,  Like A Savage Too,  She Would Have Grown Fat Where They Would

Have Starved. And This She Knew Well.

Kate'S Yellow Head,  Appearing At The Door To Summon Her To Dinner,  Put

An End To Her Gloomy Reverie. And With This,  Her First Meal,  Began

Baubie'S Acquaintance With The Household Of Which She Was To Form An

Integral Portion From That Hour.

They Gave Her No Housework To Do. Mrs. Duncan,  Whom A Very Cursory

Examination Satisfied As To The Benighted Ignorance Of This Latest

Addition To Her Flock,  Determined That Baubie Should Learn To Read,

Write And Sew As Expeditiously As Might Be. In Order That She Might

Benefit By Example,  She Was Made To Sit By The Lassie Grant,  The Child

Whose Clothes Had Been Lent To Her,  And Her Education Began Forthwith.

It Was Tame Work To Baubie,  Who Did Not Love Sitting Still: "White Seam"

Was A Vexation Of Spirit,  And Her Knitting,  In Which She Had Beforehand

Believed Herself An Adept,  Was Found Fault With. The Lassie Grant,  As

Was Pointed Out To Her,  Could Knit More Evenly And Possessed A Superior

Method Of "Turning The Heel."

Baubie Wishart Listened With Outward Calmness And Seeming Acquiescence

To The Comparison Instituted Between Herself And Her Neighbor. Inwardly,

However,  She Raged. What About Knitting? Anybody Could Knit. She Would

Like To See The Lassie Grant Earn Two Shillings Of A Saturday Night

Singing In The High Street Or The Lawnmarket. Baubie Forgot In Her Flush

Of Triumphant Recollection That There Had Always Been Somebody To Take

The Two Shillings From Her,  And Beat Her And Accuse Her Of Malversation

And Embezzlement Into The Bargain. Artist-Like,  She Remembered Her

Triumphs Only: She Could Earn Two Shillings By Her Braced Of Songs,  And

For A Minute,  As She Revelled In This Proud Consciousness,  Her Face Lost

Its Demure,  Watchful Expression,  And The Old Independent,  Confident

Bearing Reappeared. Baubie Forgot Also In Her Present Well-Nourished

Condition The Never-Failing Sensation Of Hunger That Had Gone Hand In

Hand With These Departed Glories. But Even If She Had Remembered Every

Circumstance Of Her Former Life,  And The Privations And Sufferings,  She

Would Still Have Pined For Its Freedom.

The Consequence Of Her Being Well Fed Was Simply That Her Mind Was Freed

From What Is,  After All,  The Besetting Occupation Of Creatures Like Her,

And Was Therefore At Liberty To Bestow Its Undivided Attention Upon The

Restraints And Irksomeness Of This New Order Of Things. Her Gypsy Blood

Began To Stir In Her: The Charm Of Her Old Vagabond Habits Asserted

Itself Under The Wincey Frock And Clean Apron. To Be Commended For

Knitting And Sewing Was No Distinction Worth Talking About. What Was It

Compared With Standing Where The Full Glare Of The Blazing Windows Of

Some Public-House Fell Upon The Rob Roy Tartan,  With An Admiring

Audience Gathered Round And Bawbees And Commendations Flying Thick? She

Never Thought Then,  Any More Than Now,  Of The Cold Wind Or The Day-Long

Hunger. It Was No Wonder That Under The Influence Of These Cherished

Recollections "White Seam" Did Not Progress And The Knitting Never

Attained To The Finished Evenness Of The Lassie Grant'S Performance.

None The Less,  Although She Made No Honest Effort To Equal This Model

Proposed For Her Example,  Did Baubie Feel Jealous And Aggrieved. Her

Nature Recognized Other Possibilities Of Expression And Other Fields Of

Excellence Beyond Those Afforded By The Above-Mentioned Useful Arts,  And

She Brooded Over Her Arbitrary And Forcedly Inferior Position With All

The Intensity Of A Naturally Masterful And Passionate Nature. It Was All

The More Unbearable Because She Had No Real Cause Of Complaint: Had She

Been Oppressed Or Ill-Treated In The Slightest Degree,  Or Had Anybody

Else Been Unduly Favored,  There Would Have Been A Pretext For An

Outbreak Or A Shadow Of A Reason For Her Discontent. But It Was Not So.

The Matron Dispensed Even-Handed Justice And Motherly Kindness

Impartially All Round. And If The Lassie Grant'S Excellences Were

Somewhat Obtrusively Contrasted With Baubie'S Shortcomings,  It Was

Because,  The Two Children Being Of The Same Age,  Mrs. Duncan Hoped To

Rouse Thereby A Spark Of Emulation In baubie. Neither Was There Any

Pharisaical Self-Exaltation On The Part Of The Rival. She Was A

Sandy-Haired Little Girl,  An Orphan Who Had Been Three Years In The

Refuge,  And Who In Her Own Mind Rather Deprecated As Unfair Any

Comparison Drawn Between Herself And The Newly-Caught Baubie.

Day Followed Day Quietly,  And Baubie Had Been Just A Week In The Refuge,

When Miss Mackenzie,  Faithful To Her Promise,  Called To Inquire How Her

_Protegee_ Was Getting On.

The Matron Gave Her Rather A Good Character Of Baubie. "She'S Just No

Trouble--A Quiet-Like Child. She Knows Just Nothing,  But I'Ve Set Her

Beside The Lassie Grant,  And I Don'T Doubt But She'Ll Do Well Yet; But

She Is Some Dull," She Added.

"Are You Happy,  Baubie?" Asked Miss Mackenzie. "Will You Try And Learn

Everything Like 'Lisbeth Grant? See How Well She Sews,  And She Is No

Older Than You."

"Ay,  Mem," Responded Baubie,  Meekly And Without Looking Up. She Was

Still Wearing 'Lisbeth Grant'S Frock And Apron,  And The Garments Gave

Her That Odd Look Of Their Real Owner Which Clothes So Often Have The

Power Of Conveying. Baubie'S Slim Figure Had Caught The Flat-Backed,

Square-Shoulder Form Of Her Little Neighbor,  And Her Face,  Between The

Smooth-Laid Bands Of Her Hair,  Seemed To Have Assumed The Same

Gravely-Respectable Air. The Disingenuous Roving Eye Was There All The

Time,  Could They But Have Noted It,  And Gave The Lie To Her Compressed

Lips And Studied Pose.

That Same Day The Rob Roy Tartan Frock Made Its Appearance From The

Wash,  Brighter As To Hue,  But Somewhat Smaller And Shrunken In Size,  As

Was The Nature Of Its Material For One Reason,  And For Another Because

It Had Parted,  In common With Its Owner When Subjected To The Same

Process,  With A Great Deal Of Extraneous Matter. Baubie Saw Her Familiar

Garb Again With Joy,  And Put It On With Keen Satisfaction.

That Same Night,  When The Girls Were Going To Bed--Whether The

Inspiration Still Lingered,  In Spite Of Soapsuds,  About The Red Frock,

And Was By It Imparted To Its Owner,  Or Whether It Was Merely The

Prompting Of That Demon Of Self-Assertion That Had Been Tormenting Her

Of Late--Baubie Wishart Volunteered A Song,  And,  Heedless Of

Consequences,  Struck Up One Of The Two Which Formed Her Stock In Trade.

The Unfamiliar Sounds Had Not Long Disturbed The Quiet Of The House When

The Matron And Kate,  Open-Eyed With Wonder,  Hastened Up To Know What Was

The Meaning Of This Departure From The Regular Order Of Things. Baubie

Heard Their Approach,  And Only Sang The Louder. She Had A Good And By No

Means Unmusical Voice,  Which The Rest Had Rather Improved; And By The

Time The Authorities Arrived On The Scene There Was An Audience Gathered

Round The Daring Baubie,  Who,  With Shoes And Stockings Off And The Rob

Roy Tartan Half Unfastened,  Was Standing By Her Bed,  Singing At The

Pitch Of Her Voice. The Words Could Be Heard Down The Stairs:

Hark! I Hear The Bugles Sounding: 'Tis The Signal For The Fight.

Now,  May God Protect Us,  Mother,  As He Ever Does The Right.

"Baubie Wishart," Cried The Astonished Mistress,  "What Do You Mean?"

The Singer Was Just At The Close Of A Verse:

Hear The Battle-Cry Of Freedom! How It Swells Upon The Air!

Yes,  We'Ll Rally Round The Standard Or We'Ll Perish Nobly There.

She Finished It Off Deliberately,  And Turned Her Bright Eyes And Flushed

Face Toward The Speaker.

"Who Gave You Leave,  Baubie Wishart," Went On The Angry Matron,  "To Make

Yon Noise? You Ought To Think Shame Of Such Conduct,  Singing Your

Good-For-Nothing Street-Songs Like A Tinkler. One Would Think Ye Would

Feel Glad Never To Hear Of Such Things Again. Let Me Have No More Of

This,  Do Ye Hear? I Just Wonder What Miss Mackenzie Would Say To

Ye!--Kate,  Stop Here Till They Are All Bedded And Turn Off Yon Gas."

Long Before The Gas Was Extinguished Baubie Had Retired Into Darkness

Beneath The Bed-Clothes,  Rage And Mortification Swelling Her Small

Heart. Good-For-Nothing Street-Songs! Tinkler! Mrs. Duncan'S Scornful

Epithets Rang In Her Ears And Cut Her To The Quick. She Lay Awake,

Trembling With Anger And Indignation,  Until Long After Kate Had Followed

The Younger Fry To Rest,  And Their Regular Breathing,  Which Her Ears

Listened For Till They Caught It From Every Bed,  Warned Her That