Part 4 (1/2)
Soon after tea, f.a.n.n.y was sent for, and after many attempts, her bonnet and pretty little white Ma.r.s.eilles cloak were fastened, for she jumped, and Sallie jumped during the operation, till you would have thought they were pith witches, only they fortunately kept on their feet; afterward they kissed each other jumping, and the kisses lighted on the very ends of their noses, and Sallie ran to the corner with her, and bade her good-by, and ran back to her mother, who was standing at the door, and ran into the parlor and all round it with such a hop-skip-and-jump, that her mother thought the mayor of the city, if he only could see her, would be wanting to hire her for a lamplighter.
At last the time came for Sallie to go to bed, and she was undressed with plenty more laughing and jumping, but her dear little face grew sober and sweetly serious when she said her prayers, and in this her mother was very particular: not a word was misp.r.o.nounced; and every syllable was distinctly repeated until the little girl knew them all correctly, and what was more, understood them, and it was a beautiful sight to see the little one's clasped hands and innocent face when she asked G.o.d to bless all her relatives and friends, and make her a good child.
Sallie's mother, that evening, seemed to want a great many things out of the nursery; she was continually coming in with a light, and looking for her pocket handkerchief, or thimble, or a book.
At last Sallie grew quite impatient at these disturbances; she sat up straight in her little crib, and in a plaintive tone, said, ”Dear mamma, why do you come in so often with a light? you _invaluably_ wake me up when you do.”
Her mother rushed out of the room, light and all, to have a laugh over the long word ”invariably,” which her little Sallie had heard somewhere, and altered so comically, then returning, she kissed the little rosy cheek, and said she really would not disturb her again if she wanted anything ever so much; and with a kiss on the other cheek, as Sallie said, to make it ”_valance_,” she bade her good night.
THE NEW LITTLE FRIEND.
”Oh! here is something from Aunt f.a.n.n.y, which looks extremely interesting,” said the little mother one evening.
”Read it, do, please!” cried the children with sparkling eyes. ”We will work at our mittens harder than ever, for anything so very nice.”
So the kind mother began as follows:
MY DEAR CHILDREN--
I must tell you what happened to me this morning--not for the first time, to be sure; but as it always makes me just as happy, I might as well call them all ”first times.”
I was very busy writing a ridiculous story for you about the Honorable Mr. Kite, when a barouche full of ladies drove up to the door. As I was sitting at the window, I could see them getting out. With them was a lovely little girl.
”Oh!” said I to Sarah, my daughter, ”what a darling little child is coming here! I never saw her or the ladies before, and I am afraid they have stopped at the wrong house.”
But the front door bell rang, and a moment after the servant handed me two cards. One was quite large and almost square. It had the name of a lady upon it. The other was such a dear little card that I must give you the exact pattern. Here it is--
[Ill.u.s.tration: Miss Annie Louisa Beckwith]
name and all; and when Maria handed it to me, she said, ”Oh, ma'am! if you could only see what a sweet little girl is down stairs! She took this card out of a silver card case of about the same size as this, and she smiled and skipped into the house as if she was _so_ pleased!”
You may be sure I was not long in going down to the parlor. I had hardly got in the door when two little arms were round me, and a sweet voice said, ”Aunt f.a.n.n.y;” and when I stooped down, I think I got at least twenty kisses. Then one of the ladies took my hand, and told me how her little daughter loved me, and, above all, loved ”Lame Charley,” because she, like him, had been very ill for a long time, and his patience and sweetness had helped _her_ to be patient and sweet. ”But my darling is better now,” she continued; ”and when we came to New York, she begged me to bring her to see you.”
I came very near crying. A thankful prayer rose in my heart, that G.o.d had permitted me to add to the happiness of this little one, whose pale, delicate face showed that she had pa.s.sed through much suffering.
It does grieve me so, to know that children must sometimes spend hours and days in pain! And I stooped again and kissed this tender little blossom, and felt sure, as I looked at the soft, loving expression of her large dark eyes, that Jesus, our Saviour and Friend, had loved and comforted her all through her illness.
The other lady was her aunt--a gentle, lovely person, for whom I seemed to feel an affection at once: indeed, we all talked together like old friends, and I could hardly bear to have them go away. I had a strange feeling, as if I must have known them all before, in some far off time.
The mother's voice especially had a charming, cordial tone, which I shall always remember.
They could not stay very long, they said, because they had left a lady in the carriage who was an invalid. Then I wanted to run out and bring her in; but they said they must go; and my dear little new friend left me, with kisses, and promises to come some time and see me again.
This visit put me in mind of a story about little Annie, which I meant to have told you before. If you will please to forgive me, I will tell it to you now. I shall call it ”Ilken Annie,” because that is her own name for herself. By ”ilken” she means ”little.”
ILKEN ANNIE.
Ilken Annie lives in a beautiful house on Staten Island. Her mamma and I are great friends, and we have had plenty of pleasant fun together. Near the house is a lovely little lake, shaped exactly like the figure ”eight” turned sideways, so: [symbol]. It has a cunning little bridge in the narrowest part, across which a whole regiment of dolls could march--and you and I, too, for that matter. It is so small and pretty, that I do believe you and I could catch gold fish out of it. I have looked very hard in it to find a mermaid, which, you know, is a lady with no feet: instead of those, she has a fish's tail. I wonder how one would taste boiled; for she is only a fish, after all, like the sea horses which swim about in the aquarium at Barnum's Museum. If Annie and I ever catch a mermaid in this beautiful lake, we will be sure to tell you all about it.