Part 12 (1/2)

The next day was the funeral. At first there was some talk of burying the child in the same inclosure with Patsy; but Mary plead so earnestly to have her laid by her mother, that her request was granted, and that night when the young spring moon came out, it looked quietly down upon the grave of little Alice, who by her mother's side was sweetly sleeping.

CHAPTER XII.

A NEW FRIEND.

Three weeks had pa.s.sed away since Alice's death, and affairs at the poor-house were beginning to glide on as usual. Sal Furbush, having satisfied her own ideas of propriety by remaining secluded for two or three days, had once more appeared in society; but now that Alice was no longer there to be watched, time hung wearily upon her hands, and she was again seized with her old desire for authors.h.i.+p. Accordingly, a grammar was commenced, which she said would contain Nine Hundred and Ninety Nine rules for speaking the English language correctly!

Mary, who had resumed her post as dish washer in the kitchen, was almost daily expecting Jenny; and one day when Billy came in to dinner, he gave her the joyful intelligence that Jenny had returned, and had been in the field to see him, bidding him tell Mary to meet her that afternoon in the woods by the brook.

”Oh, I do hope Miss Grundy will let me go,” said Mary, ”and I guess she will, for since Allie died, she hasn't been near so cross.”

”If she don't, I will,” answered Mr. Parker, who chanced to be standing near, and who had learned to regard the little orphan girl with more than usual interest.

But Miss Grundy made no objections, and when the last dishcloth was wrung dry, and the last iron spoon put in its place, Mary bounded joyfully away to the woods, where she found Jenny, who embraced her in a manner which showed that she had not been forgotten.

”Oh,” said she, ”I've got so much to tell you, and so much to hear, though I know all about dear little Allie' death,--didn't you feel dreadfully?”

Mary's tears were a sufficient answer, and Jenny, as if suddenly discovering something new, exclaimed, ”Why, what have you been doing?

Who pulled your teeth?”

Mary explained the circ.u.mstance of the tooth-pulling, and Jenny continued: ”You look a great deal better, and if your cheeks were only a little fatter and your skin not quite so yellow, you'd be real handsome; but no matter about that. I saw George Moreland in Boston, and I wanted to tell him about you, but I'd promised not to; and then at first I felt afraid of him, for you can't think what a great big fellow he's got to be. Why, he's awful tall! and handsome, too. Rose likes him, and so do lots of the girls, but I don't believe he cares a bit for any of them except his cousin Ida, and I guess he does like her;--any way, he looks at her as though he did.”

Mary wondered _how_ he looked at her, and would perhaps have asked, had she not been prevented by the sudden appearance of Henry Lincoln, who directly in front of her leaped across the brook. He was evidently not much improved in his manners, for the moment he was safely landed on terra firma, he approached her, and seizing her round the waist, exclaimed, ”Hallo, little pauper! You're glad to see me back, I dare say.”

Then drawing her head over so that he could look into her face, he continued, ”Had your tusks out, haven't you! Well, it's quite an improvement, so much so that I'll venture to kiss you.”

Mary struggled, and Jenny scolded, while Henry said ”Don't kick and flounce so, my little beauty. If there's any thing I hate, it's seeing girls make believe they're modest. That clodhopper Bill kisses you every day, I'll war rant.”

Here Jenny's wrath exploded; and going up to her brother, she attempted to pull him away, until bethinking her of the brook, she commenced sprinkling him with water, but observing that more of it fell upon Mary than her brother, she desisted, while Henry, having accomplished his purpose, began spitting and making wry faces, a.s.suring Mary that ”she needn't be afraid of his ever troubling her again, for her lips were musty, and tasted of the poor-house!”

Meanwhile Ta.s.so, who had become a great favorite with Mary, and who, on this occasion, had accompanied her to the woods, was standing on the other side of the brook, eyeing Henry's movements, and apparently trying to make up his mind whether his interference was necessary or not. A low growl showed that he was evidently deciding the matter, when Henry desisted, and walked leisurely off.

Erelong, however, he returned, and called out, ”See, girls, I've got an elegant necklace for you.”

Looking up, they saw him advancing towards them, with a small water snake, which he held in his hand; and, readily divining his purpose, they started and ran, while he pursued them, threatening to wind the snake around the neck of the first one he caught. Jenny, who was too chubby to be very swift-footed, took refuge behind a clump of alder bushes but Mary kept on, and just as she reached a point where the brook turned, Henry overtook her, and would perhaps have carried his threat into execution, had not help arrived from an unexpected quarter. Ta.s.so, who had watched, and felt sure that this time all was not right, suddenly pounced upon Henry, throwing him down, and then planting himself upon his prostrate form, in such a manner that he dared not move.

”Oh, good, good,” said Jenny, coming out from her concealment; ”make Ta.s.so keep him there ever so long; and,” she continued, patting the dog, ”if you won't hurt him much, you may shake him just a little.”

”No, no,” said Henry, writhing with fear, ”call him off, do call him off. Oh, mercy!” he added, as Ta.s.so, who did not particularly care to have the case reasoned, showed two rows of very white teeth.

Mary could not help laughing at the figure which Henry cut; but thinking him sufficiently punished, she called off the dog, who obeyed rather unwillingly, and ever after manifested his dislike to Henry by growling angrily whenever he appeared.

One morning about two weeks afterwards, Mary was in the meadow gathering cowslips for dinner, when she heard some one calling her name; and looking up, she saw Jenny hurrying towards her, her sun-bonnet hanging down her back as usual, and her cheeks flushed with violent exercise. As soon as she came up, she began with, ”Oh my, ain't I hot and tired, and I can't stay a minute either, for I run away. But I had such good news to tell you, that I would come. You are going to have a great deal better home than this. You know where Rice Corner is, the district over east?”

Mary replied that she did, and Jenny continued: ”We all went over there yesterday to see Mrs. Mason. She's a real nice lady, who used to live in Boston, and be intimate with ma, until three or four years ago, when Mr. Mason died. We didn't go there any more then, and I asked Rose what the reason was, and she said Mrs. Mason was poor now, and ma had 'cut her;' and when I asked her what she _cut_ her with, she only laughed, and said she believed I didn't know any thing. But since then I've learned what it means.”

”What does it?” asked Mary, and Jenny replied: ”If a person dies and leaves no money, no matter how good his folks are, or how much you like them, you mustn't know them when you meet them in the street, or you must cross over the other side if you see them coming; and then when ladies call and speak about them, you must draw a great long breath, and wonder 'how the poor thing will get along, she was so dreadful extravagant.' I positively heard mother say those very words about Mrs. Mason; and what is so funny, the washwoman the same day spoke of her, and cried when she told how kind she was, and how she would go without things herself for the sake of giving to the poor.

It's queer, isn't it?”