CHAPTER III
A Quarrel
"Raining! Isn't that too bad?" said Florence, leaning on one elbow inbed, and looking out of the window.
"Hm, hm," said Dimple, sleepily, from her pillow.
Florence slipped out of bed and stood looking dolefully at the fallingdrops.
"What do you suppose the birds do, Dimple?" she asked, going up to her,and softly shaking her.
"Oh," said Dimple, now awake, and sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes,"I suppose they get under the leaves just as we do under an umbrella, orthey go under the eaves, and places like that. I have seen them lots oftimes. It is raining, isn't it, Florence?"
"I said so, long ago," answered Florence; "now we can't go out of doorsto play, and it is so nice outdoors. I don't see the sense of itsraining in summer."
"Why," returned Dimple, sitting down on the floor to put on her shoesand stockings, "that is the very time for it to rain, or everythingwould dry up."
"Well, I wish it didn't have to," said Florence, coming away from thewindow, and sitting on the floor too. "What color stockings do you likebest, Dimple?"
"I don't know; black, I think. Don't you?"
"I believe I do. My! there is the breakfast bell, and we are onlybeginning to get dressed. You fasten my buttons, and I will fastenyours, Dimple, so we will get dressed in a hurry."
Their fingers flew, and they rushed down to breakfast two steps at atime.
"It was so dark this morning that we went to sleep again after youcalled us, mamma," explained Dimple.
"I will excuse you this time, but your breakfast is not as warm as itwould have been earlier," said Mrs. Dallas, "and papa had to go awaywithout his morning kiss."
"I am sorry," said Dimple. "Cold eggs aren't very good," she went on,pushing away her plate. "What can we do to-day, mamma?"
"What should you like to do?"
"I don't know," returned Dimple. "My feelings hurt me rainy days, and Idon't know what I want."
Mrs. Dallas smiled, as she replied, "You might make paper dolls, theyare good rainy day people; that would be one thing. Then you can paint."
"I haven't but one brush, and I have used up all the books and papersyou gave me to paint in."
"I can find some more, perhaps, and you and Florence can take turn aboutwith the paint brush."
Dimple looked as if that would not suit very well, and Florence seeingher look, felt a little hurt.
Paper dolls did not amuse them very long; and when Dimple was ready tocolor the pictures Mrs. Dallas had found for them, Florence declinedabsolutely to paint at all. So they both sat with their elbows on thewindow-sill, decidedly out of humor.
"Florence," said Dimple, presently, "I have an idea. Do you see thathogshead down there? It is running over."
"I see it," said Florence. "What of it; it isn't anything verywonderful."
"Well, you needn't be so disagreeable," said Dimple. "What I was goingto say, is this; let's make paper boats, and put paper dolls in them. Wecan pretend the hogshead is Niagara Falls, and the water that runs downthe gutter can be Niagara river."
"We will get sopping wet."
"Oh no, we won't; it isn't raining so awfully hard. I will put on myrubber waterproof, and you can put on mamma's. We can slip around therewithout any one seeing us, for mamma is busy on the other side of thehouse. Don't you think it would be fun?"
"Ye-es," said Florence, doubtfully.
"Let's hurry and make the boats then. Which paper dolls shall we take?The ugliest, I think, because they will all be drowned anyhow; and don'tlet's take any pretty frocks, because we can make dolls to fit thefrocks when these are drowned."
With paper boats, dolls and waterproofs they stole softly down the frontstairs, and shutting the door after them very gently, ran around thehouse to the hogshead. The roses were heavy with rain, and thehoneysuckle shook big drops on them, as they ran by.
The boats went topsy-turvy over the falls, upsetting the dolls, who wentcareering down the stream, to the great delight of the children.
They played till the last boat load was lost beyond all hope, and then,with wet feet and streaming sleeves, they crept back to the house.
"Now, what shall we do? It was lots of fun, Dimple," said Florence, "butI know your mother will scold, when she sees how wet our feet are, andyour foot just well too, and see my sleeves. If we change our clothesshe will wonder and then--What shall we do?"
"I don't think it was a bit of harm," said Dimple, determined to braveit out, "but it won't do to keep these wet frocks on. I know. We will goup into the attic, take them off, and hang them up to dry; then we candress up in other things. There are trunks and boxes full of clothes upthere, and we can play something."
"So we can," exclaimed Florence. "That is a perfectly lovely plan. Doyou think our clothes will dry before supper?"
"Of course," said Dimple; "anyhow it will be funny to put on trains andthings. Come on."
They raced up to the garret, and were soon diving into the boxes andtrunks of winter clothing that Mrs. Dallas had packed away.
"Here," said Dimple, on her knees before a trunk, "take this skirt ofmamma's," and she dragged out a cashmere skirt. "Florence, see what isin those band-boxes, and get us each a bonnet, while I hunt for a shawlor coat, or something."
After much tumbling up of clothing, she found what she wanted, and theyhad taken off their frocks when they heard Mrs. Dallas calling,
"Children, where are you?"
Both were silent for a moment, and stood with quickly beating hearts.
After a second call, Dimple mustered up courage to answer, "Up here,mamma."
"Where?"
"In the garret."
"What are you doing?"
"Just playing."
"Well, don't get into any mischief," came from the bottom of the stairs,and then Mrs. Dallas went off.
Presently there came another fright: a footstep on the stairs.
"Who is that?" asked Dimple, fearfully.
"Me," came the answer, as Bubbles' woolly head appeared.
"It is only Bubbles," said Dimple, much relieved. "Come up, Bubbles; weare dressing up, and you shall too; but if you dare to tell on us--offyou go to the orphan asylum."
"I wouldn't tell fur nothin', Miss Dimple," said she, as Dimple threwher an old wrapper.
"I am going to be Lady Melrose, and Florence Lady Beckwith. You canbe--Oh, Florence, let's dress Bubbles up in a coat and trousers, andhave her for a footman."
"All right," said Florence, and shaking with laughter, Bubbles wasattired in coat, trousers, and tall hat.
"Oh, she is too funny," said Florence, holding her sides. "Where is mybonnet?"
"That's mine," exclaimed Dimple, as Florence possessed herself of abonnet with feathers in it.
"No, I chose this first," said Florence.
"Well, it's my mother's, I reckon, and I have the best right to it."
"Well, I'm company, and you're very impolite."
"I'm not," retorted Dimple, getting very red in the face.
"You are. I'd have my mother teach me how to behave, if I were you,Dimple Dallas."
"You horrid, red-headed thing!" cried Dimple, now thoroughly angry. "I'dlike to know how you would look in a garnet velvet bonnet anyhow. You'dbetter take something that's not quite so near the color of your hair."
"My hair isn't red, it's auburn," said Florence, bursting into a sob,"and I'm not going to stay here another minute. I'm going straight hometo my mother." And she tore off the clothes in which she had deckedherself, leaving them in a heap on the floor. She snatched up her wetfrock and ran downstairs.
Dimple sat quite still after Florence left her. She did not dare to godownstairs for fear of encountering her mother, and yet, supposeFlorence should really mean to go home. How dreadful! She considered thequestion till she could bear it no longer, and, slowly putting on herown clothes, she crept downstairs, hoping as she went from room to roomthat she would find Florence. She even peeped cautiou
sly in upon hermother, busy with her sewing, but no Florence was to be seen.
"Perhaps she has started to go home," Dimple said to herself, in realalarm. "Oh, dear, I hope there hasn't been any train along that shecould take." She put on her hat, seized an umbrella from the rack, andsallied forth. It was still raining hard, and as she splashed along, thelittle girl was very miserable.
It was quite a walk to the railway station, and Dimple hurried hersteps, fearing she might be too late to intercept her cousin. Sheentered the waiting-room of the station, and looked anxiously around. NoFlorence was there. Her heart sank and she turned to go. Florence hadreally meant what she said. And her aunt and cousins in Baltimore, whatwould they think of her? The tears began to roll down Dimple's cheeksas she looked up and down the long track. She did not know what to donext. It would be so dreadful to go home and tell her mother that shehad driven her cousin away by her rudeness. She was about to turn towardhome, when she bethought herself of making some inquiry about thetrains; and she entered the waiting-room again.
Standing on tiptoe she asked the ticket agent. "When was the last trainto Baltimore?"
"Next train leaves at 4:50," said the man, without looking up.
"Not the next train, but the last train. When did it go?"
"Last train!" the man glanced up. "Last train left at 2:15."
"Thank you." It was with a sense of relief that she heard him give thetime. Florence had not left the house so long ago as that. It was nowafter four, and two hours had not elapsed since they were playing in thegarret. So she went slowly out, but suddenly remembered that Florencewas not at home. Where was she? Perhaps she was lost. She didn't knowher way about very well, Dimple reflected, and she could easily havetaken a wrong turn.
"I'll just have to look for her, that's all," thought Dimple; and thelittle feet pattered along in the rain, getting wetter and wetter eachmoment.
Up one street and down another went Dimple, but there was no sign ofFlorence, and the child's repentance grew stronger as she traveled on.Her imagination saw Florence in a dozen different plights, each oneworse than the last. Accidents of various kinds, disasters of everypossible nature, even the very improbable idea that she had been stolenby gypsies, rose to the child's mind, till, terror stricken, she flewalong, scarcely knowing which way she went.
She was conscious of steadily pursuing footsteps behind her, but she didnot turn to look until the feet came nearer and nearer and a softplaintive voice called, "Oh, Miss Dimple, stop, please stop." Lookingaround, she saw that Bubbles had followed her.
It was a relief to see the familiar face, and Dimple forlornly droppedinto her little maid's arms crying: "Oh, Bubbles! Oh, Bubbles, Florenceis lost."
"No 'm, she ain't," replied Bubbles, with confidence.
"Oh, how do you know?"
"'Cause she come in de front do' jis' as I was gwine th'ough de yard. Inever stopped to ast her nothin', fo' I seen yuh a kitin' down street,an' I put after yuh, lickety-split. All of a suddent I los' sight ofyuh, an' I been a standin' on de cornah waitin' fo' yuh to come back. Iknow yuh 'bleedged to cross to git home, an' I been a waitin' fo' yuh."
"Oh Bubbles! Oh Bubbles! I'm so glad, but I'm so tired and so wet,and--oh dear--I'm afraid to tell mamma, and I'm so miserable. I neverwas so miserable."
Bubbles looked as sympathetic as the occasion required, and trottedalong by Dimple's side, holding the umbrella over her, and trying tosuggest all manner of comforting things.
"Hit'll all be ovah befo' yuh is twict married, Miss Dimple, and hitmought be wuss. S'posin' Miss Flo'ence was los' sho 'nough, den yuhmight tek on. She safe an' soun'. Jes' yuh come in de back way, an'I'll git yuh some dry things. An' Sylvy won't say nothin'. I jes' knowshe wont, an' yuh can git dry by de kitchen fire. I reckon Miss Flo'encemighty 'shamed o' herse'f, kickin' up all dis rumpus 'bout nothin'."
But Dimple shook her head. "It wasn't about nothing. I behaved just asmean as could be, and I'm the one to be ashamed. I'll go straight tomamma; it will be best, for she would find out anyhow, and besides, I'dfeel a great deal worse if I deceived her about it."
Bubbles was not to be convinced that her beloved Miss Dimple was at allin the wrong, but Dimple would not change her mind, being in a state ofgreat humility and penitence, and finally Bubbles gave up trying todissuade her.
Florence had reached home long before. Indeed she had not gone very farbefore her anger cooled, although she was still very much hurt; but sheconcluded it would not be right to start off for her own home without aword to her aunt, who had been so kind to her. This thought added to herunhappiness, and she went to Dimple's room, throwing herself on thefloor, crying bitterly.
The sound of her sobs brought Mrs. Dallas from the next room.
"Why, Florence," she said, seeing the little girl prone upon the floor."What is the matter? Why have you taken off your frock?"
"Oh! auntie," sobbed Florence, "please let me go home; indeed, I can'tstay."
"Are you homesick?" asked her aunt, as she took her up on her lap, andpushed back the damp hair from her face. "Poor little girl!"
A fresh burst of tears was the only answer.
"Where is Dimple?" asked Mrs. Dallas.
But Florence only cried the harder, and her aunt was forced to put herdown with an uncomfortable sense of there being something wrong. Shewent directly up to the attic, but it was silent. Dimple was not there,neither was Bubbles, and no amount of search revealed them. She wentback to Florence, who dried her tears and unburdened her heart, and thenin her turn became alarmed about Dimple, since no amount of huntingdisclosed her whereabouts.
Mrs. Dallas was, herself, becoming much worried, when the door slowlyopened and a disheveled little figure stood before them, with soakinggarments and sodden shoes.
For a moment Dimple stood, then ran forward and buried her head in hermother's lap.
"Mamma," she sobbed, "it was all on account of the weather. I coaxedFlorence out to the hogshead, and then we got wet, and didn't know howto get out of it, and we went up into the attic, and I felt naughty allthe time, and we got mad, and oh dear! I wish the sun would shine."
"I am afraid from all I hear, that you have been the one to set all thismischief astir," said her mother. "I thought I could trust my littlegirl. Think, Dimple, what a day's work. You have tempted your cousin todo wrong, first by going out in the wet, and again by meddling with theclothing upstairs; then you hurt her feelings, and quarreled with her,and now you blame the weather for it all, besides setting a bad exampleto Bubbles. Where have you been, my child?"
"Trying to find Florence, mamma. I walked and walked, and I was soworried, and--oh, mamma, I thought all sorts of dreadful things. I wentto the station, Florence, and I found out there that you hadn't reallygone home; then I thought you were lost, or that the cars had run overyou, or the gypsies had stolen you, or that--oh I'm so miserable," shecaught her breath, and shivered with cold and excitement.
Her mother was unfastening her wet garments. She felt that Dimple'snaughtiness had brought its own punishment. "I think Florence haschanged her mind about going home," she said, quietly.
Dimple raised a tear-stained face. "Oh, Florence, have you?" sheexclaimed. "I'm so glad. I don't want you to think I don't love you, forI do. I love you dearly, dearly, Florence, and I think your hair islovely."
This was too much for Florence's tender heart, and she sobbed out, "Itwas my fault too, Dimple. I said hateful things, and I couldn't forgivemyself when I thought you had gone, I didn't know where. I had nobusiness to scare you so. Please, Aunt Flo, kiss us and forgive us, andplease, for my sake, don't scold Dimple."
Mrs. Dallas gathered the two little penitents into her loving arms. Theywere so truly sorry, and had suffered really more than they deserved. "Ithink Dimple sees her fault quite plainly, dear," Florence was told,"but I am afraid you will both be ill, and so I think I must put you tobed, not for punishment, but because you must be kept warm, and musthave something hot to keep you from taking cold. Where is B
ubbles,Dimple? Wasn't she with you?"
"Not all the time, mamma, but she came after me, and found me on thecorner. Please don't punish her. She only went out because she wanted tofind me."
"I understand that, and I know she did not mean to do wrong. She didwhat she felt to be her duty to you. I'll not scold her, nor punish her,daughter."
Dimple gave a sigh of relief, and pressed her wet cheek against hermother's. "Please kiss me, mamma," she whispered, "and then I'll knowyou forgive naughty me."
Mrs. Dallas immediately consented, and when she left the room, two verycontrite little girls cuddled up close to each other, and took withouta murmur the hot herb tea which Mrs. Dallas brought to them. And thenext morning when they woke, lo! the sun was shining, and not an achenor a pain did either little girl feel to remind her of the drearyyesterday.
A Sweet Little Maid Page 3
