IX.
_DOL'S REVENGE._
LEM had told John Porter he did not know and did not care where Dolwas on that dark night; but he had not told the truth when he said hedid not care. He _did_ care, for she was the only thing he loved inall the wide world, and had he known where to look, he would certainlyhave gone in search of her. But, reckless as he was, he knew that ablind hunt over the mountain on such a stormy night would be worsethan useless; and he could do nothing but wait patiently as he mighttill the morning came.
The storm raged all night: the rain poured down in a driving flood;the lightning flashed; the thunder pealed without rest, echoing fromone to another of the mountain-peaks in a long, heavy roll; and thewind blew in furious gusts, shaking even Mr. Porter's comfortable,well-built house, and seeming as if it would lay flat the miserablewalls of Lem's poor house, so that the boy was afraid to stay within,and sheltered himself as well as he could beside the rock.
He was troubled about his sister. In all their freaks, in all theirwicked doings, they generally kept together, and stood by one another,and he had expected to find her in the hovel when he returned to itthat evening. He knew well enough that no one would care to take herin for the night; for, if they did so, they were sure to suffer for itbefore she left the place which had given her shelter. He waited tillan hour or so after daybreak, when the storm was dying away, and wasjust setting out to look for her, when he saw her coming wearily upthe little wood-path.
Accustomed as he was to her miserable appearance, even Lem was struckby the wretched plight she was in. The water was dripping from heruncombed, tangled hair and poor rags; her face was pale, and her barearms and knees were cut and bleeding; and, although the morning wasclearing up close and warm, she shivered and drew herself together asif she were suffering from cold. But the wan, haggard face lighted upfor a moment when she saw her brother, and she exclaimed,--
"Oh! Lem, did you cheat 'em, and break out?"
"No," said Lem, "he le'me out; and Dol, I say, it was all along ofthose two little gals. They said they'd beg me off, and the old mansaid they did, and I aint goin' to trick 'em no more. Where was youlast night?"
"In the Ice Glen," answered Dolly.
Lem gave a long, astonished whistle.
"You aint goin' to say you slept in the Ice Glen?"
"I didn't do no sleepin', but I was there all night, after I come awayfrom Porter's. But I fixed 'em down there fust," she added with amalicious grin.
"But how came you into the Ice Glen; didn't you know better?" askedLem.
In answer, she told him how she had been hanging about Mr. Porter'sgrounds till long after dark, when the storm broke, and she had losther way; and, after one or two bad falls, had found herself in theIce Glen; that, knowing the danger in the darkness of a fall over therocks or into the lake, she had remained there all night, fearing tomove till there was sufficient daylight to show her the way home.
"And what was you doin' to keep you down to Porter's so long?" askedLem.
The reply to this question, instead of being received with praise andexclamations of triumph as she had expected, was met by a curse; andpoor Dol shrank down in fear of a blow; for, though Lem was not oftenangry with her, when he was, she was used to feeling the weight of hishand. But he did not strike her now, but turned sullenly from her, andbegan trampling down the wet grass with his bare feet.
"What's come over you, now?" she asked at last.
"Nothin'. 'Taint no odds," he answered.
"Aint you glad I fixed 'em off so?"
"No: 'twant fair after they begged me off."
"They got you shut up first, sayin' you took the cup when you didn't."
"How do you know I didn't?"
"'Cause I know who did."
"Did you?"
"No, but I know who did; and what's more, I know where it is now," sheanswered.
"Tell me then."
But Dolly turned sulky in her turn, and refused to say a word more;and Lem, knowing it was useless to try to make her speak when shedid not choose, strolled into the woods to see if he could find anyberries for his breakfast; while she, still shivering from her night'sexposure in the Ice Glen, tried to kindle a fire from the wet stickswhich lay around; and finding this in vain, crept to her wretched bed,and tried to warm herself there.
But it is time to tell what was the new piece of mischief by whichDolly had thus brought punishment upon herself.
Two little pairs of feet danced through the hall, and out upon thepiazza of the Lake House that morning.
"Oh, what a nice, pleasant day after the rain!" said Bessie. "Thebirdies are singing so to tell us how they like it."
"And it is so nice and cool after all the heat," said Maggie. "See!see! papa, how the rain-drops are hanging on the leaves, and how thesun shines in them and makes them sparkle. But what a lot of leavesare lying about over the grass! and there is a branch broken andhanging down."
"There is another lying by the well," said Bessie, "and those largebushes are all leaning over. Did the rain do that, papa?"
"The wind did it," said papa. "The storm was very severe last night,and I fear it may have done some harm to the farm and garden."
"Not to our gardens, I hope," said Maggie. "They looked so nicelyyesterday, and Cousin Alexander is coming up to-day to see them; andif the storm did hurt them, we won't have time to fix them up againbefore he comes."
"If my garden was mussed up a little bit, I shouldn't mind it so verymuch, if only my dear heliotrope is not hurt," said Bessie.
"And my geranium," said Maggie. "We would be too disappointed if anything happened to those two. Papa, do you know when Cousin Ernest washere the other day, he said not one of the children had such a fineheliotrope or geranium, and he thought they were sure to take prizes?and besides, he said our gardens were so neatly kept it was a pleasureto look at them."
"Yes," said papa: "you have been very industrious and persevering, anddeserve much praise. Here comes Mr. Porter."
"What a terrible night it has been," said Mrs. Bradford, coming outat that moment. "I could not sleep for the noise of the thunder andthe wind. I wonder what those two forlorn children have done: thatwretched hut could be but poor protection on such a night."
"Better than they deserve," growled Mr. Porter, in a tone veryunusual with him, coming up the piazza steps as Mrs. Bradford spoke."Good-morning, madam. A bad night's work this. I've just been roundwith the boys to see what damage has been done."
"Not much I hope," said Mrs. Bradford.
"Well, not so much from the storm," said Mr. Porter. "The corn isbeaten down a little, but it will rise again in a day or two, and somebranches here and there stripped off; but there's been worse than thewind and rain abroad last night. Mr. Bradford, I'll speak with you aminute, sir."
Mr. Bradford walked aside with the old man, who said to him in a lowvoice,--
"There's a sore trouble in store for those little dears, and I hadn'tthe heart to tell them myself. You'll know best how to do it. Theirgardens are all destroyed, root and branch; not a thing left. Theirpet plants, the heliotrope and geranium that they set so much storeby, are rooted up and torn to bits, not a piece left as big as myhand. And it was not the storm either that did it, but just thosewicked children, Lem and Dolly, or one of them. I don't think it couldhave been the boy, for I don't see how he could have found his waydown here again last night after John saw him home; but, alone ortogether, the girl has had a hand in it for sure. John picked up adirty old sunbonnet she used to wear, lying right in Bessie's garden,and he says she was not at home when he went up with Lem last night.She's done it out of revenge for his being shut up, and I wish Bufferhad caught her at it, so I do. My patience is quite at an end, andI'll have them routed out of that place, and sent off somewhere, assure as my name is Thomas Porter."
Mr. Bradford was very much troubled, for he knew how greatly thechildren would be distressed; and, as the breakfast-bell rang justthen, he said he should not tell them till the m
eal was over, or nobreakfast would be eaten by Maggie or Bessie. He could scarcely eathis own as he watched the bright faces of his two little daughters,and thought what a different look they would wear when they heard thebad news.
It was as he had feared: their grief was distressing to see, allthe more so when they found who had done this injury to them. Theirfather had wished to keep this secret, but they begged so to go andsee the gardens, that he thought it best to take them and let themknow the worst at once; and they were so astonished when they saw theutter desolation of their own beds, and the difference between themand those which lay around, and asked so many questions, that he wasobliged to tell them.
The two brothers, with Hafed and Bob, were already on the spot, spadesand rakes in hand, to see what could be done; but, alas! there waslittle or nothing.
It was indeed sad to see the ruin of what had, but yesterday, lookedso neat and pretty. The tiny fences were pulled up, and scatteredfar and wide; lady-slippers, mignonette, verbenas, and all the othersimple flowers which had flourished so well, and given such pride anddelight to the little gardeners, were rooted up and trampled into theearth; and, worse than all, the beloved heliotrope and geranium weretorn leaf from leaf and sprig from sprig, while their main stems hadbeen twisted and bent, till no hope remained that even these could berevived.
The boys' gardens had suffered some, but not so much as those of thelittle girls; whether it was that Dolly fancied Maggie and Bessie hadbeen the most to blame for Lem's imprisonment, and so chose first torevenge herself on them; whether it was that their gardens lay nearerto her hand and she had been interrupted in her wicked work before shehad quite destroyed the boys',--could not be known.
The grief of the children was pitiful to see. Bessie's could not findwords, but she clung about her father's neck, and sobbed so violentlythat he feared she would be ill, and carried her back to the house tosee if mamma could not comfort her. Maggie's was not less violent,but it was more outspoken, and she said and thought many angry thingsof Lem and Dolly, as she gathered up the bruised leaves and stalks ofher own geranium and Bessie's heliotrope. The boys were quite ready tojoin her in all, and more than all, that she said.
"What are you going to do with that, pet?" asked Uncle Ruthven, comingdown to see the ruin, and finding Maggie sitting on an upturnedflower-pot, her hot tears still falling on the remains of the twofavorite plants.
"Oh! Uncle Ruthven!" sobbed poor Maggie, "I could not bear to see themlying there in the mud and dirt. It seems to me 'most as if they weresomething live, and we were so fond of them. I don't think I can bearit. And, oh! I am so sorry we asked Mr. Porter to let Lem out, justso he could do this,--the bad, wicked boy!"
"I do not think it was Lem's doing, dear," said Mr. Stanton; and thenhe told Maggie how John Porter had taken Lem home last night justbefore the storm began, and that it was scarcely possible that theboy could have made his way back in the darkness and worked all thismischief.
"Well, it was Dolly, then," said Maggie; "and I can never, neverforgive her: no, never, Uncle Ruthven."
Uncle Ruthven would not argue with her, or try to persuade her to feelless hardly towards Dolly now: he knew it was not the time; the woundwas too fresh, the little heart still too sore. Nor did he think itworth while to try and make her forget the trouble yet, but talked toher about it in an interested but soothing manner, till at last he ledher back to her mother in a more quiet, gentle mood than he had foundher.
Meanwhile the boys had all four set to work with a good will totry what they could do to make the poor gardens look somewhat lessforlorn. It was too late in the season to think of planting new seedsor roots; and the flowers which had been torn up were too entirelydestroyed ever to revive again.
Hafed would have taken up every flower from his own garden andtransplanted it to those of his "Missy's," if the other boys had notmade him understand that this would be useless, and most of them wouldonly droop and die.
The disordered beds were raked smoothly over; the little fencecarefully cleaned from the mud which covered it, and set up again;and all the withered, bruised flowers and leaves carried away. Thencame John Porter and his brothers, bringing a dozen or so of floweringshrubs in pots, which were neatly set out, taking from the gardens thedesolate look they had worn. Next, some bright lady-slippers, sweetpinks and other late summer flowers were taken up with plenty of earthabout their roots so that they might not droop, and they too, wereput down in their new home.
When all was done, the little girls were called down to see theimprovement that had been made. They thanked the boys very heartily;but, in spite of all the pains that had been taken, the gardens werenot the same they had been before, not the work of their own hands,the gardens they had watched and tended for the last six or sevenweeks.
"Besides," said Maggie, with a mournful shake of her head, "our owndear heliotrope and geranium are quite gone, so we need not hope forany prize. It is too late now to try with any thing else, and wecouldn't expect Cousin Alexander to give us one when we have nothingto show that we have taken care of ourselves."
"I don't know about that," said Fred, "Cousin Alexander came down herethis morning; and, although he did not mention the word prize, he saidhe thought he ought to take into account all you had done, as well aswhat you might have done, and asked us if we did not agree with him.Of course we said yes; so we shall see what he will do."
But not all the petting and coaxing they received, or all the newamusements provided for them, could make Maggie and Bessie forgettheir ruined gardens, or recover their usual spirits that day. Indeedit was rather a mournful day for the whole family. The melancholyfaces of the two little girls grieved their older friends; and,besides, it was sad to know that children like Lem and Dolly shouldtake delight in such wicked, wanton mischief, and to know that thereseemed to be no way to do them good; since they only came near thosewho were weaker and younger than themselves to do them harm, and ranfrom those who were older and wiser, in fear of the punishment andreproof their wickedness deserved. Neither by kindness nor severitydid it seem possible to reach these poor creatures.
Mr. Porter said that one of the dogs should be fastened in the gardenfor a few nights, till he should see what might be done about havingLem and Dolly removed to some place where they could give no moreannoyance to himself and his boarders.
"My darlings," said Mrs. Bradford that night, when she had goneupstairs with the children, "what are you going to do now?"
"To say our prayers, mamma," answered Bessie, rather surprised at thequestion.
"What prayers, Maggie?"
"Why, 'Now I lay me,' and 'Pray God bless,' and 'Our Father which artin Heaven,'" said Maggie.
"And when we say 'Our Father,' what do we say about forgiveness?"
"'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass againstus,'" said Bessie. "I know what you mean, mamma."
"And so do I," said Maggie; "but I _cannot_ do it, mamma, I cannotforgive Lem and Dolly as I want to be forgiven myself, so I think Ihad better leave out that part of 'Our Father,' to-night. I wouldn'tlike to pray a story."
"Nor would I wish you to say what you did not feel, dearie, but Ishould like you to pray that from your heart."
"But I could not, mamma," said Maggie. "Why, we have forgiven Lem andDolly so often, and it is not a bit of use."
"Do you remember what I was reading to you the other night?" saidmamma, "how Peter came to our Lord, and asked Him how often he shouldforgive his enemy. What answer did Jesus make?"
"He said 'forgive him till seventy times seven,'" said Bessie.
"O mamma!" said Maggie. "I never could do that. I think I could belike Peter, and forgive Lem and Dolly seven times; but every time I doit, it grows harder and harder, and I never could do it by the time itwas seventy times seven. That is such a lot! Every bit of forgivenessin me would be used up by that time."
"Our Lord only said 'seventy times seven,' to show that we mustforgive a great number of times, Maggie. He did no
t mean to measureour forgiveness any more than He measures His own. He is ready topardon all who go to Him, as often and as freely as they need. But wemust ask Him from our hearts; and can we do so if those hearts arefull of unkindness and hard feeling towards those who have injuredus? I know how hard it is for you both, my darlings; I know by my ownfeelings how hard it is to forgive Lem and Dolly; but I cannot hopeto be forgiven myself for what I have done wrong this day, unless Iforgive them the harm they have done to me."
"They did not harm you, mamma, did they?" asked Maggie.
"Yes: they hurt my two little blossoms, Maggie and Bessie, and sogrieved me very much. But I can hope my flowers will soon get thebetter of the harm they have received; not only of their sorrow, butalso of their anger and hard feeling towards those poor, unhappychildren. Suppose you had at this moment a chance to do a kind thing,or speak a kind word to Lem and Dolly,--would either of you do it?"
"Mamma," said Bessie, "I think I would. It would be very hard, and I'mafraid I wouldn't quite like to do it; but I would try to think howoften Jesus forgave me, and I would say, 'forgive me my trespasses' asI forgive Lem and Dolly, and maybe that would make it easier."
"It will indeed, my darling; and what does my Maggie say?"
"I'll try too, mamma--but--but--I can't help thinking I'd be prettyglad if the chance never came."
Bessie among the Mountains Page 9
