Little Folks Astray by Sophia May (Rebecca Sophia Clarke)
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6 LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY.
BY SOPHIE MAY
"To give room for wandering is it
That the world was made so wide."
1872
TO
MY YOUNG FRIEND,
EMMA ADAMS.
"JOHNNIE OPTIC."
TO PARENTS.
Here come the Parlins and Cliffords again. They had been sent to bed and
nicely tucked in, but would not stay asleep. They "wanted to see the
company down stairs;" so they have dressed themselves, and come back to
the parlor. I trust you will pardon them, dear friends. Is it not a
common thing, in this degenerate age, for grown people to frown and
shake their heads, while little people do exactly as they please?
Well, one thing is certain: if these children insist upon sitting up,
they shall listen to lectures on self-will and disrespect to superiors,
which will make their ears tingle.
Moreover, they shall hear of other people, and not always of themselves.
Fly Clifford, who expects to be in the middle, will be somewhat
overwhelmed, like a fly in a cup of milk; for Grandma Read is to talk
her down with her Quaker speech, and Aunt Madge with her story of the
summer when she was a child. It is but fair that the elders should have
a voice. That they may speak words which shall come home to many little
hearts, and move them for good, is the earnest wish of
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. THE LETTER
II. THE UNDERTAKING
III. THE FROLIC
IV. "TAKING OUR AIRS"
V. DOTTY HAVING HER OWN WAY
VI. DOTTY REBUKED
VII. THE LOST FLY
VIII. "THE FRECKLED DOG"
IX. MARIA'S MOTHER
X. FIVE MAKING A CALL
XI. "THE HEN-HOUSES"
XII. "GRANNY"
XIII. THE PUMPKIN HOOD
LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY.
CHAPTER I.
THE LETTER.
Katie Clifford sat on the floor, in the sun, feeding her white mice. She
had a tea-spoon and a cup of bread and milk in her hands. If she had
been their own mother she could not have smiled down on the little
creatures more sweetly.
"'Cause I spect they's hungry, and that's why I'm goin' to give 'em
sumpin' to eat. Shut your moufs and open your eyes," said she, waving
the tea-spoon, and spattering the bread and milk over their backs.
"Quee, quee," squeaked the little mice, very well pleased when a drop
happened to go into their mouths.
"What are you doing there, Miss Topknot," said Horace: "O, I see;
catching rats."
Flyaway frowned fearfully, and the tuft of hair atop of her head danced
like a war-plume.
"I shouldn't think folks would call 'em names, Hollis, when they never
did a thing to you. Nothing but clean white mouses!"
"Let's see; now I look at 'em, Topknot, they _are_ white. And what's all
this paper?"
"Bed-kilts."
"_In_-deed?"
"You knew it by-fore!"
"One, two, three; I thought the doctor gave you five. Where are they
gone?"
"Well, there hasn't but two died; the rest'll live," said Fly, swinging
one of them around by its tail, as if it had been a tame cherry.
Just then Grace came and stood in the parlor doorway.
"O, fie!" said she; "what work! Ma doesn't allow that cage in the
parlor. You just carry it out, Fly Clifford."
Miss Thistledown Flyaway looked up at her sister shyly, out of the
corners of her eyes. Grace was now a beautiful young lady of sixteen,
and almost as tall as her mother. Flyaway adored her, but there was a
growing doubt in her mind whether sister Grace had a right to use the
tone of command.
"'Cause I spect she isn't my mamma."
"Why, Fly, you haven't started yet!"
"I didn't think 'twas best," responded the child, sulkily, fixing her
eyes on the mice, who were dancing whirligigs round the wheel.
"Come here to your best friend, little Topknot," said Horace. "Let's
take that cage into the green-house, and ask papa to keep it there,
because the mice look like water-lilies on long stems."
Flyaway brightened at once. She knew water-lilies were lovely. Giving
Grace a triumphant glance, she danced across the room, and put the cage
in Horace's hands, with a smile of trusting love that thrilled his
heart.
"Hollis laughs at my mouses, but he don't say, 'Put 'em away,' and,
'_Put_ 'em away;' he says, 'Little gee-urls wants to see things as much
as anybody else,'" thought she, gratefully.
"Horace," said Grace, with a curling lip, "that child is growing up
just like you--fond of worms, and bugs, and all such disgusting things."
Horace smiled. No matter for the scorn in Grace's tone; it pleased him
to be compared in any way with his precious little Flyaway.
"Topknot has a spark of sense," said he, leading her along to the
green-house. "I'll bring her up not to scream at a spider."
"Now, young lady," said he, setting the cage on the shelf beside a
camellia, and speaking in a low voice, though they were quite alone,
"_can_ you keep a secret?"
"Course I can; What _is_ a _secrid_?"
"Why, it's something you musn't ever tell, Topknot, not to anybody that
lives."
"Then I won't, _cerdily_,--not to mamma, nor papa, nor Gracie."
"Nor anybody else?"
"No; course not. _Whobody_ else could I? O, 'cept Phibby. There, now,
what's the name of it."
"The name of it is--a secret, and the secret is this--Sure you won't
tell any single body, Topknot?"
"No; I said, _whobody_ could I tell? O, 'cept Tinka! There now!"
"Well, the secret is this," said Horace, laying his forefingers
together, and speaking very slowly, in order to prolong the immense
delight he felt in watching the little one's eager face. "You know
you've got an aunt Madge?"
"Yes; so've you, too."
"And she lives in the city of New York."
"Does she? When'd she go?"
"Why, she has always lived there; ever since she was married."
"O, yes; and uncle Gustus was married, too; they was both married. Is
that all?"
"And she thinks you and I are 'cute chicks, and wants us to go and see
her."
"Well, course she does; I knew that before," said Fly, turning away with
indifference; "I did go with mamma."
"O, but she means now, Topknot; this very Christmas. She said it in a
letter."
"Does she truly?" said Fly, beginning to look pleased. "But it can't be
a _secrid_, though," added she, next moment, sadly, "'cause we can't go,
Hollis."
"But I really think we shall go, Topknot; that is, if you don't spoil
the whole by telling."
"O, I cerdily won't tell!" said Fly, fluttering all over with a sense of
importance, like a kitten with its first mouse.
The breakfast bell rang; and, with many a word of warning, Horace led
his little sister into the dining-room.
"Papa," said she, the moment she was established in her high chair, "I
know sumpin'."
"O, Topknot!" cried Horace.
"I know Hollis has got his elbows on the table. There, now, _did_ I
tell?"
"Hu--sh, Topknot!"
There was a quiet moment while Mr. Clifford said grace.
"Hollis," whispered Katie immediately afterwards, "will I take my
mouses?"
"'Sh, Topknot!"
"What's going on there between you and Horace?" laughed Grace.
"A _secrid_," said Fly, nipping her little lips together. "You won't get
me to tell."
"Horace," exclaimed Mrs. Clifford, "you haven't--"
"Why, mother, I thought it was all settled, and wouldn't do any harm;
and it pleases her so!"
"Well, my son, you've made a hard day's work for me," said Mrs.
Clifford, smiling behind her coffee-cup, as eager little Katie swayed
back and forth in her high chair.
"You won't get me to tell, Gracie Clifford. She don't want nobody but
Hollis and me; she thinks we're very 'cute."
"Who? O, Aunt Louise, probably."
"No, aunt Louise never! It's the auntie that lives to New York."
"Sh, Topknot!"
"Well, I didn't tell, Hollis Clifford!"
"So you didn't," said Grace. "But wouldn't it be nice if somebody should
ask you to go somewhere to spend Christmas?"
"Well, _there is_!"
"O, Topknot," cried Horace, in mock distress, "you said you could keep
a secret."
Flyaway looked frightened.
"What'd I do?" cried she; "I didn't tell nuffin 'bout the letter!"
This last speech set everybody to laughing; and the little tell-tale
looked around from one to another with a face full of innocent wonder.
They couldn't be laughing at _her_!
"I can keep secrids," said she, with dignity. "It was what I was
a-doin'."
"It is your brother Horace who cannot be trusted to keep secrets," said
Mrs. Clifford, taking a letter from her pocket. "Hear, now, what your
Aunt Madge has written: 'Will you lend me your children for the
holidays, Maria? I want all three; at any rate, two.'"
"That's me," cried Flyaway, tipping over her white coffee; "'_tenny
rate two_,' means me."
"Don't interrupt me, dear. 'Brother Edward has promised me Prudy and
Dotty Dimple. They may have a Santa Claus, or whatever they like. I
shall devote myself to making them happy, and I am sure there are plenty
of things in New York to amuse them. Horace must come without fail; for
the little girl-cousins always depend so much upon him.'"
A smile rose to Horace's mouth; but he rubbed it off with his napkin. It
was his boast that he was above being flattered.
"But why not have Grace go, too, to keep them steady?" said Mr.
Clifford, bluntly.
Horace applied himself to his buckwheat cakes in silence, and looked
rather gloomy.
"Why, I suppose, Henry, it would hardly be safe to send Grace, on
account of her cough."
"I'm so sorry you asked Dr. De Bruler a word about it, mamma; but I
suppose I must submit," said Grace, with a face as cloudy as Horace's.
"Horace, my son, do you really feel equal to the task of taking this
tuft of feathers to New York?"
"I don't know why not, father; I'm willing to try."
"Horace has good courage," said Grace, shaking her auburn curls like so
many exclamation points. "I never could! I never would! I'd as soon have
the care of a flying squirrel!"
"Hollis never called me a _squirl_," said Fly, demurely. "I've got two
brothers, and one of 'em is an angel, and the other isn't; but Hollis
is _'most_ as good as the one up in the sky."
"Well, my son," remarked Mr. Clifford, after a pause, "if your mother
gives her consent, I suppose I shall give mine; but it does not look
clear to me yet. One thing is certain, Horace; if you do undertake this
journey, you must live on the watch: you must sleep with both eyes open.
Don't trust the child out of your sight--not for a moment. Don't even
let go her hand on the street."
"I do believe Horace will be as careful as either you or I, Henry, or I
certainly wouldn't trust him with our last little darling," said Mrs.
Clifford.
His mother's words dropped like balm upon Horace's wounded spirit. He
looked up, and felt himself a man again.
CHAPTER II.
THE UNDERTAKING.
When Flyaway knew she was going to New York, it was about as easy to fit
her dresses as to clothe a buzzing blue-bottle fly. With spinning head
and dancing feet, she was set down, at last, in the cars.
"Here we are, all by ourselves, darling, starting off for Gotham. Wave
your handkerchief to mamma. Don't you see her kissing her hand? There,
you needn't spring out of the window! And I declare, Brown-brimmer, if
you haven't thrown away your handkerchief! Here, cry into mine!"
"I didn't want to cry, Hollis; I wanted to laugh," said the child,
wiping her eyes with her doll's cloak. "When you ride in carriages, you
don't get anywhere; but when you ride in the cars, you get there right
off."
"Yes; that's so, my dear. You are in the right of it, as you always are.
Now I am going to turn the seat over, and sit where I can look at
you--just so."
"O, that's just as splendid, Hollis! Now there's only me and Flipperty.
There, I put her 'pellent cloak on wrong; but see, now, I've
un-_wrong-side-outed_ it! Don't she sit up like a lady?"
Her name was Flipperty Flop. She was a large jointed doll (not a doll
with large joints,) had seen a great deal of the world, and didn't think
much of it. She came of a high family, and had such blue blood in her
veins, that the ground wasn't good enough for her to walk on. She wore
a "'pellent cloak" and rubber boots, and had a shopping-bag on her arm
full of "choclid" cakes. She was nearly as large as her mother, and all
of two years older. A great deal had happened to her before her mother
was born, and a great deal more since. Sometimes it was dropsy, and she
had to be tapped, when pints of sawdust would run out. Sometimes it was
consumption, and she wasted to such a skeleton that she had to be
revived with cotton. She had lost her head more than once, but it never
affected her brains: she was all the better with a young head now and
then on her old shoulders. Her present ailment appeared to be small-pox;
she was badly pitted with pins and a penknife. "I declare I forgot to
get a ticket for her," said Horace. "What if the conductor shouldn't
let her pass?"
"O, Hollis, but he must?" cried Fly, springing to her feet; "_I_ shan't
pass athout my Flipperty! Tell the 'ductor 'bout my white mouses died,
and I can't go athout sumpin to carry."
"Pshaw! Dotty Dimple don't carry dolls. She don't like 'em: sensible
girls never do."
"Well, _I_ like 'em," said Flyaway, nothing daunted. "You knew it
byfore; 'n if you didn't want Flipperty, you'd ought to not come!"
Horace laughed, as he always did when his little sister tried her power
over him. The conductor was an old acquaintance, and he told him how it
stood with Flipperty, how she was needed at New York, and all that;
whereupon Mr. Van Dusen gave Fly a little green card, and told her to
keep it to show to all the conductors on the road; for it was a free
pass, and would take Flipperty all over the United States.
"Yes, sir, if you please," said Fly, with a blush and a smile, and put
the "free pass" in Miss Flop's cloak pocket.
After this, she never once failed to show it, whenever Mr. Van Dusen, or
any other conductor, came near, but always had to hunt for it, and once
brought up a cookie instead, which fearful mistake mortified her to the
depths of her soul.
Horace was sure all eyes were fixed on his charming little charge, and
was proud of the honor of showing her off; but he paid for it dearly; it
cost him more than his Latin, with all the irregular verbs. There was no
such thing as her being comfortable. She was full of care about him,
herself, and the baggage. Flipperty lost off a rubber boot, which
bounced over into the next seat. Horace had to ask a gentleman and his
sick daughter to move, and, after all, it was in an old lady's lap.
Then Fly's feet were cold, and Horace took her to the stove; but that
made her eyes too hot, and she danced back, to lie with her head on his
breast and her feet against the window, till she suddenly whirled
straight about, and planted her tiny boots under his chin.
"O, Topknot, Topknot, I pity that woman with the baby, if she feels as
lame all over as I do!"
"Where's the baby, Hollis? O, I see."
"What's the matter, now? Why upon earth can't you sit still, child?"
said Horace, next minute, catching her as she was darting into the
aisle, dragging Miss Flop by the hair of the head.
"O, Hollis, don't you see there's a dolly over there, with two girls and
a lady with red clo'es on? 'Haps they'd be willing for her to get
'quainted with Flipperty?"
"Well, Topknot, 'haps they would, but 'haps I wouldn't. I can't have you
dancing all over the car, in this style."
Flyaways's lip quivered, and a tear started. Horace was moved. One of
Fly's tears weighed a pound with him, even when it only wet her
eyelashes, and wasn't heavy enough to drop.
"Well, there, darling, you just sit still,--not still enough, though, to
give you a pain (Fly always said it gave her a pain to sit still),--and
I'll bring the girls and dollie over here to you. Will that do?"
Fly thought it would.
A dreadful fit of bashfulness came over Horace, when he stood face to
face with the black-eyed lady and her daughters, and tried to speak.
"I've got a little girl travelling with me, ma'am; she's so--so uneasy,
that I don't know what to do with her. Will you let me take--I mean, are
you willing--"
"Bring her over here, and we will try to amuse her," said the black-eyed
lady, pleasantly; but Horace was sure he saw the oldest girl laughing at
him.
"It's no fun to go and make a fool of yourself," thought he, leading Fly
to the new acquaintances, and standing by as she settled herself shyly
in the seat.
"How do you do, little one? What is your name?--_Flyaway_?--Well, you
look like it. We saw you were a darling, clear across the aisle. And you
have a kind brother, I know."
At these words Fly, for want of some answer to make, sprang forward and
kissed Horace on the bridge of the nose.
"There, you've knocked off my cap."
In stooping to pick it up, he awkwardly hit his head against the older
girl, who already looked so mischievous that he was rather afraid of
her.
"Wish I could get out of the way. She expects me to speak, but I shan't.
"'Needles and pins, needles and pins,
When a man travels his trouble begins.'"
Horace was obliged to stand, very ill at ease, till the black-eyed lady
had found out where he lived, who his father was, and what was his
mother's name before she was married.
"Tell your father, when you go home, you have seen Mrs. Bonnycastle,
formerly Ann Jones, and give him my regards. I knew he married a lady
from Maine."
"I know sumpin," struck in Fly; "if ever _I_ marry anybody, I'll marry
my own brother Hollis. I mean if I don't be a ole maid!"
"And what is 'a ole maid,' you little witch?"
"I don' know; some folks is," was the wise reply. Flyaway was about to
add "Gampa Clifford," but did not feel well enough acquainted to talk of
family matters.
When the Bonnycastles left, at Cleveland, Horace thought that was the
last of them. Miss Gerty was "decent-looking, looked some like Cassy
Hallock; but he couldn't bear to see folks giggle; hoped he never should
set eyes on those people again." Whether he ever did, you shall hear one
of these days.
"O, Topknot," said he, "your hair looks like a mop. Do you want all
creation laughing at you? You'll mortify me to death."
"You ought to water it. If you don't take better care o' your little
sister, I won't never ride with you no more, Hollis Clifford!"
"Well, see that you don't, you little scarecrow," said the suffering
boy, out of all patience. "If you are going to act in New York as you
have on the road, I wish I was well out of this scrape."
Flyaway was really a sight to behold. How she managed to tear her dress
off the waist, and loose five boot buttons, and last, but not least, the
very hat she wore on her head, _would_ have been a mystery if you hadn't
seen her run.
When they reached the city, Horace put the soft, flying locks in as
good order as he could, and tied them up in his handkerchief.
"I wisht I hadn't come," whined Fly; "I don't want to wear a hangerfiss;
'tisn't speckerble!"
"Hush right up! I'm not going to have you get cold!--My sorrows! Shan't
I be thankful when I get where there's a woman to take care of her?"
On the platform at the depot, aunt Madge, Prudy, and Dotty Dimple, were
waiting for them. A hearty laugh went the rounds, which Fly thought was
decidedly silly. Aunt Madge took the young travellers right into her
arms, and hugged them in her own cordial style, as if her heart had been
hungry for them for many a day.
"We're so glad!--for it did seem as if you'd never come," exclaimed
Dotty Dimple.
"And I'd like to know," said Horace, "how you happened to get here
first."
"O, we came by express--came yesterday."
"By 'spress?" cried Flyaway, pulling away from aunt Madge, who was
trying to pin her frock together; "_we_ came by a 'ductor.--Why, where's
Flipperty's ticket?"
Horace seized Prudy with one hand, and Dotty Dimple with the other,
turning them round and round.
"I don't see anything of the express mark, 'Handle with care.' What has
become of it?"
"O, we were done up in brown paper," said Prudy, laughing, "and the
express mark was on that; but aunt Madge took it off as soon as she got
the packages home."
"Why, what a story, Prudy Parlin! We didn't have a speck of brown paper
round us. Just cloaks and hats with feathers in!"
Dotty spoke with some irritation. She had all along been rather
sensitive about being sent by express, and could not bear any allusion
to the subject.
"There, that's Miss Dimple herself. Let me shake hands with your
Dimpleship! Didn't come to New York to take a joke,--did you?"
"No, her Dimpleship came to New York to get warm," said Peacemaker
Prudy; "and so did I, too. You don't know how cold it is in Maine."
By this time they were rattling over the stones in their aunt's elegant
carriage. It was dusk; the lamps were lighted, the streets crowded with
people, the shops blazing with gay colors.
"I didn't come here to get warm, either," said Dotty, determined to
have the last word: "I was warm enough in Portland. I s'pose we've got a
furnace,--haven't we?--and a coal grate, too."
"I do hope Horace hasnt't got her started in a contrary fit," thought
Prudy; "I brought her all the way from home without her saying a cross
word."
But aunt Madge had a witch's broom, to sweep cobwebs out of the sky.
Putting her arm around Dotty, she said,--
"You all came to bring sunshine into my house; bless your happy hearts."
That cleared Dotty's sky, and she put up her lips for a kiss; while
Flyaway, with her "hangerfiss" on, danced about the carriage like a fly
in a bottle, kissing everybody, and Horace twice over.
"'Cause I spect we've got there. But, Hollis," said she, with the
comical shade of care which so often flitted across her little face,
"you never put the trunk in here. Now that 'ductor has gone and carried
off my nightie."
CHAPTER III.
THE FROLIC.
If Aunt Madge had dressed in linsey woolsey, with a checked apron on,
she would still have been lovely. A white rose is lovely even in a
cracked tea-cup. But Colonel Augustus Allen was a rich man, and his wife
could afford to dress elegantly. Horace followed her to-night with
admiring eyes.
"They say she isn't as handsome as Aunt Louise, but I know better; you
needn't tell me! Her eyes have got the real good twinkle, and that's
enough said."
Horace was like most boys; he mistook loveliness for beauty. Mrs.
Allen's small figure, gentle gray eyes, and fair curls made her seem
almost insignificant beside the splendid Louise; but Horace knew better;
you needn't tell _him_!
"Horace," said Aunt Madge, "your Uncle Augustus is gone, and that is one
reason, you know, why I begged for company during the holidays. You will
be the only gentleman in the house, and we ladies herewith put ourselves
under your protection. Will you accept the charge?"
"He needn't _pertect_ ME," spoke up Miss Dimple, from the depths of an
easy-chair; "I can pertect myself."
"Don't mind going to the Museum alone, I suppose, and crossing ferries,
and riding in the Park, and being out after dark?"
"No; I'm not afraid of things," replied the strong-minded young lady;
"ask Prudy if I am. And my father lets me go in the horse-cars all over
Portland. That's since I travelled out west."
Here the bell sounded, and the only gentleman of the house gave his arm
to Mrs. Allen, to lead her out to what he supposed was supper, though he
soon found it went by the name of dinner. Neither he nor his young
cousins were accustomed to seeing so much silver and so many servants;
but they tried to appear as unconcerned as if it were an every-day
affair. Dotty afterwards said to Prudy and Horace, "I was 'stonished
when that man came to the back of my chair with the butter; but I said,
'_If_ you please, sir,' just as if I 'spected it. _He_ don't know but my
father's rich."
After dinner Fly's eyes drew together, and Prudy said,--
"O, darling, you don't know what's going to happen. Auntie said you
might sleep with Dotty and me to-night, right in the middle."
"O, dear!" drawled Flyaway; "when there's two abed, I sleep; but when
there's three abed, I open out my eyes, and can't."
"So you don't like to sleep with your cousins," said Dotty, "your dear
cousins, that came all the way from Portland to see you."
"Yes, I do," said Fly, quickly; "my eyes'll open out; but that's no
matter, 'cause I don't want to go to sleep; I'd ravver not."
They went up stairs, into a beautiful room, which aunt Madge had
arranged for them with two beds, to suit a whim of Dotty's.
"Now isn't this just splendid?" said Miss Dimple; "the carpet so soft
your boots go in like feathers; and then such pictures! Look, Fly! here
are two little girls out in a snow-storm, with an umbrella over 'em.
Aren't you glad it isn't you? And here are some squirrels, just as
natural as if they were eating grandpa's oilnuts. And see that pretty
lady with the kid, or the dog. Any way she is kissing him; and it was
all she had left out of the whole family, and she wanted to kiss
somebody."
"Yes," said aunt Madge.
"'Her sole companion in a dearth
Of love upon a hopeless earth.'
"If that makes you look so sober, children, I'm going to take it down.
Here, on this bracket, is the head of our blessed Saviour."
"O, I'm glad," said Fly. "He'll be right there, a-looking on, when we
say our prayers."
"Hear that creature talk!" whispered Dotty.
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