Dickey Downy Part 10

"I won't have ribbon loops, I tell you," exclaimed the child. "I want an owl's head and I'm going to have it."

"Why, my dear, the ribbon is ever so much prettier," urged the mother soothingly. "An owl's head is too old a tr.i.m.m.i.n.g for your hat, dear.

It wouldn't do at all. Here, select some of this nice ribbon."

"Didn't I say I wouldn't have it?" answered "dear" pettishly, as she reached into another box containing an a.s.sortment of wings, quails, tails, and parts of various birds jumbled up together. Picking out a pair of blackbird's wings she placed them jauntily against the rim of an untrimmed hat which her mother held.

"There, that looks nice," was her comment. "If I can't have an owl's head I'm going to have these wings."

Her mother mildly a.s.sured her that the ribbon was more suitable only to be met with the reply: "You can wear it yourself then, for I sha'n't wear it."

This shocking disrespect caused two old ladies who were pricing hat pins to turn quickly and view the offender.

"Goodness gracious!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed one of them, drawing a deep breath.

"If that youngster belonged to me for about twenty minutes, wouldn't I give her something wholesome that she'd remember? I'd take the tantrums out of her in short order."

"She deserves it, sure," said her companion. "But the mother is more to blame than the child for letting it grow up with such abominable manners. I dare say the woman at first thought it was cute and smart in the little thing, and now she can't help herself. La, sakes! just listen to that." She re-adjusted her spectacles and gazed with added interest at the pair in altercation.

With the hat poised on her finger the milliner was bending smilingly toward the little girl who was giving her order in a very peremptory tone.

"I want those wings put on my hat. I won't wear it if you trim it only in ribbon."

The mother seemed a little embarra.s.sed as she told the milliner that she supposed the hat would have to be trimmed in the way Elsie wanted it.

"Humph! I knew the child would get what she wanted," observed the old lady who had first spoken. "I felt all the time that the mother would have to give in. What on earth did she let her take those big black wings for? Two of those little yellow sugar birds would have been better for a child's hat. The idea of letting a youngster rule you that way! My!" and then she took another deep breath. "She needs a trouncing, if ever a child did," and with that she and her friend resumed their shopping.

The cloud had vanished from Elsie's face, and all was serene again.

Her mother seemed somewhat ashamed of her little girl's bad manners, as was shown by her apologetic air when she observed to the trimmer that Elsie was as queer a child as ever lived. When she set her mind on a thing, it was so hard for her to give it up.

They waited for the new hat to be trimmed, and on its completion Elsie seized it and put it on her head, much against her mother's wishes, who preferred not to have it displayed until the next day at Sunday-school; but the insistence of the child was so vehement that again the mother thought it wise to yield, and Elsie tripped off in triumph to the other end of the store with the black wings showing out stiffly on each side of her head. The mother remarked, with forced playfulness, as she watched her, "Elsie's a g-r-e-a-t girl, I tell you. You can't fool her."

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Baltimore Oriole.]

As the trimmer returned the boxes to the shelves, I overheard her mutter, "Oh, yes, Elsie is a g-r-e-a-t girl, a perfect little jewel, so well-behaved. Her polite manners show her careful home training; quite a reflection on her dear mamma." But from the peculiar laugh she gave I didn't believe she really meant it as praise.

When the nights grew longer and the store was closed for the evening, the milliner and her husband usually spent an hour or two in the back room looking over the newspaper which came every day from the city.

The man always turned at once to the wheat reports, and the price of wool, which he read aloud to his wife, though I could see she did not care very much to hear about them; but she hunted first for the fas.h.i.+on notes and the bargains in millinery before she read the other news.

One night while thus engaged she suddenly exclaimed:

"Here's something that is bound to hurt trade."

By trade she meant the millinery business.

"What is it?" her husband inquired, looking over the top of the page he held.

"Why, here's a lot of women who have been meeting in a convention in Chicago and getting excited and losing their heads, and pa.s.sing some ridiculous resolutions."

"What kind of resolutions?" he inquired.

"Oh, they've been denouncing the fas.h.i.+on of wearing birds. They belong to a society called--called--something or other, I forget what. Let me see," and she ran her eye down the column. "Oh, yes, here it is. They are members of the O'Dobbin society, and they got so wrought up on the subject they took the feathers out of their hats right there in the meeting and vowed never to wear bird tr.i.m.m.i.n.g again. Well, if such outlandish notions spread, you'll soon see how it will injure the millinery trade."

"Pshaw! you needn't worry. The protests of a handful of fanatical women can't do your business any harm," he answered carelessly, and turned to his paper again.

She shook her head. "I'm not so sure of that. I think there are some women in this very town just cranky enough to endorse such foolishness.

There's Mrs. Judge Jenkins for one. I've never yet been able to sell her a real stylish hat. She won't wear birds, because she thinks it's wicked. I hope to goodness she won't consider it her duty to start an O'Dobbin society here."

From the depths of my heart I blessed those kind women who had shown their disapproval of the nefarious traffic in bird life, and had pledged themselves to our protection. True, they were but a handful compared with the millions whom the G.o.d Fas.h.i.+on still held in bondage, only a handful who were fighting the good fight; but would not the influence of their n.o.ble example and their pledge of mercy be spread abroad till all the women in Christian lands would join in the crusade against the wrong?

In my joy at the thought I chirped so loudly that the lady looked up from her reading. She seemed suddenly to recall a thought as she glanced at my cage, for she said, "I must not forget to ask Katharine if she can take the bird home with her next week and keep it while Polly is gone to the country. I'll be sure to forget to feed it.

Anyway, I haven't time to bother with it."

The day before Polly left for the country I heard her inquiring for the "Daily," which I remembered was the name they called the newspaper containing the account of the n.o.ble city ladies who had pledged themselves not to wear us any more.

"Tuesday's paper?" her mother asked; she was busy at the time fastening a poor, little, mute swallow on a rich hat. "Perhaps it was thrown behind the counter. Did you want it for any special purpose?"

Polly replied that she wanted to read something in it.

"Well, it is probably torn up by this time," said her mother. "If it isn't on the table in the back room, or on the shelf by the window, or behind the counter, I'm sure I don't know where it is."

The young clerk who was arranging the goods on the counter had heard Polly's inquiry, and she now asked if it was the newspaper that told about the women who thought it wrong to wear birds. It seemed to me that Polly hesitated a little as she replied that that was the very paper she wanted.

"Goodness, child, is that the piece you want to read?" Her mother's voice sounded rather sharp, as if she were vexed. "I hope that subject hasn't turned your head too," but she said no more, for just then a customer coming in, she laid down her work and went forward to greet her.

Polly looked troubled, but she confided to Miss Katharine that she wanted very much to read the account.

"Fortunately I cut the piece out to give to my sister. I knew she'd be interested in it, but I have always forgotten to give it to her," said the clerk. She seemed to be very much in earnest as she continued, "I do wish something could be done to save the birds. If women must have feathers, why can't they content themselves with wearing ostrich tips and plumes? There is nothing cruel or wicked in the way they are procured."

She opened the little satchel hanging at her belt, and from it took a folded slip of paper which she handed to Polly, telling her she might have it to read, and when she had finished it to please bring it back to her. Polly thanked her, and ran away to a quiet corner of the back room, where I saw her slowly reading the clipping as she rocked herself in her pretty birch chair. When she had read it through, she sat for some time looking very thoughtful. At last she rose and carried the paper back to Miss Katharine, halting a moment as she pa.s.sed my cage, to whisper softly:

"d.i.c.key Downy, you dear little fellow, I'm going upstairs right this very minute to take the feathers off my best Sunday hat and I'm never, never going to wear birds any more."

CHAPTER XII

TWO SLAVES OF FAs.h.i.+ON

I do not like the fas.h.i.+on of your garments.

--_Shakespeare._

I'm sure thou hast a cruel nature and a b.l.o.o.d.y.

--_Shakespeare._

Two young ladies, fas.h.i.+onably dressed, met each other that afternoon just in front of our side window, which had been raised to let in the air. From the warmth of their greeting I saw that they were on terms of friendly intimacy.

One of the girls stood a little out of the range of my vision, therefore I could not hear her voice when she talked, if, indeed, she had a chance to say anything, but the vivacious monologue carried on by her friend was amply sufficient to show the theme which interested them.

How glibly that pretty creature chattered! How fast the words flew!