Little Maid Marian by Amy Ella Blanchard (best large ebook reader TXT) 📕

/> "Oh, but I do think things count, and--Miss Dorothy, you won't tell if I ask him not to send me money."

"Not money? I think that it's rather a nice thing to have, for then you can buy whatever you like."

"You couldn't if you were I."

"Why not?"

"Because. You won't say anything about it to the grans?" Marian's voice dropped to a whisper. "When papa sends me money it always goes to the missions; it is my sacrifice, Grandma says. As long as I don't have the money really in my hands, it doesn't so much matter, but it would matter if I had to go without butter or perhaps sweet things, like dessert or cake for a whole month. That is what would happen if I said I would rather have the money myself than let the missionaries have it. Oh, I suppose it is all right," she added quickly, "and no doubt I am a hardened sinner, but I would like a real Christmas gift."

"Did you never have one?" asked Miss Dorothy, with pity and surprise in her voice.

"Not a really one, except from Mrs. Hunt; she gave me a sweet little pincushion last year, and a whole bag full of cakes and goodies. I enjoyed them very much."

"Did your grandparents give you nothing at all?"

"Oh, yes. I had a new hat, and gloves and handkerchiefs. I was pleased to have them of course, but I would like something real Christmassy and--and--foolish."

"You blessed child, of course you would," and Miss Dorothy mentally determined that the next Christmas should provide something real Christmassy for her little companion.

Marian was silent for a while then she asked, "Do you have a Christmas tree at your house?"

"Why, yes, always, and we all hang up our stocking from father down to Patty. Don't you?"

"No, I never did, and I never had a tree."

"Why, you poor dear child," exclaimed Miss Dorothy surprised out of discretion.

"There doesn't any one know how much I want it," said Marian in part excuse, "but I do. That is what I meant about moving mountains and faith. Do you believe if I had a great deal of faith, as sharp and strong as a mustard seed that the Lord would send me a tree? I never told any one before about it, but you understand better than Mrs. Hunt. I thought once or twice I would ask her, but she might laugh and I don't want any one to laugh, for it is very solemn." She peered anxiously up into Miss Dorothy's face to see if there were a suspicion of amusement there, but Miss Dorothy looked as grave as any one could wish.

"I think faith can do a great deal, my dear little girl," she said gently.

"It can move mountains, the Bible says. I heard grandpa and grandma talking about it, and Mrs. Hunt showed me some mustard seed. I tasted one and it was very strong, so I know now it doesn't mean the bigness but the strongness."

Miss Dorothy looked down with a smile. "You little theologian," she exclaimed. Then to herself she said: This comes of shutting up a child with staid old people. The dear thing needs a whole lot of frivolity mixed up in her life; Christmas trees and things. She shall have them if I can do any of the mixing. "Well, dear," she said aloud, "I think we will hold on to all the faith we can muster, and see what will come of it, but you must realize that just sitting still and believing isn't all of it. We must work, too, for the Bible says faith and works, not faith or works. So now you work hard over your writing, and send letters to your father so he will know what his little girl likes and longs for, then you will be doing your part in that direction, and at the same time put your trust in his love for you, and no doubt something beautiful will come of it all. You can come up to my room as soon as you want to, and we will start the little typewriter."

Marian's satisfaction was too deep for words, but she gave her teacher's arm a little squeeze and laid her cheek against it.

It was not long before she was tapping at the door of Miss Dorothy's room, but before she began the work she was so eager for, she asked, "Do you think I ought to ask grandma's permission?"

"I don't see why you need to, for there is nothing wrong about it," Miss Dorothy replied. "But if you feel as if you should, you can run down and tell your grandmother what you are going to do. You can say that I am going to teach you to use my little machine, and surely she will not object."

But Mrs. Otway was off upon some charity bent, and Marian returned feeling that she had done her duty in making the attempt to tell. Then she and Miss Dorothy had great fun over the little machine which seemed so complicated at first, but which gradually grew more and more familiar, so that at the end of an hour under Miss Dorothy, Marian was able to write out several lines quite creditably. These she took down and proudly showed to her grandfather.

"First-rate," he exclaimed. "Keep on, my child, and after a while you will be able to copy out my papers for me; a great assistance that would be. I shouldn't wonder but in time you would make me an excellent secretary." Under this praise Marian's qualms of conscience were eased. If grandpa approved, that was enough. Her next impulse was to run to Mrs. Hunt's to show off her new accomplishment, but she decided to wait till she could manage the typewriter entirely alone, so would the credit be greater.

She sought out Tippy and Dippy to tell her secret to. They were her confidants always, and to-day she had almost forgotten them in the novelty of having so sympathetic a friend as Miss Dorothy. It would never do to forsake old and tried comrades, and so Tippy was roused from her nap, and Dippy was captured in the act of catching a grasshopper, then the two were borne to the end of the garden to a sheltered spot where Marian always had her "thinks." She took the two in her lap. Tippy settled down at once, but Dippy had to have his head rubbed for some minutes before he began to purr contentedly.

"You see, my dears," began Marian, "I am going to have a great deal to do, almost as much as grandma has with her clubs and societies and meetings. First there is school. I think I like Alice Evans the best of the girls, for she has such pretty hair, but I am not quite sure about it. She was not quite as nice to me at recess as Ruth was, so maybe I shall like Ruth best. I am sure I shall love Patty. I wish she had come here with her sister. It must be lovely, Tippy, to have a sister, though I suppose you don't think as I do, for you had a sister once and now you don't care anything about her, for you fizzed at her the other day when she came in our garden. I saw you and heard you, too, and I was very much shocked. What was I talking about? Oh, yes, about so much to do. I'll have lessons to study at home after this, I suppose. We didn't have any real lessons to-day, just trial things, and I did such awful--I mean really awful writing on the blackboard that the girls all giggled. I just hated that, and I felt like crying or like running away and never going back, but I realized that it wouldn't do to do either, so that is another thing I must do.

"I must practice writing at home. I wonder where I shall get paper and things to do it on. I'll have to ask Miss Dorothy about that. She is such a dear, Tippy, and she likes cats; she said so. I never used to think that any one could be as nice as Mrs. Hunt, but Miss Dorothy is nicer in some ways, for she understands just how you feel about everything, and Mrs. Hunt doesn't always. She is as kind as can be, but she thinks that when you ask questions if she answers with a cookie or a doughnut you will be satisfied. It does satisfy your mouth, of course, but it doesn't satisfy the thinking part of you. Sometimes I go down there just bursting with things I want to know, and when I ask her, she says: 'Oh, don't bother your little head about such things; there is a plate of cakes in the pantry; go help yourself.' Now, Miss Dorothy isn't that way at all. She just reaches her thinks down to yours and they go along together till you come out all clear and straight like coming out of the woods into an open sunshiny place where there is a good path.

"Now, Tippy, we've got to think of something to send papa for a present. I don't suppose you are interested in such things, but I think every one ought to be. Maybe Patty can help me out. She must be a very bright child; Miss Dorothy says she is. There! I hear Heppy clattering the milk-pan; it is time to see about your supper." So saying, Marian put down the two cats and started for the house, her pets following at her heels, knowing the sound of a milk-pan as well as she.


CHAPTER IV


Companions

The first week of school passed very rapidly, and by the time Friday afternoon came, Marian felt quite at home with her schoolmates. She had finally decided that Ruth would be her best friend next to Patty, whom she always held in reserve as filling her needs exactly, when they should meet. Miss Dorothy had written to her little sister and Marian was daily expecting a letter herself from Patty, a letter which should mark the beginning of their friendship. She was rather shy of the girls at first, for she had scarcely known childish comrades, and her old-fashioned ideas and mature way of speaking often brought a laugh from the others, but her shyness soon wore off and she quickly acquired a style of speech at which her grandparents sometimes frowned, for it included some bits of slang which had never found their way into the brick house before.

It was Miss Dorothy's doing which made the way easier for the little girl, for she argued nobly in behalf of Marian's needing young companions to keep her like a normal child. She even appealed to the family doctor who promptly sided with her, and maintained that Marian would be better bodily, if she lived a more rough and tumble life. So, because her grandparents really did care for her, absorbed as they were in their grown-up affairs, Marian was allowed more freedom than ever before and was ready to take advantage of it.

Miss Dorothy had gone up to town to do some shopping this first Saturday of the term, and Marian bethought herself of its being baking day at Mrs. Hunt's, so, as this was always one place she could always go without asking permission, she simply stopped at the sitting-room door and announced: "I am going down to Mrs. Hunt's, grandma."

Mrs. Otway, at work upon a financial report,