Part 7 (1/2)
”And the window is open!” she cried, sharply. She darted across to the little figure and gathered it up into her arms. She had never been frightened about Russy before. Perhaps it was the fright that brought her to her own.
”He is cold,--his little night-dress is damp!” she said. Then her kisses rained down on the little, sleeping face. In his sleep, Russy felt them, but he thought it was Jeffy's mother kissing Jeffy.
”It feels good, doesn't it?” he murmured. ”I don't wonder Jeffy likes it! If my mother kissed _me_-- I told Jeffy she did! It was a Lie, but I had to. You have to, when they say things like that about your _mother_. You have to say she kisses you--oh, always! She comes 'way up-stairs every night a-purpose to. An' she tucks you in, an'
she calls you--_Dear_. It's a Lie an' it 'most kills you, but you have to say it. But it's perfectly awful afterwards.” He nestled against the soft down of her cloak and moaned as if in pain. ”It's awful afterwards when you have to sleep with the Lie. It's perfectly--aw--ful--”
”Oh, Carter!” the mother broke out, for it was all plain to her. In a flash of agonized understanding the wistful little sleep-story was filled out in every detail. She understood all the tragedy of it.
”Russy! Russy!” She shook him in her eagerness. ”Russy, it's my kisses! _I'm_ kissing you! It isn't Jeffy's mother,--it's your mother, Russy! Feel them!--don't you feel them on your forehead and your hair and your little red lips? It's your mother kissing _you!_”
Russy opened his eyes.
”Why! Why, so it is!” he said.
”And calling you 'Dear,' Russy! Don't you hear her? Dear boy,--_dear_ little boy! You hear her, don't you, Russy--dear?”
”Why, yes!--_why!_”
”And tucking you into bed--like this,--_so!_ She's tucking in the blanket now,--and now the little quilt, Russy! That is what mothers are for--I never thought before--oh, I never thought!” She dropped her face beside his on the pillow and fell to kissing him again. He held his face quite still for the sweet, strange baptism. Then suddenly he laughed out happily, wildly.
”Then it isn't a Lie!” he cried, in a delirium of relief and joy.
”It's true!”
Chapter VII
The Princess of Make-Believe
The Princess was was.h.i.+ng dishes. On her feet she would barely have reached the rim of the great dish-pan, but on the soap-box she did very well. A grimy calico ap.r.o.n trailed to the floor.
”Now this golden platter I must wash _extry_ clean,” the Princess said. ”The Queen is ve-ry particular about her golden platters. Last time, when I left one o' the corners--it's such a nextremely heavy platter to hold--she gave me a scold--oh, I mean--I mean she tapped me a little love pat on my cheek with her golden spoon.”
It was a great, brown-veined, stoneware platter, and the arms of the Princess ached with holding it. Then, in an unwary instant, it slipped out of her soapsudsy little fingers and crashed to the floor.
Oh! oh! the Queen! the Queen! She was coming! The Princess heard her shrill, angry voice, and felt the jar of her heavy steps. There was the s.p.a.ce of an instant--an instant is so short!--before the storm broke.
”You little limb o' Satan! That's my best platter, is it? Broke all to bits, eh? I'll break--” But there was a flurry of dingy ap.r.o.n and dingier petticoats, and the little Princess had fled. She did not stop till she was in her Secret Place among the willows. Her small lean face was pale but undaunted.
”Th-the Queen isn't feeling very well to-day,” she panted. ”It's wash-day up at the Castle. She never enjoys herself on wash-days. And then that golden platter--I'm sorry I smashed it all to flinders!
When the Prince comes I shall ask him to buy another.”
The Prince had never come, but the Princess waited for him patiently.
She sat with her face to the west and looked for him to come through the willows with the red sunset light filtering across his hair. That was the way the Prince was coming, though the time was not set. It might be a good while before he came, and then again--you never could tell!
”But when he does, and we've had a little while to get acquainted, then I shall say to him, 'Hear, O Prince, and give ear to my--my pet.i.tion! For verily, verily, I have broken many golden platters and jasper cups and saucers, and the Queen, long live her! is sore--sore--'”
The Princess pondered for the forgotten word. She put up a little lean brown hand and rubbed a tingling spot on her temple--ah, not the Queen! It was the Princess--long live her!--who was ”sore.”
”'I beseech thee, O Prince,' I shall say, 'buy new golden platters and jasper cups and saucers for the Queen, and then shall I verily, verily be--be--'”