Baby Pitcher's Trials Part 16

"You can't stop the horse."

"I can. Whoa!"

But he did not stop, for his master slyly urged him on. She was in earnest now: she really wanted to go home, and she called "Whoa!" again, but the old horse still jogged on.

"I told you so," said the driver.

"Oh, Mr. Horse!" she cried in alarm. "Won't you please to stop. I want to get out. Just one minute, dear Mr. Horse, if you please."

This appeal seemed to touch his feelings, and, to her great delight, he stopped.

"He knows what politeness is, he does," said the driver. "Now look sharp before you get down, and see if you ever were in this place before."

Flora did as she was bid, and she saw orchards white with blossoms, a rustic bridge, a few scattering houses; but not one familiar object.

They had pa.s.sed out of the village, and the country was strange to her.

In vain she looked for papa's house, or Grandma's; they were nowhere to be seen.

"Well, Miss Fiddle-de-dee?"

Flora sighed heavily.

"You are lost, eh?"

"Can't see papa's house. Too bad!"

"I thought so."

He took up the reins, and the poor tired horse turned about unwillingly.

He did not want to go back, and would not believe his master was in earnest till he felt a sharp tingle from the whip.

"Don't want to ride any more," said Flora, wearily; "want to get out."

"Getting scared, eh?"

"Flora is tired."

She was beginning to realize her situation, and felt in a hurry to see home again.

"I shan't dump you here, miss," said the man, "so you may as well set still a while longer. If you are lost, likely as not somebody will blame me. I will carry you back a piece, and when you think you know the road I will put you down. Lean your head against my arm if you are tired."

Flora would not do that for she suddenly discovered that the sleeve was greasy, and she moved as far away from it as the narrow seat would permit. But she did not dare let go for the cart jolted worse than ever.

The man drove slowly along, and she anxiously scanned the houses as they pa.s.sed. Once or twice he stopped, but Flora could not tell where she was, and not till they got into the village did the surroundings look familiar. Then she exclaimed--

"Goody! I know now."

"You are sure?"

"I am. Go that way," pointing in the right direction.

"Well, then, hop down; and when you beg a ride again, be sure you know the driver before you get in. Do you hear?"

"I do. Good-by, Mr. Podge."

CHAPTER XII.

AND LOSES HER WAY.

Flora jumped down and ran away without thanking the soap man for the ride, or for his kindness in bringing her so far on her journey home.

She was glad to get away from the cart and the limping horse, and the poor old horse was glad too. You ought to have seen him when his head was turned the other way again. He trotted along so briskly with the little blue cart, that anybody could have told he was running away from Flora. Perhaps his supper was waiting for him, as Flora's was for her, and he was in a hurry to eat it. They went so fast in opposite directions that in a few minutes they were out of sight of each other.

Flora was now glad to walk. She had been so long cramped upon the narrow seat, that it was a pleasure to stretch her limbs and skip about; or would have been, only she was so hungry. It is dreadful to be hungry when there is nothing good to eat in your pocket. There was nothing good to eat in Flora's pocket. She turned it wrong side out, hoping to find a few crumbs in the corners, but there was not one; and then she remembered that it was her blue dress which had been worn but a few days; not long enough to gather woolly crumbs.

"Too bad!" she murmured, and the tears came into her eyes, for she was now more hungry than before. And at that moment a bowl of nice bread and milk was on the table waiting for her; but between her and it was a long, weary walk. It would not have seemed far to Charley or Bertie, and it really was only a mile, but a mile is a long journey for little tired feet, and Flora was hungry too. She could not see very well as she put the things back into her pocket, the tears blinded her. Perhaps that was the reason she left something out. And what do you suppose it was?

She walked away and left her precious "'fumery" lying on the ground. Of course she did not know it, and she felt dreadfully about it afterwards, but she never could tell where she lost it.

While she was putting the things back, she felt some spatters on her head. She looked up, and there was such a black cloud overhead. It was true, then, what the driver of the blue cart had said. The rain was coming, and it seemed to be growing dark, too. What if the rain and darkness should both overtake her before she got home? She must make haste now. She hurried on as fast as her little feet would carry her.

She was running away from the rain and the night. She did not think of applying at any of the houses for shelter, or of asking for food; she had but one wish, to get home to dear mamma. By-and-by the tired feet began to flag, but she felt no more spatters, and she was glad that she had left the shower behind. It was lighter, too; she could run faster than the night. As there was to be no rain, she concluded to rest if she came to a nice place, and soon she came to a very nice place just off the road, which looked so inviting that she sat down and leaned her head against the smooth, gra.s.sy mound. It was sheltered by fine old trees, and the new gra.s.s and the fresh earth smelt sweet, as she laid her wet cheek against the cool pillow, that she could not make up her mind to leave it. She said to herself that she would rest one little minute, but when the little minute was gone, she had forgotten the night was following so fast upon her footsteps. She lay drowsily watching the s.h.i.+ning bugs and creeping things that shared her green pillow, and thought how happy she should feel if it were not for being so very hungry. And then she was no longer hungry, for sleep stole upon her unawares, and no one in pa.s.sing noticed the curly-haired child lying on the damp ground, with tears upon her cheek, and the night that was creeping on so surely, overtook her and pa.s.sed by, dropping his mantle of darkness upon her as she lay asleep. And the shower came next, and tried to wake her by sprinkling her with gentle drops. It said quite plainly, "The night has come, and the rain. Hurry, little one!" But Flora did not wake till the north wind shook her roughly, asking, in gruff tones, "What are you doing here?" Then she sat up, rubbed her eyes, and tried to collect her scattered ideas. Why was the wind shaking her so roughly? And what made her pillow cold and wet? She thought she was at home in her own bed, and she called aloud, "mamma!"

But there was no mamma to answer. Then she felt the raindrops upon her face, and heard them pattering on the leaves of the big trees, and the wind whistled among the branches, and shook them as it had shaken her, making them cry out with pain, and she remembered all at once that she had laid down for one little minute to rest, but what made it so dark and cold she did not know.

She was certain that she had left the night far behind; yet here it was, and the rain. Her pretty blue dress was wet through, and the dampness had taken the life out of her garden hat, so that its broad rim flapped about her face in a very uncomfortable way. Little rivulets trickled down from it upon her neck and shoulders, and her wet curls clung closely; but they could not keep her warm. She got up and tried to find the road. She had wandered from it in search of a resting place, and now it was lost. She could not find it anywhere. She was afraid to venture far from the gra.s.sy mound, yet the road was but a short distance away. A few steps more, and she would have seen friendly lights glancing from two or three houses; but the darkness confused her, and sleep had benumbed her senses. Oh, if some one would come and carry her to mamma!

It was so dreadful to be alone in the night. It was worse than hunger and cold. If she only had Dinah! Dinah would be sorry. Poor Dinah! She was in as bad a plight as her mistress. No one had taken her from the door-step where she was lying in a heap, soaked through and through by the rain. All her faculties were gone now, all her members disordered.

There was nothing about her worth preserving but the one gla.s.s eye.

Flora happily was spared this knowledge, and the very thought of the black baby was a comfort. Suddenly, something cold touched her hand and startled her. It was the nose of a large dog. She was not at all frightened when the great creature looked up at her and inquired what the trouble was. She was overjoyed at finding something to speak to. She clasped her arms around his neck and kissed him twice on the forehead, and he was much pleased with the reception. He kissed her many times, and wagged his tail with vigor. He was telling her that he was very sorry to find such a nice little girl out so late; but that he knew she _was_ a nice little girl, and he should like the pleasure of seeing her home. And Flora understood him perfectly. She was no longer alone. She held the dog's s.h.a.ggy head close to the bosom of her wet dress and told him she was lost, and that he was a splendid old fellow to poke his nose into her hand, and that if he would show her the way to mamma's house he should have as many bones as he could eat. And the bones made her think of her own bowl of bread and milk, waiting on the table at home. Was it waiting there now, or had somebody carried it away, thinking she would never need it? She sighed, and patted her friend's cold nose, and whispered that she was very hungry. He understood all about that, too. Many a time he had gone to bed without any supper; but he said nothing to Flora of his own sufferings. He licked her hand in silent sympathy.

CHAPTER XIII.

CHARLEY SWALLOWS THE ROOSTER.

They went out into the road together, Flora clinging closely to the dog's s.h.a.ggy coat and talking pleasantly as they trotted along, side by side.

"Do you live somewhere? I do. When I get there. Don't know the way. You do, nice doggy. I like you. Are you all wet? I am. And cold? I am too.

Musn't cry if you are wet. I don't, and good dogs don't. Get home pretty soon."

When she saw houses and the lights s.h.i.+ning, she was rejoiced, for now she would have supper, dry clothes and a warm bed. She fell on her new friend's neck and embraced him again; but for him, she would not have found the road. She might have wandered about all night in the cold and rain. The dog started off with a purpose. There was no doubt in his mind as to the best course. Finding a brisk trot unsuited to Flora's weak condition, he toned down and trudged along steadily at a moderate pace till he reached a shabby dwelling, with ricketty steps in front, that creaked as he went up, and an old door that shook when he pressed his nose against it. There was one small window through which the light of the fire was dancing, and it looked very pleasant to Flora. The dog gave a short, quick bark, and a woman appeared at the window; but no one opened the door. Flora saw the woman very plainly, but she could not see Flora. The dog waited patiently a moment, and then barked again, at the same time scratching upon the door with his big paw. It opened this time, and a sharp voice said: "Come in."

Doggy simply looked in and wagged his tail.

"Well, then, stay out."

The door was about to close when another voice said, "Old woman, the brute is a-telling of us something. Can't you sense nothing?" and Flora clambered up the steps as well as she could with her wet clothes hanging about her, and went in with her new friend, who introduced her as a young lady in distress he had taken the liberty to bring home.