Part 15 (1/2)

”Yes, of course you must.” And she went.

Shock-headed Mab, Alice, and Daisy in the jaunting mail-cart, Dorrie drawing it, playing pony and careful mamma all in one; out at the gate, along the road to the copse; a river came running and babbling along by the road, as one neared the copse. Inside the copse the doves were cooing, squirrels leaping, the cuckoo crying, as the mite went along.

What would send her back? Not her baby conscience, for Annie had told her to go all by herself--big, big Annie, ever so big.

At home, the afternoon wore away, tea-time came; nurse ran down from the nursery to the dining-room to fetch her two little charges. Only Annie was there, who started up from her book, like a girl awaking from sleep.

”Why, Miss Annie, I thought Dorrie was here!” cried nurse, in surprise.

”No, she--she”--Annie's conscience gave her such a p.r.i.c.k.

”She what?” inquired nurse sharply.

”She took the dolls out in the mail-cart, and”--how Annie bowed her head as conscience whispered of that promise to her mamma broken; and her poor troubled heart also whispered, ”What if something sad was going to happen?”

Well, they sought the child here, there, and everywhere, little dreaming what had happened, what was happening still. At last Ralph started off, by the way of the copse, to look for her. Annie hurried in another direction, and nurse in yet another. Rover went with Ralph--good Rover, who could fetch, carry, and find so much. Oh, dear! what a seeking and searching love makes, when even one wee maiden is lost! Ay, lost--not a trace of her could Ralph and Rover find, till they came to the babbling river, and there, on the bank, lay a posy of lilies-of-the-valley, and a knot of ribbon from Dorrie's shoulder; the river babbled out the rest of the story. Poor Ralph! how he cried now!

”Dorrie! Dorrie!” he cried, peering down into the s.h.i.+ning river, as if fearful of seeing a sun-bonnet and a gleaming of golden hair in its depths. But no; he saw nothing, only the minnows, the water-spiders, and the pebbles.

”Lost! Rover, find!” said he to the dog, showing him Dorrie's shoulder-knot and the flowers.

Rover seemed to understand, for he sniffed at the ground, and then bounded into the river, diving down, and no doubt frightening the fishes as much as he did Ralph. Presently he came out, bringing--ah! what? Mab, dripping, water-bedabbled--a pitiful object indeed. The boy took her in his hand, too alarmed to laugh, though fright and fun almost choked him; then the dog bounded and led the way into the copse, where the doves still cooed, the squirrels leaped, and the cuckoo cried, as if no small maiden was lost, perhaps never to be found again alive. The thought made Ralph s.h.i.+ver.

The river flowed through one corner of the copse; he could see it s.h.i.+ning where the sunbeams fell through the tree branches. But Rover did not go that way: he dived away among the trees and undergrowth.

”Dorrie! Dorrie!” cried the little brother.

”Wow-wow-wow!” barked Rover, but at first no response.

Presently, ”Wow-wow-wow!” barked Rover again; it was a joyful bark, and Ralph ran to him. There lay poor tired Dorrie fast asleep, the two remaining dolls in the mail-cart smiling and staring at her. But Rover woke her with a pat, Ralph hugged her with such a fond hug; then they started homeward, Ralph taking the mail-cart, with poor wet Mab mounted in disgrace behind, Dorrie clinging to his other hand. They reached home in time to go in with mamma, returned from her visit.

”I left my dollies to go into the copse to pick some flowers, and when I came back Mab had run away; then I went into the copse to find her, and couldn't; then I cried and went to sleep, and Rover found me.” This was Dorrie's story of herself.

”I will never, never, never break a promise again, mamma!” said penitent Annie.

ROSIE'S DISAPPOINTMENT.

It _was_ a disappointment! Mother looked gravely at the clouds, Nurse shook her head, and Father said it would never do for Rosie, who was not strong, to go to a picnic if the weather was doubtful.

And it was more than doubtful; for a sharp shower made the gra.s.s and the trees and the flowers look all the more beautiful to the poor child, who was longing for a day in the woods.

”Mother, I believe it will clear up later,” she said, looking at the sky.

”I couldn't let you go, Rosie, for the gra.s.s would be wet.”

”But I could sit on a rug.”