A Sweet Little Maid by Amy Ella Blanchard (best historical fiction books of all time txt) 📕

44 CHAPTER III A Quarrel

"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 it45 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't46 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.47

"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."48

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."49

"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?"50

"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 Florence51 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 of52 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's53 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 way54 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's55 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