Читать книгу A Modern Cinderella - Amanda M. Douglas - Страница 8

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Marilla thought she had lovely times with Jack in school, but she did have to run up and down so much that some nights her little legs fairly ached. But now she took the babies out to the big park where she could sit and watch the merry children at play and the beds of flowers coming out, and there were the funny pussy willows and the long tails of yellow forsythia and some squirrels running around, and birds calling to each other. Then there were pretty children playing about and some nurse girls that she talked to. She felt so rested sitting here, and sometimes her thoughts went back to the March night when she had fallen asleep by the warm stove and had that wonderful, beautiful dream. She felt very happy over it. And the Cinderella meant all the little hard worked girls who had few pleasures. Oh, she wished they could all have one night in that magic fairy land.

She was learning to sew a little as well, and she thought she should like it if there was a little more time. But the babies began to crawl around now and Violet would pick up anything and put it in her mouth; so you had to watch her every moment. And though they generally slept from ten to twelve, there was the door to answer, little things to be done for Aunt Hetty whose bell would ring just as she had her work fixed ready to sew. Then likely she would lose her needle.

But she managed somehow to keep very sweet-tempered. She wished she could go to school.

“We’ll see next fall,” Mrs. Borden said. “The twins will be larger and less trouble.”

Sundays were pretty good; Mr. Borden took out the children in the afternoon. She had to help Bridget with the vegetables for dinner, which was at midday and there was so much washing-up afterwards, at least drying the dishes, that there was barely time to go to Sunday school. But the singing was so delightful. She sang the pretty hymns over to the babies. In the evening the family generally went out or had company. So after Jack and the babies were abed she used to read, unless Jack wouldn’t go to sleep and torment her with questions that were unanswerable.

On the whole Jack had been pretty good for a fortnight. One afternoon Mrs. Borden had gone out, Miss Florence had some visitors in the parlor. Marilla had fed the babies who were laughing and crowing when Aunt Hetty’s bell rang. She ran up.

“M’rilla get me some hot water, quick, and that aromatic ammonia, I’m so faint and feel queer all over. Be quick now.”

She ran down, but could not run up lest she might spill the water. Aunt Hetty was gasping for breath, and leaning back in the big chair. She swallowed a little, then she went over on Marilla’s shoulder and the child was frightened at her ghastly look. There was the lavender salts––

Just then there was a succession of screams from the babies. Could she leave Aunt Hetty? Miss Florence called her, then ran up stairs herself.

And this was what had happened; Jack had come home and finding no one, knew there was some candy on the closet shelf. And there hung the strap. He wondered if it would hurt very much? The babies looked too tempting. So he began to strap them and enjoyed the howling. He was just going to leave off when Aunt Florence flew into the room.

“Oh, Jack, you cruel, wicked boy!” Then she seized the strap and he soon had an opportunity to known how much it hurt.

“Marilla! Marilla!” she called.

“Oh, Miss Florence, something dreadful has happened to Aunt Hetty, and I’m fast with her.”

She came up. “Oh, she looks as if she was dying or dead. Let’s put her on the lounge and you go for Bridget.”

“What is the matter with the children.”

“Oh, go, quick! I’ll tell you afterward.”

The child summoned Bridget and just ran in to comfort and kiss the babies.

“Oh, Jack, you never—oh, look at their poor little hands! You bad, wicked boy!”

“If you say much, I’ll give you some––”

Marilla snatched at the strap and flung it upon a high shelf. Jack wiped his eyes and went out to play. Marilla ran upstairs again. They were fanning Aunt Hetty and bathing her face and head.

“Marilla, will you go to the parlor and ask that lady to come up here,—Mrs. Henderson. Bridget thinks—oh, and we ought to have a doctor! I must telephone.”

“And then can I stay with the babies?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Poor babies!” Marilla fairly stopped them with witch hazel. Their little fat hands and their shoulders were swollen already. She kissed them, but she couldn’t take them both and they wanted to be cuddled. So she sat down and hugged them and really cried herself.

Bridget came down, “She isn’t dead but she’s a mighty hard faint on her. And what happened to the children?”

Marilla explained in a broken voice.

“Oh, the murtherin’ little devil! You take one and I’ll comfort ’tother. But you can’t lift her.”

No; Marilla couldn’t lift such a dead weight. Bridget walked the floor and patted Pansy and crooned over her, but the hurt was pretty deep.

Aunt Florence came down.

“She’s over the faint. Mrs. Henderson is going to stay a while. Oh, poor babies!”

“I must look after my meat or it’ll burn,” and she gave the baby to Miss Florence.

“I’ll sit in the rocking chair and you put her in my lap, I think she’s hurt more than Violet. You see, I ran upstairs when Miss Hetty’s bell rang, and she fell on my shoulder, and I never thought––”

“I gave it to him good, and his father’ll finish him tonight. Oh, dear! Well, there comes their mother.”

There was a hubhub with both babies crying again. Mrs. Borden laid aside her hat and coat and took up Violet, sent Marilla for a pitcher of milk and both babies were comforted with a drink.

“Sit on the floor and hold them. They’re so heavy. Poor sweet babies.”

The sobs ceased after a while. Violet fell asleep, Pansy was bathed again and grew quieter. The doctor came and said it was a bad fainting spell but that Mrs. Vanderveers heart was weak from age.

Marilla fixed Pansy’s supper, fed her and undressed her, and her mother laid her in the crib. Then she said—

“You may go and help Bridget a little with the dinner.”

Marilla arranged the table and the master of the house came in. Jack sneaked in, also. Mrs. Henderson staid, so no explanations were made. Jack was very quiet and behaved beautifully, but he wanted to go to bed at once. Violet woke and had her supper and quiet was restored. Then a man came in to consult Mr. Borden about some business.

“It was awful that Jack should go at the babies so,” said Mrs. Borden to her sister.

“I don’t know about telling his father. You gave him one whipping––”

“And a good hard one. I’m afraid of boys getting so used to that mode of punishment that they don’t mind it. But father brought up four boys in that manner and they have all made nice men. I don’t see where Jack gets his badness from.”

Jack’s mother sighed. “And yet he can be so lovely.”

“I’ve been considering,” rejoined Florence. “Suppose we hold this over his head for a while. I might talk to him.”

“Well, we can try it.”

So Aunt Florence talked to him very seriously, and said if he wasn’t a better boy they would have to send him off somewhere in the country where there were no children. She would not tell his father just now, but if he ever struck or pinched the babies again she certainly would, and he would be punished twice over. He must remember that.

He put his arms around her neck, and kissed her. “I’m awful sorry. I didn’t think it hurt so,” he said naively.

“Papa will hurt you a great deal more than I did,” was her reply.

And then Jack had a sudden accession of goodness. His teacher was proud of him. How much was due to his pretty face and winsome manner, one couldn’t quite tell, but the nursery had a lovely rest and Marilla didn’t have to watch out every moment.

Mrs. Borden secretly wished the twins were prettier. They were too fat, and when she tried to diet them a little they made a terrible protest. Here they were fourteen months old and couldn’t walk yet, but they were beginning to say little words under their nurse’s steady training.

Aunt Hetty made light of her attack and was soon about as usual, but she did not take long walks and laid on the lounge a good deal. “Folks can’t stay young forever,” she said, “and I’m getting to be quite an old lady.”

Then they began to plan for a summering.

Last year they had not gone anywhere. Advertisements were answered, and Florence visited several places. They would take Marilla of course, she was coming to have a thin, worn look. Aunt Hetty would visit a grand niece, who had been begging her to come. Bridget would stay in the house, she had no fancy for cantering about. Mrs. Borden would live at home through the week and rejoin them on Saturday afternoons. They must get off soon after school closed. There was no end of sewing. Some pretty skirts were altered over for Marilla, as there was enough for full dresses in them.

The place was on Long Island, a country house with only two other boarders. It was barely a quarter of a mile from the seashore, with a great orchard and grass all about, shady places for hammocks and numerous conveniences, besides moderate board.

Jack had not been an angel all the time. Some days he wouldn’t study. Then he had two fights with boys. He threw stones at cats—sometimes dogs, and broke two or three windows which he didn’t set out to do. He was getting tired of school and the weather was warm.

So one afternoon he thought he would take a walk instead. He would go out to the park where they went on Sundays. It was so warm in school. He was getting quite tired of the confinement.

He found a group of children and played with them awhile. Then they ran off home and he rambled on and on until he came to a street up a few steps. A wagon was standing there and two little boys were hanging on behind.

“Come on, its real fun,” sang out one of them. “You get a good ride.”

Jack thought it would be. They showed him how to hold on. The driver had been busy with an account book and now he touched up the horses. “Hanging on” wasn’t so easy Jack found, and you had to swing your legs underneath. The man paused again at a saloon and he dropped off; his hands were very tired. The man went in the place and when he came out one of the boys said—

“Hi! Mister, won’t you give us a ride?”

The man laughed. “Where you want to go? I’m for Roselands.”

“We want to go there,” was the reply.

“Well, crawl up here. Two of you’ll have to sit on the wagon bottom.”

“I’m going to sit with the driver, ’cause I asked.”

It wasn’t a very clean floor to sit on, Jack thought, and the wagon bumped a good deal, the beer kegs rattled against each other. But the boys laughed and called it fun. There was another stop and then the driver asked who they were going to see in Roselands.

“Oh, no one. We’re going just for fun.”

“Where’d you live?”

The boys all lived at Newton.

“Jiminy; then you better get out and trot back. I’m going over the mountain where I put up for the night. Mebbe you can get a ride back. It’s two miles down to the place where I took you in.”

“Yes, we better get out,” replied the biggest boy. “Oh, we can soon foot it back. Much obliged for the ride, Mister.”

The man nodded.

They sat off quite cheerily. Automobiles passed them and carriages containing ladies, one or two loaded trucks. Jack began to get very tired and lagged. “Come, hurry up,” the biggest boy said. Jack ran a little distance for a change. He began to wish he was back in school. Presently a farm wagon came jogging along.

“Give us a ride?” The biggest boy’s name was Dick and he seemed the spokesman.

“Yes—where ye want to go?”

“To Newton.”

“I turn off at the crossroads, ye kin ride that fur.”

That was a great relief. They were quite jolly again, though Jack didn’t understand the fun. But when they dismounted, Dick asked him where he lived.

“In Arch Street.”

“Well, that’s clear over there,” indicating it with his head. “Ta ta, little sonny.”

They both laughed and Jack felt rather affronted. Over there seemed a long way. Then it was clouding up and night was coming on. He went straight along, but now he was hungry, and his little legs ached. He had been instructed if he was ever lost to ask the way to Arch Street. So he asked now.

“Oh, sonny, you’re a long way from Arch Street. Keep straight on until you come to Taylor, then ask again.”

Here was a bakery with a pleasant, motherly woman. He went in.

“Please ma’am, would you give me a bun? I’m lost and I can’t find my way back to Arch Street.”

“You poor child! Yes, and here’s a cake, beside. Arch Street isn’t far from the eastern end of the park. Sit and get rested. Who’s your father?”

“Mr. John Borden.”

The woman shook her head.

“Thank you, very much.” Jack rose.

“You go straight down three blocks. Then ask a policeman. Oh, I guess you’ll get home safely.”

Jack walked his three blocks. Then there was a low rumble of thunder. Oh, dear! He began to cry. Was there never a policeman!

“What’s the matter bub?” asked a kindly voice.

“I’m lost. I can’t find my way home.”

“Where is home?”

“Arch Street.”

“Come on. We’ll find it. It’s bad to be lost. Where have you been?”

“Oh, I can’t tell all the places,” sobbingly.

They entered the park. Even that was large enough to get lost in. It grew darker and darker and there was a sprinkle of rain. Jack held tight to the man’s hand, and it seemed as if the park was full of bears. He was so frightened. They came to one of the entrances.

“Now you keep straight on and you will come to Arch Street. Good-bye little lad. It’s raining quite fast. Hook it along.”

Jack did run. Houses began to look familiar.

Yes, here was his own street. Oh, how glad he was. He almost flew. And his father ran down the steps and caught his little wet boy in his arms.

“Oh, Jack! Jack! Amy,” he cried through the open hall door, “he’s here! he’s here!”

There had been a great commotion, for Jack had been instructed to come straight home from school even if he went out afterward. And when it came dinnertime with no Jack, and the dreadful things that one could conjure up—being run over, being kidnapped—for he was such a pretty little fellow! Mr. Borden telephoned to the Police Precinct, to two hospitals, went out to search, inquiring of the neighboring children. No, he had not been playing with them. Mrs. Borden was wild with terror. Aunt Florence said some boy had coaxed him off somewhere, but she was desperately afraid that he laid crushed in some hospital. And now they all hugged and kissed him; and what with the fatigue, the fright and all, Jack really had an hysteric.

They rubbed him and put him in some dry clothes and gave him a dose of aromatic ammonia to steady his nerves, and then some supper. And he said he went to the park and came out somewhere, and a man took him and two other boys for a ride. Dick was such a nice, big fellow. He said nothing about hanging on behind, he had a feeling that wouldn’t redound to the story. And the man took them out to Roselands and wasn’t coming back––

“Roselands,” cried his mother. “Oh, Jack you might have been kidnapped. Never, never go riding with any strange man. And how did you get back?”

“We walked some, then another man rode us a little way, and the boys went off and I got lost more and more and couldn’t find a cop, and asked every so many people, and a woman gave me a bun and a cake, and then a man took me across the park and told me to go straight along. And I was afraid of the thunder and all, and I was wet, and oh, dear!”

“Never mind, Jack. You’re safe home now. You must come straight home from school, you have always been told that.”

And he hadn’t been to school at all!

But he was very sleepy and his mother put him to bed and kissed him a dozen times. The scoldings would save until tomorrow.

Jack was rather languid the next morning and a little afraid. But he was the best boy in school, and brought home a note from his teacher, never suspecting his sin would find him out so soon.

Miss Collins asked his mother if she would send the reason why Jack was not at school yesterday afternoon, as they were required to put it down in the record book.

“Oh, Jack! You didn’t go to school yesterday afternoon! What were you doing?”

Jack hung his head, “I took a little walk, and then—and then—I was afraid it was late, and some children were playing—!”

“Oh, you naughty boy! That is playing truant. I don’t know what your father will say!”

“I don’t want to any more. I’d rather go to school. It wasn’t funny a bit. And I don’t want to ride in any old wagon that jounces and jounces, and I did get so tired. What did the teacher say?”

“They have to put the true reason down in the record book. And there it will stay always. My nice little boy was a truant-player. And we shall all be so ashamed. What will your father say? And he was so afraid last night that you were killed!”

“Oh, mama, I never will do it again, never!” Jack hung round his mother’s neck and cried and she cried with him, thinking of her tumult of agony last night. And she had him safe—her little boy!

“Jack,” she began presently, “can’t you be brave enough to tell papa how it began. Climb up in his lap and tell him how sorry and ashamed you are.”

“Will he strap me?”

“You deserve it I think. But he surely would if I told him. And when people do wrong they must bear the punishment.”

“But I never will do it again.”

“Tell him that, too.”

Of course they talked it over at dinner time. Jack was not at all vainglorious. Afterward, he hung around and presently climbed up in his father’s lap.

“My dear little son,” and his father kissed him.

“But papa, I was badder than all that.” Badder seemed to admit more enormity than simply bad, “I—I went in the park to walk and I staid so long that—that––”

“That you were ashamed to go back?”

“Well”—Jack had spasms of direct truth tellings now and then, like most children.

“I didn’t feel so ’shamed then as when teacher spoke of it this afternoon. It looked so pleasant I thought I’d go on. Some of the boys said it was funny to play hookey, but I don’t want to do it ever again. And if I had been killed somewhere!” Jack began to cry.

The father held him close for some minutes.

“Jack,” he said at length, “you have been a very bad boy, and I am glad it wasn’t a happy afternoon. I hope you never will play truant again. Think how mama and I suffered not knowing what had happened to you and afraid our little boy might be brought home dead. You ought to be punished but you seem to have suffered somewhat, and I am going to trust you, only, you can’t go walking with me on Sunday, and maybe there are some other pleasures you will be deprived of. I’m awfully sorry and mortified that your name must go on record down at City Hall as a truant from school. Some of my friends may see it. These things are sure to get to daylight and make your family ashamed of them, and your teachers; just try to think of that when you do the things you know are wrong, for even a little boy will know that. Didn’t something tell you staying from school was wrong?”

Jack crept closer in his father’s arms. He was too young for much reasoning, and the man wondered if he would have been so penitent if he had had what boys call a real good time.

They let the matter go at that. Jack looked very wistful when his father took the babies out Sunday morning and said no word to him. He followed Marilla round as she dusted up the rooms and wanted to know about Bethany Home.

“Were the children always good?”

“Oh, no. There were a good many bad ones among them.”

“Did they have a strap?”

“Yes, a bigger one than your father’s.”

“Will papa get a bigger one when I’m big?”

“Oh, Jack, I hope you won’t need any strap. Why can’t you be a good boy?”

Jack gave a long sigh. “Sometimes badness comes into your mind just sudden like.”

After a pause—“Did you like Bethany Home?”

“Not as well as being here. I’ve told you that forty times. And there were no little babies. And no dessert, only a teeny little bit on Sunday. And just a sweet cracker for tea.”

“What makes you like the babies? They can’t talk nor do anything. And they are not as pretty as I am. Folks used to say when I was real little, ‘Oh, what a lovely child.’”

Marilla laughed, Jack did know that he was very good looking.

“They’ll be pretty by and by. And they are real sweet. I like babies. I like kittens and little chickens.”

“I like a dog. Cats scratch.”

“Not unless you torment them. Now I am going down stairs to put the dishes on the table. Then I must go and help Bridget.”

“Bridget won’t let me come down in the kitchen. She chases me out with a stick.”

“Children are a bother in the kitchen. They ask so many questions.”

Then his mother and Aunt Florence came home from church, and his father with both babies asleep. He carried them upstairs.

Marilla was getting to be quite a handy table maid for all but the heavy dishes. She placed them on the dumb waiter and started them down stairs. Mrs. Borden took off the others. When the babies were awake Marilla had to stay up with them.

Mrs. Borden dished the cream. “Jack will not have any today,” his mother said.

Jack sat still with his eyes full of tears but said not a word.

But he went to Sunday school with Marilla and behaved beautifully.

“If he was always as good as this,” the child thought, “how I should love him.” He did not even tease for a walk, a thing she was quite afraid he would do.