Bessie among the Mountains

by Joanna H. Mathews

  III.

  _A VISIT TO AUNT PATTY._

  MR. BRADFORD had brought from the city a famous rockaway, or carryall,large enough to hold all his own family and one or two persons beside;light but strong, and just the thing for these mountain roads. Thefirst use to which it was to be put was to take them all for twovisits that afternoon, one to Aunt Patty, the other to the homesteadwhere Cousin Alexander lived. It was a bright, sunny afternoon, yetnot too warm to be pleasant, the air was gay with the hum of bees andbutterflies, the blue sky, dappled with fleecy clouds, was reflectedin the clear water, mingled with the shadow of the rocks and trees;swallows skimmed over the surface of the lake, chasing the myriads ofinsects which hummed in the summer air; and as the carriage drovealong the road which lay between the water and the great overhangingrocks, more than one fish was seen to dart swiftly away from the shadypool where he had been snugly lying till disturbed by the rumble ofthe wheels.

  They did not go down the mountain by the road up which they had comethe night before, but struck into another which led in an oppositedirection. It ran through the forest for a long distance, and was notso steep, and more shady, which was no objection on this warm day.

  "Stop at Todd's cottage, if you please, Mr. Porter," said Mr.Bradford, as they came out of the forest and saw before them a smallfarm-house, with half a dozen out-buildings about it.

  "Who is Todd, papa?" asked Maggie.

  But before Mr. Bradford could answer, all curiosity about Todd, or whythey were to stop at his house, was set at rest. As they turned thecorner they saw, standing in the porch of the farm-house, a woman witha baby in her arms; while hanging over the gate and whistling as helooked up the road, was a boy about the size of Fred. They were Mrs.Richards and Willie, no longer "blind Willie," the sightless littlechild whose sad face and patient, waiting manner, had so touched thehearts of all who looked upon him. A delicate looking boy Willie wasstill, though two weeks' stay in this fresh, pure, mountain air haddone wonders for him. It was a pretty sight to see his delight in allabout him, in the sunshine and clouds, in the blue sky and the brightwater, in the grass and flowers, in birds and animals, and above allin the dear faces which had been shut out from his poor eyes for somany weary months.

  A light flush mounted to his pale cheeks as he caught sight of hisfriends in the carriage, the good, kind friends to whom he owed somuch; and calling to his mother, he sprang from the gate, as Mr.Porter drew in his horses, and hastened to open it.

  "Never mind, Willie," said Mr. Bradford; "we cannot come in thisafternoon. Some other day, perhaps; but now we only stopped to ask howyou are coming on? How do you do, Mrs. Richards?"

  "Bravely, sir," answered the smiling Mrs. Richards; "and as for Willieand the baby, they are improving wonderfully, thanks to your kindness."

  "It is my little girls you must thank, Mrs. Richards," said Mr.Bradford.

  "But we don't want to be thanked," said Bessie, quickly. "We quiteliked to have you come up here, Mrs. Richards, and we felt very muchthankful ourselves when Uncle Ruthven gave us the money to send you."

  "Willie," said Maggie, "do you enjoy being _disblinded_ just as muchas you did at first?"

  "Oh, yes," answered Willie, laughing at Maggie's new word; "andeverything looks so much nicer than it did before I was blind.Somehow, I think the world _did_ grow prettier while I could not seeit, though mother says it only seems so to me."

  "Ah, that is often the way, Willie," said Mr. Bradford. "God sometimeshas to teach us the worth of the blessings He has given us by takingthem from us."

  After a little more talk with Willie and his mother, they badegood-by; kind Mr. Porter first saying he would send down for Williesome day and let him come up to his place.

  They drove on till they came to the more open country, and saw beforethem Aunt Patty's house, and beyond that, the grand old homestead ofwhich they had heard so much, and of which papa was so fond.

  Aunt Patty's home was a pretty, snug cottage on the side of a hill;its front covered with a beautiful trumpet creeper, which wentclimbing up to the very top of the many-cornered old chimney, andwreathing itself over the little porch and the bow window of thesitting-room, until the house looked like a quiet green nest. A greatwhite cat peeped out from behind the geraniums which filled thewindow; a greyhound lay upon the doormat, and beneath and about theporch hung several bird-cages, containing half a dozen canaries andtwo mocking-birds, while a donkey and a tame goat looked, the oneover, the other between the bars of the fence which divided theirlittle pasture ground from the neat garden. For Aunt Patty was veryfond of dumb pets, and had collected about her a number, each one ofwhich knew her voice, and would come at her call; and she was neversharp and short with them as she sometimes was with her own fellowcreatures, for they never, even by accident, gave her offence.

  The old lady herself came to the door to meet her guests, more pleasedthan she would have been willing to say, that they had come to visither on the first day of their stay at Chalecoo. She seized Frankiein her arms and covered him with kisses; but that roguish younggentleman after exclaiming, "Hallo, Patty!" would have nothing moreto say to her, and struggled to be set free that he might run and see"dat nanny-doat and dat pony wis long ears."

  Maggie and Bessie were more polite than their little brother, andthough they would have liked to follow him at once, waited quietlytill Aunt Patty asked them if they did not wish to run about and makeacquaintance with all her pets.

  Glad of the permission, the little girls ran out, and turned to thepaddock, where they found Frankie seated upon the donkey's back.

  The boys had not gone into the house, but after shaking hands withAunt Patty at the door, had remained without in search of whatamusement they could find. The donkey was the first thing that hadtaken their attention as well as that of Frankie; and when the littlefellow came out clamoring for a ride, they were quite ready to indulgehim. Harry had been half doubtful if they had not better first askAunt Patty's permission, but Fred had said,--

  "Pooh! what's the use? She would let Frankie dance on her own head, ifhe wanted to."

  So Harry had allowed himself to be persuaded, and in another momentthe donkey, much to his own astonishment, found Frankie seated uponhis back.

  Now this donkey was not at all accustomed to children; for those ofMr. Alexander Bradford, who lived at the homestead, seldom came tosee Aunt Patty, and when they did so, they would as soon have thoughtof asking to ride upon her back as upon that of the donkey. To beharnessed in the little pony-carriage, and trot about with the oldlady for her daily drive, was all the work to which Nonesuch wasused; and when he found Frankie perched upon him, he was very muchdispleased, and began a series of antics and prancings which were morebecoming some frisky pony than a sober, well-behaved donkey. But tryas he would, he could not shake Frankie off. The bold little roguewas not at all frightened, and clung like a burr to his indignantsteed. It was hard to tell which would come off victor. But at theside of the paddock ran one of the many streams in which this mountaincountry rejoiced, shadowed with a growth of elder, sumach, and otherhigh bushes. Nonesuch had raced with Frankie to the very edge of thislittle rivulet, and then stood still for a moment as if consideringwhat he would do next, when a hand, holding a long, thorny switch, wassuddenly put forth from the clump of bushes, and Nonesuch received astinging blow across his haunches. Down went the donkey's nose and upwent his heels, as he sent Frankie flying directly over his head intothe stream, and then tore away to the further side of the field.

  Maggie and Bessie were very much startled, and screamed aloud, andeven Harry and Fred were a good deal alarmed; but the child himselfdid not seem to be at all frightened, and when his brothers pulled himout of the water, did not cry, but looked after the donkey in greatsurprise, exclaiming,--

  "Why, dat pony spilled me a little!"

  Harry and Fred laughed at this, but Maggie and Bessie thought it nolaughing matter; nor did mamma, when alarmed by their screams thegrown people came running from th
e house. Frankie was drenched fromhead to foot, and had to be carried at once to the house, undressedand rubbed dry. Then he was wrapped in a blanket, while a messengerwas sent to the homestead to borrow some clothes for him. The littlefellow thought this rather hard, and a very poor ending to hisafternoon's amusement, especially when no clothes could be found tofit him but those of little Katy Bradford.

  Meanwhile Fred was off, no one knew where. At the moment Frankie hadgone over the donkey's head a loud mocking laugh had resounded frombehind the clump of bushes, as though the person who had given theblow were rejoicing in the mischief he had done.

  Fred only waited to see Frankie safely out of the water, and then,leaving him to the care of his brother and sisters, darted across thestream and forced his way through the bushes in search of the guiltyperson. At a little distance from him stood two miserable lookingobjects, a boy about his own size, a girl rather younger; both dirty,ragged, and half-starved, hatless and shoeless. A wicked looking boyand girl they were too, and as Fred appeared they greeted him withgrimaces and vulgar noises; then as he darted at the boy, turned andran.

  Fred gave chase, and in a moment had overtaken the girl. Buthot-tempered and hasty though he was, Fred was not the boy to fightwith one who was weaker than himself; and he passed her withoutnotice, keeping on after her companion. But active as he was, he soonfound he was no match for the young rascal in front of him, whose feetscarcely seemed to touch the ground, and who threw himself headlongover fences and hedges, as though he had forgotten he had a neck andlimbs which might be broken.

  So turning about, Fred went after the girl, and soon had his handupon her arm, calling upon her to stop. She did so, at the same timecowering and raising the other arm to shield her head and face as ifexpecting a blow.

  "You don't think I am going to strike you?" said Fred, "a nice kind ofa chap I'd be to strike a girl. I say, what did you hit that donkeyfor?"

  "I didn't," she replied sullenly, "it was him."

  "What did he do it for? Nobody was doing anything to him. And I'll bebound you had the will to do it."

  "He did it cos he had a mind to," she said, shaking herself free fromFred's hold, "and he'll do it agin if he has a mind to."

  "He'd better not," said Fred, "if he does, I'll fix him."

  "S'posin' you can catch him," she answered, growing bold and impudent,as she saw she need fear no violence from Fred. "'Taint none of yourdonkeys."

  "It was my little brother he meant to plague though," said Fred. "He'dbetter look out how he troubles us again. Just you tell him that."

  "He aint afraid of you," said the girl, "I jist hope the young un'sfine clothes was spoiled. Good enough for him," and making up ahideous face at Fred she ran off a few steps, and then as if thespirit of mischief within her were too strong even for her fear ofhim, stooped, and picking up a large stone threw it with all herstrength. It hit Fred upon the knee with such force that, brave as hewas, he could scarcely help crying aloud, and was obliged to sit downupon the ground until the pain had somewhat passed. By the time he wason his feet again the girl was out of sight, and poor Fred limpedback to Aunt Patty's cottage.

  Here the bruised and swollen knee was bathed and bound up, but Fredwas forced to keep still, not only this afternoon, but for severalsucceeding days.

  It would be hard to tell with what horror the children looked upon theboy and girl whom Fred described, and who had done all this unprovokedmischief.

  After the donkey and goat, the birds, kittens and other pets had beenvisited, there was not much to interest the children in Aunt Patty'shouse; and they were not very sorry when the visit came to an end, andthey were all on their way to the homestead.

  There was certainly enough to please them here. It was a grand oldhouse, standing in the midst of a grove of maples, and behind itstretched an immense orchard, with its mossy old apple trees givingpromise of the rich harvest they would furnish a few months later.There was the flower garden, delicious with all kinds of roses nowin full bloom; the very swing where papa used to swing when he was aboy, the stream and pond where he used to sail his boats and set uphis water-mills; and beyond all, the large farm-yard with its manyoutbuildings, looking almost like a village by itself; while fromone of the great barns whose wide doors stood open came the cacklingof poultry and cooing of pigeons, the lowing of cows and oxen, andbleating of calves, all the pleasant noises of a large and thriftyfarm.

  The children were all anxious to see the spot where the old burntbarn had stood, the place where Aunt Patty had saved Uncle Aleck fromthe fire; but all trace both of fire and barn had long since passedaway, and a bright green pasture field, where a flock of sheep werefeeding, took up the very ground where, as Maggie said, "the story hadhappened."

  The children of the homestead, eight in number, of all ages and sizes,from cousin Ernest, a tall youth of eighteen, down to little Katy,the household darling and pet of four, were only too glad to welcometheir city cousins and show them all the wonders of the place.

  They had the most delightful summer play-room; one side of theverandah enclosed with a lattice work, covered with flowering vines,where they kept their bats and balls, graces, hoops, rocking horse andother toys. They had a little garden house too, where they kept theirspades, rakes and other tools, for each child had a plot of groundfor its own, and every fall they had a flower and fruit show, whentheir father and mother gave prizes, not only for the best flowers andfruit, but also to those whose gardens had been neatly kept during thesummer.

  Poor Fred with his lame knee could not run about with the others, andas he sat on the verandah with his cousin Ernest, who stayed with himlest he should be lonely, and heard all about the flower show, hebegan to wish that he and his brother could have something of the samekind.

  "I dare say Mr. Porter would give us each a little piece of ground,"he said, "but then it is too late to plant things, is it not?"

  "Oh, no," replied his cousin, "it is only the middle of June, andthere are several things which you might yet plant. Then you couldjoin us and try for the prizes at our show, and I would ask father tohave it a little earlier in the fall, before you go home. There arelots of seeds and plants that we will give you if you have a mind totry."

  Fred was eager enough, as he always was for every thing new, andpromised to ask his brother if he would like to have a garden, andalso to speak to his father and Mr. Porter about it.

  "And your sisters, too," said Ernest, "would they not like to try whatthey could do?"

  "Oh! they are too little," said Fred. "What could such a mite asBessie do with a garden of her own? She might dig and plant in it tobe sure, but then she would not know how to take care of her flowersand things, and she would only be disappointed if she failed."

  "You and Harry might help her," said Ernest, "and even if she didnot have any fine flowers she might gain a prize if she had beenindustrious, and tried as well as she knew how. It is not so much forthe worth and beauty of the flowers themselves, as for the pains wehave taken with them and what we deserve, that father rewards us. Why,last year dear little Katy took a prize and for what do you think?Why, for a poor forlorn zinnia which she had nursed through the wholesummer, and which bore but one scanty flower."

  "I'll tell Maggie and Bessie then," said Fred, "and Harry and I willdo all we can to help them with the work that is too hard for them. Iam sure papa will be willing for us to try, if your father will allowus to join you."

  "He is willing enough," said Ernest, "indeed he was saying the otherday he should like it. You had better ask Mr. Porter for the groundand begin directly."

  Fred was so anxious to talk over this new plan with his brother andsisters, and to ask his father and Mr. Porter what they thought of it,that he could scarcely wait to do so till it was time to go home.