Six Girls Part 46

"Where'd you come from?"

"Off," said the stranger, with a flourish of both small arms, intended to indicate some great distance. "Runned off."

"Did you? From Pansy?"

"Yeth." And the bunch of ruffles and brown ribbon shook its head with distinctive force, while the bits of slippered feet began to dance wildly up and down the hall.

"Mama'll come," said the judge, warningly, and, sure enough, out came a lady, with the loveliest face, and a white lace cap on her grey hair.

"Come, dears," she said, in a voice we know well and both flew to her, for who was dearer to their loving hearts than "Dramma?" "Time for little birdies to be eating supper, and getting little peepers shut up tight, before Santa Claus comes," she said, going towards the dining room, with a little hopper clinging to each hand, and playing peep around her. Tom was already at the table, pounding with his spoon, and smiling serenely through the milk that spattered his face from forehead to chin, and there were two other bowls and spoons and high chairs, ready and waiting.

"Naughty Louise," said Mrs. Kittie, as she lifted the white-robed morsel to her chair, and tied on her bib. "Run away from poor sister Pansy, and make her feel bad."

"All baddy, mama?" inquired Louise, looking over her bowl with repentant eyes.

"She comed in the front door," said Philip, otherwise the judge, who was the eldest hopeful of the Barnett household, and was, at present, under the care of aunt Kathy, as mama Bea had the baby in the sitting-room. "I thaw her," he went on to explain with care; but was evidently disgusted, that every one laughed and talked, instead of listening to him; so paused right there, and ate his bread and milk in silence and with dignity, not even unbending when Tom and Louise had a skirmish, and testified their cousinly regard, by throwing their spoons at each other, and upsetting what milk had been left in their bowls.

"Dear me, what children!" cried Kittie, running for a towel, with a laugh that sounded as though "such children" were very delightful.

"Thomas, Thomas!" said Mrs. Kat, with an air of grave reproof, such as she sometimes wasted on her lively son; and Thomas looked up at her, with roguish eyes, brimful of mischief, and fairly crowed with glee, a method of expression that he resorted to in gay moments, as it was still an exertion for him to talk.

When the young people were finally carried off to bed, every one went along, for the gentlemen were all down town, and what better could the mothers and aunties do than follow the procession headed by "Dramma,"

and watch the roguish imps get into their snowy little nests? There was much skirmis.h.i.+ng and crowing, but it all ended in a doleful wail, for Tom fell out of bed and b.u.mped his precious head, and refused to be comforted, in any way, shape, or form, until Philip was heard to remark with admiration:

"You stood on your head, Tom, and wath straight up," and that was Balm-of-Gilead to the infantile soul of that Young America, for he immediately ceased to weep, and looked content.

They all lingered there some time after the children had grown quiet, but finally went down stairs, and left Grandma rocking and watching, till the last little peeper should be closed, for she insisted on staying, as all the little folks were not with her always, and dearly she enjoyed each moment spent with them.

Down stairs, the sisters cl.u.s.tered about the fire, with all the old girlish love and glee, and looking at them, in that familiar group, very few changes were noticeable, for time brings few foot-prints if the heart is happy. Bea wore a matronly little cap of bits of lace and blue bows, and held in her arms a gleeful baby, with roguish eyes and sunny little rings of hair, who was named after dear grandma, and who obstinately refused to go "by-low," as any well regulated baby ought to do, by seven o'clock in the evening. Kittie and Kat, on the lounge with clasped arms as of old, looked scarcely a whit changed, though they were both indelibly stamped with the grace and elegance of city ladies, and had fulfilled the promise in girlhood, by becoming truly refined and lovely women. The little stool by the fire was not vacant, for there sat Jean as of old, with the same sweet face and lovely eyes, only now she was taller than mama, and the still childish face wore a perfect happiness, for on the hand that supported her chin, the firelight showed a ring, and in the smiling eyes any one could read the story of it.

Olive was there too. Olive, of whom they were all so proud, and who was still Olive Dering; and time had made her very fair to look upon; for energy and purpose had stamped her face indelibly, and the clear eyes were beautiful in their light of strength and happy content. She was no longer a struggling girl, battling with all circ.u.mstances, and fighting her way into work, but a woman, restful, yet not resting, in perfect success; for every nerve was still alert to further progress, and every wish and ambition had been sacrificed to one great desire, which would next year be satisfied; she was going to Europe. Masters and travel awaited her eager heart, and her own hand had carved the way. Her studio in New York was filled with works; many homes, far and wide, owed their pleasure, in the portrayed face of some dear one, to her pencil or brushes; and a large cla.s.s, constantly increasing in size, trod the first pathways of art under her careful guidance. And so with hard work and economy, the money had come in, and been laid away; and now at last, there was enough. Mother and Olive were going to Europe.

I know it is all very nice and easy to carry a girl through ambitious battles in a book, and after a lapse of years, which are left to the imagination, to bring her out, glowing with success, and with her heart's desire realized. It is done in a book this time; but Olive Dering's love and longing for art, her struggles, determination, and final success, are taken from the life of one who still lives, and who is now enjoying the perfect happiness earned by hard labor, in the galleries of the old masters. There had been toil and troubles and trials; discouraging tears and times of despair, in the years through which we have slipped without a pause; but it would do no good to tell them all; it is enough to know that patience, perseverance and will had overcome them, as there is rarely a case where they will not.

"Next year this time we'll not be here together," said Kittie, breaking a long pause, such as will often come, when hearts are content with worldless communion.

"Why not?" asked Jean. "Mama and Olive being in Italy, is no reason why you should not come and spend Christmas with me."

"Bless the baby, to think she will be married then," exclaimed Bea, caressing the brown head with loving hand. "Every one gone from the old home but Jeanie, and she presiding over it, a married lady; to think of it, girls?"

"So wags the world," said Kat with a brisk nod. "I think it would be sad to come here and spend Christmas, with Olive and mama gone; but you must all come to Boston, and if my house isn't big enough, I'll have an addition put on."

"No, my home is best," put in Kittie with decision. "It's between you all, and is plenty big enough. That is the place."

"Yes, indeed," chimed in Pansy, who was now a tall pretty girl of ten, and perfectly devoted to mama. "We want you to come to New York, and spoke about it before we left home; didn't we mama?"

"Yes, and we'll wage a brisk war with any one who puts in a claim, so you had better subside at once my dear," answered Kittie with a smile at her twin, which looked like most anything except a war-like preparation.

"There's the gate, the boys are coming," was the answer of Mrs. Kat, and sure enough, there arose a clatter of feet on the porch, a smell of cigar smoke in the air, and in came "the boys," with the usual amount of noise, which boys, big or little, invariably make; and then grandma came flitting down stairs, with a smile and a warning "hush;" and there they were all together.

Supper was a gloriously gay meal, where every one's health was drank in fragrant coffee, from Grandma Dering, down to Prince, who had been returned to the home of his youth, and was pa.s.sing his last days in peaceful content, with just enough exercise to keep his old bones from rusting out too fast. And then they talked of those who were gone from the circle: Father Dering, Ernestine, and lastly, dear old Uncle Ridley, who had died that year, and for whom every one had such a warm loving memory.

After supper the boys went off to the library to smoke, and mother and daughters cl.u.s.tered together in the dear old sitting-room, to chat lovingly as in other days; for now, as then, the sweet motherly face, to which they still looked for love, comfort, and praise, was the dearest in the world to them, and the loveliest, they all thought, with its serene happy smile and contented loving eyes.

"Has anybody any disappointments to tell to-night," she asked, looking around at the bright happy faces, and remembering another night long ago, when they all sat so, and told such.

"Yes, I've got one," announced Kat, just as briskly as she had done on that other night. "I can't, to save my life, arrive at the point where I will always look stately and unruffled, and ready to receive callers, in spite of babies and household work, as Mrs. McGregor does, who lives opposite me. And then, I do believe that Thomas is going to be short and fat, instead of tall and slim, and from present indications I think he will prefer being a clown to anything else in the world. That's my disappointment, and it's just about as sensible as my other, but it's the best I've got. What's yours, Kittie?"

"I don't know, I'm sure," answered Kittie, looking down into Pansy's upturned face, and laying her hand lovingly on the curly head. "I have the dearest husband, and two of the most precious little daughters in the world, and what more could I ask? I always did want curly hair and black eyes, but Pansy has one, and Louise the other, so I'm content. The only disappointment I have, is that mama and Olive will not be with us next Christmas."

"Well, I've a very small one," said Bea, as she rocked and trotted, with a vain attempt to get small Bessie's eyes shut. "Walter isn't quite as well as I should like to have him; he works too hard, poor fellow, and I want him to go off to the mountains next summer, and get rested, but we can't all afford to go, and he says he will not go and leave me at home in the hot weather with the house and babies. So I can't help worrying and wis.h.i.+ng that I could help him some way."

"You do help him, dear," interposed Mrs. Dering promptly. "You keep home bright and happy, and antic.i.p.ate all his wants and wishes. In times of weariness or trouble, he has you and the dear babies for comfort. You love, sympathize and help him in a thousand ways, the want of which he could not do without."

"And sew on his b.u.t.tons," added Kat. "Don't leave that out, for if he's anything like Ralph, it's a mighty big item."

"And here's my little girl," continued Mrs. Dering in a moment, and looking down at Jean, whose head lay in her lap. "Has she any?"

"None, mama," answered Jean, looking up with happy eyes. "Except that you are going away, and that Uncle Ridley is not here."

"Surely, no one supposes for an instant that I have any," said Olive, and every one shook their heads in a decided negative, except Mrs.

Dering, and she looked across into Olive's eyes with a smile, and Olive, catching the look, dropped them to the fire, and said no more. She had intimated that she had none; but was it so in the depths of her heart?

Was she quite content?

"You do to-night, as you did before, and no one asks me for mine," said Mrs. Dering with a smile. "Do you rightly guess that I have none?"

"We hope that you have none, mama," said Bea, lovingly.

"Indeed, I have not, my dear girls; instead, as I sit here to-night with you all around me, I wonder if I am fully grateful for how good G.o.d has been to me. I look at you, and I see in my girls just such good, true women as their father would have them, and I am more than content. I would that these three vacant places might be filled to-night, but G.o.d knows best, and I feel only love, not regret. No, my dear girls, I have no disappointments to-night, only a heart full of happiness and content."

They were silent after that for a little while, and then Bess dropped to sleep, and Olive crossed to Bea's side, as the gentlemen were heard coming from the library.

"Let me take her up stairs, Bea--you look tired;" and Bea handed the precious charge over, and Olive went slowly up stairs, with her arms tenderly clasped about the little form, her cheeks laid to the soft baby face, and a look in her eyes that mother might have read had she seen it.

The sleepers already there, and sprawled about in characteristic att.i.tudes, was a sight to hold one's gaze.

Philip lay perfectly straight and orderly, with a sober countenance, and both hands crossed on his little stomach; while Tom, the tumbler, had completely reversed himself, and lay with his feet on the pillow, his body in a snarl, and his head just ready to fall off the edge with the next jerk. Louise had dispensed with her pillow, it was on the floor, while she lay in the sweetest possible att.i.tude, with one tiny hand under the dimpled cheek, on which the long, dark lashes rested softly, and one wee snowy little foot peeped out of the clothes. Olive laid the baby in its nest, and covered it warmly, bending many times to kiss the rosy little face; then she righted Tom, restored the pillow, and removed some of Philip's covering, as he seemed to be too warm; and then she stood still looking at them.

Was she perfectly happy, and quite content?

The pale light that fell across her, as she stood there watching the sleepers, with eyes that were traitorously expressive, would have made a very dear picture to one pair of eyes, had they not been too far away to rest on. The grey dress which she wore, fell in colorless draperies, and the soft laces at her throat and wrists, were very becoming to the clear skin. In the rich dark hair, was a white flower, that touched the tip of her ear as with a caress; but greatest of all was the eyes, that were growing dim with tears, as she stood there. The feeling that was in her heart was no new one, but to-night it came differently from what it ever had before. Then it had only been a half defined loneliness that could be quenched with a little effort, and pa.s.s without a name; but to-night it came surging up and a.s.sumed shape and t.i.tle before her eyes. She had no claim on these little ones; she would never be able to stand so and watch one of her own in its innocent sleep. Would never feel the tender happiness of knowing that her blood beat in another little heart, that her life had given breath to its laughing lips, and the warm color to the dimpled cheeks. In the room down stairs, each sister had her own; even little Jean would soon be claimed by one to whom she was dearer than all else in the world; and in a few years mother might be gone, and then--_success_ was hers. She had worked and won. Her name was on many lips, and her fame spreading. The goal she had looked forward to for years, with eager heart, was hers at last, and while the antic.i.p.ation, had in this case, lost nothing through possession; did it wholly satisfy her? Was there no corner, no longing, or want that brushes, oils, and inspiration failed to satisfy? Her eyes grew blind with strange, wistful tears, a queer choking filled her throat, and with a sudden movement she had crossed the room and knelt down by the baby. Had she no disappointment? Would she not have said "come," to some one, still a wanderer beyond the seas, had it been in her power? Or, had he stood before her, with the old, old longing, would she have drawn back and said: "My art is all I want."

Ah, indeed, Uncle Ridley had been right:

"A single flame gives little warmth, and needs a kindred spark."

Art was none the less dear, but the woman's heart had a.s.serted itself, and there was a yearning pa.s.sionate cry for a love that would answer to that, which had so strangely grown within her heart, and which called for something more than a lifeless irresponsive idol.

Sometimes, even out of books, the right thing happens just at the right moment; then, again, sometimes it does not; but this is what happened just at that moment. Some one had been standing in the shadow outside the door, for several moments and now entered, and crossing the room, stood beside her, kneeling there, and said: