That Little Beggar Part 7

There was another pause, during which Chris listened expectantly, and the old lady once more closed her eyes.

"Oh, Granny! do go on," said the anxious little listener fervently.

"She picked several which grew near the river's brink," the old lady continued with an effort, "and at first all went well. But at last she saw a beautiful--a remarkably beautiful one that grew just out of her reach. It was a most dangerous thing to attempt to pick it, but she did not think of that, for she was very, very thoughtless as well as disobedient. Bending forward, heedless of her father's warning call, and her poor dear mother's sorrowful cry, she lost her balance, and--fell--right--into--the--river."

The last few words were uttered in a whisper, Granny's sleepiness having once more overtaken her, bravely as she struggled against it.

"How drefful!" said Chris, with wide-open eyes. "Was poor Eliza drownded? Oh, I hope she wasn't! Did she get out? Oh, say yes, Granny!

And where did her father and mother call to her from? Right from the house? 'Cause I thought you said she was alone."

But the only answer to his torrent of questions was a gentle snore. The time he had occupied in pouring forth these queries had sufficed to send Eliza's historian asleep.

Chris's little face fell.

"My Granny has gone quite asleep," he remarked with much disappointment.

"Now I shall never know if Eliza was drownded or not. P'r'aps she's only pretending. I'll see if her eyes are fast-shut," he added, preparing to put Granny to the test by lifting one of her eyelids.

"Don't do that, Chris," I said hastily. "Come here, I'll tell you the rest of the story."

"Do you know it?" he asked doubtfully.

"I can guess it," I replied, as he crossed the room to my side.

"Then what happened to poor Eliza?" he inquired anxiously; "and did Rover help her? Oh! I do hope he did."

"Well," I started, taking up the story at the point at which Granny had dozed off, "when her father and mother--who were near enough to see what had occurred--realized the danger their little daughter was in, they were filled with horror. It seemed as if they were going to see her die before their eyes; for they were so far off that it looked as if it were not possible to get to her before she sunk. And this is just what would have taken place had not help been at hand. Eliza, her water-lilies, and her disobedient, little heart would have sunk to the bottom of the river for ever, had it not been for--what do you think Chris?"

"I know, I know!" he cried, clapping his hands. "It was Rover; the good dog. He swam after her."

"You are right," I said. "There was a plunge, and there was Rover swimming to the help of his little mistress. For a minute it appeared as if the current was carrying her away, and as if he would not reach her in time. How, then, shall I describe her father and her mother's joy when they saw him succeed in doing so, and, seizing her by the dress, bring her safely to the river's bank! No," as Chris looked at me with inquiring eyes, "she was not hurt; only very wet, and very frightened."

"I 'spect she was very, very frightened," Chris said, loudly and eagerly; "and I 'spect she never, never went near the river again,--never again. Did she?"

"No, my darling," Granny said, awakened by his loud and eager tones in time to hear his last question, and sitting up and rubbing her eyes; "she was never such a naughty little girl again. She expressed great sorrow for what had occurred, and she learnt to be more obedient for the future. Indeed, she became so remarkable for her obedience, my pet, that they always called her by the name of 'the obedient little Eliza'."

"Now nice!" Chris remarked with unction. "You've been fast asleep, my Granny," he informed her, with a laugh--pitying and amused.

"Dear, dear, is it possible?" she said.

"Yes, and Miss Beggarley had to finish the story," he continued.

"I'm much obliged to you, my dear, I'm sure," Granny said gratefully.

"I hope I told it as you intended it to be told," I said laughing.

"You told it just as it should have been, I am fully convinced," she answered with gentle politeness; "much better than I should have myself."

"But she never told me what happened to Rover afterwards," put in Chris.

"He lived to a great age," answered Granny, adjusting her spectacles and resuming her knitting, "and was loved and honoured by all. And when he died he was beautifully stuffed and put into a gla.s.s case."

"I wish he hadn't died, my Granny," said the little beggar mournfully, unconsoled by the honour paid to Rover's remains. Then, with a sudden change of thought: "Can Jack swim like he did, I wonder."

"That I can't say, my darling," Granny replied, intent on her work.

"I think I had better teach him," the little beggar said, looking very wise; "'cause if you, or Miss Beggarley, or me, or Briggs felled into the water like Eliza, Jacky could bring us out, and save us from being drownded."

"Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine," murmured Granny, busy counting the st.i.tches on her sock, and too much occupied to pay attention to what Chris said. "Twenty-nine! Now, how have I gone wrong?

Miss Baggerley, my dear, would you be so kind as to see if you can find out my mistake?"

"I know!" exclaimed Chris, as Granny handed me her work; "I know very well what I will do. I'll--," and he stopped short.

"What will you do, my pet?" asked Granny, a little absently, watching me as I put her knitting right.

But Chris shook his head. "A surprise!" he said, and closed his lips firmly.

I felt that it would be safer for the interests of all to probe the matter further, and was about to do so, when there was a tap at the door, and Briggs entered.

"Master Chris," she said, "it's time for your walk."

Now, generally the little beggar murmured much and loudly when he was interrupted by Briggs. On this occasion, however, he showed no disinclination to go with her, but on the contrary went with alacrity.

"I think he is really becoming fond of her," Granny remarked with some satisfaction when they had gone. "Perhaps, after all, I shall not have to send her away at Christmas, as I feared I should have to if she and Chris did not understand each other better. I shall be very glad if I can let her stay, for although she has an unsympathetic manner--yes, I must say that she strikes me as being extremely unsympathetic to the darling at times; don't you think so, my dear?--yet I know that she is thoroughly reliable and trustworthy."

"I wonder if Chris's readiness to go with her had anything to do with his 'surprise'," I answered. "It looks to me a little suspicious, I must own. I hope he has not any mischievous idea in his little head."

"Oh, no, my dear!" she replied, almost reproachfully; "the darling is as good as gold. There never was a better child when he likes. No, no, he is not at all inclined to be troublesome to-day; I think you are mistaken."

I kept silence, for I saw that dear old Granny was not altogether pleased at my suggestion. Nevertheless, in spite of her rea.s.suring words, I did not feel convinced that the little beggar was not going to give us some fresh proof of his remarkable powers for getting into mischief. And further events justified my fears.

I will tell you how this happened.

About half an hour later I was taking a stroll in the garden, when, turning my steps in the direction of the pond, I suddenly came upon Chris, accompanied by Briggs. That something was amiss was at once evident. Briggs was walking along, with her air of greatest dignity--and that, I a.s.sure you, was very great indeed,--whilst Chris, by her side, was also making his little attempt at being dignified.

But it was the sorriest attempt you can imagine!

Dripping from head to foot, water running in little rivulets from his large straw hat upon his face, water dripping from his clothes soaked through and through, and making little pools on the garden-path as he pursued his way--a more forlorn, miserable-looking little object it was impossible to conceive.

In spite of this, however, he would not let go of that attempt at dignity. With his hands in his pockets, and his head thrown back, he whistled as he walked along, with the most defiant expression he could a.s.sume upon that naughty little face of his.

And the procession was brought up by Jack, with his tail between his legs, also dripping and s.h.i.+vering violently.

Directly Chris saw me the defiant expression instantly vanished, and running to me, he buried his face in my dress and wept at the top of his voice.

"What is the matter, Chris?" I asked. "What has happened? What have you been doing?"

"What _hasn't_ happened, and what _hasn't_ he been doing?" said Briggs, coming up and speaking very angrily. "And what will happen next? That's what I ask."