Baby Pitcher's Trials Part 12

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Charley, examining them curiously.

"Flora ought to be here. I suppose the 'fumery' belongs to her."

"To the little miss, is it?"

"Yes."

"There is scent enough in one of them bags," said Jack, "to drive the whole family out of the house."

Bertie thought if that was the case, one would be better for Flora than two; so he put one aside and gave the other to Jack, who carefully wrapped it in paper and dropped it into his roomy pocket. The skin was then stretched on a board to dry, and, after receiving hearty thanks for his timely a.s.sistance, Jack left the garden, feeling much better satisfied with himself than when he entered it. He felt that he had shown his good will, and that the score against him was partially rubbed out. And so it was. Charley and Bertie were more kindly disposed towards him than they had ever expected to be, and they concluded that he was not such a very bad boy, after all.

"I believe there is good in every one," said Bertie, "if you can only get at it."

"Of course there is," said Amy, quickly. "Have you just found that out?"

"I admit that I have always looked upon Jack as bad clear through."

"Same here," confessed Charley.

"n.o.body is," declared Amy, with emphasis.

"It takes these girls to stand up for a fellow, doesn't it?"

"That's so, Charley. Girls in general, and our Amy in particular."

"She always did side with Jack; but she was down on me when the poor calico turned over her garden."

"Why, Charley!"

"It is a fact. I leave it to Bert."

"Don't ask me," said Bertie.

"You flared up and were truly eloquent on the subject."

"I never was eloquent in my life."

"And you never flared up?"

"I did not say that. But whatever I may be, I am not a genius of any sort, not even a poet."

"There's a sly dab at you, Charley."

"I have not made any poetry lately," said Charley, dubiously.

"Perhaps the fire in your soul has gone out," said Bertie. "Can't you kindle it up again?"

"I am out of kindlings at present. Can I borrow of you, Amy?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," observed Amy, with a merry twinkle in her eye.

"Stabbed again!" declared Bertie, who knew that Charley was in the habit of borrowing.

Amy's purse being well fed, was always fat, and Charley's was ever lean and hungry. Amy was obliging, and Charley not backward in asking favors, so the lean and hungry purse often brought its pressing needs to the notice of its rich relation.

"Amy is a trump!" said Charley, penitently, "and I take it all back. I am as good a friend to Jack as she is, but I can't exactly swallow the rooster. He sticks in my throat yet."

"That will wear away in time," said Bertie.

"If the rooster troubles you, what do you think of Jack? He has a bigger lump in his throat than you have, and one that will not go down in a hurry, I'll warrant."

"And I pity him," added Amy. "He stole the poor rooster and murdered him in cold blood, but he is sorry for it, and would bring him to life again if he could. But he cannot do that. He must be haunted forever by its ghost instead."

"Ghost of a rooster!" murmured Charley, in an undertone. But Amy heard it.

"Ghost of an evil action," she said, looking at Charley, severely. "He would be rather a respectable boy, if he was not a Midnight. You cannot expect much of a born Midnight."

"No," said Charley.

It was agreed that to be a born Midnight was a serious misfortune, which might happen to anybody. It did happen to poor Jack, and so they pitied him.

CHAPTER IX.

FLORA AN EXILE.

Flora did not wait to receive her perfumery. When Jack appeared on the field she left it, to express her views to Dinah on the subject of bad boys; and as Dinah had not the power of expressing her sentiments in return, she was not disturbed by the spirit of contradiction.

When she got tired of talking to Dinah, she walked over to state her grievance to Grandma, and to be on hand when the tarts were distributed.

Flora was not old enough to go to school. Her troubles in that direction had not yet begun, but lunch with her was a very important matter, and she never failed to be present when it was pa.s.sed round. Grandma always had something good ready for the children. "The dear things get so hungry studying," she said. When she was young, three months schooling in the winter was enough for any one.

It was early in the day for lunch, (breakfast was a little more than an hour old), but Flora could not be put off. She did not possess the virtue of patience. So when the children happened in as they were going to school, she stood at the window eating her way through an enormous tart, which had been made expressly for her: but why the Baby Pitcher should have the largest tart, only Grandma could tell. The children came in bringing the full odor of musk in their clothes and in their hair, and Bertie had the little bag in his pocket. Grandma gasped and opened all the windows, for she could not breathe the stifling air.

"Bless the dear things!" she exclaimed. "How they do smell, to be sure!"

"Smells good!" said Flora, holding out her hand for the "'fumery."

Bertie gave it to her, and as Grandma could not bear it in the house, she was obliged to take it out of doors.

"The air is better now, isn't it, Grandma?" said Bertie, feelingly.

It was not much better, though Grandma did not say so. The small particles were floating about, and she was inhaling them with every breath. She pa.s.sed round the tarts as speedily as possible, and then the Little Pitchers were in a hurry to be off. But they did not carry all the musk away; they left enough to pervade Grandma's house for several days. But that was only a beginning. Everybody grew tired of the odor before the skin of the musk-rat was carried away and sold. There was musk everywhere, in doors and out; and wherever Flora was, the perfume was sickening. But she would not give it up. She carried the little sack, which had become dry and hard, in the pocket of her dress from morning until night, and mamma waited in vain for her to weary of it. At last it was banished from the house. Mamma decided that it could not longer be endured. Flora hid it somewhere in the garden, (the place was known only to herself and Dinah,) and every day enjoyed it as best she could, in the open air and alone. Even Charley and Bertie were tired of musk, and they tried first to coax and then to bribe Flora, without success. Finally they laughed at her, and called her a little cosset.

"I ain't that," she said to Charley, who gave her the name. She always doubted Charley. "I ain't anything but a little girl."

"And a cosset."