Baby Pitcher's Trials Part 13

"No."

"You are turned out to gra.s.s, any how."

"Am I, Bertie?"

"Not exactly. We will play you are an exile."

"Well."

"She had no clear idea of an exile, nor of a cosset; but she had faith in Bertie, and she felt that an exile must be something very nice."

"You are an exile," said Charley, "because you cannot go into Grandma's house."

"Am I, Bertie?"

"Yes, dear."

It was true. She could not go into Grandma's house. She had to choose between Grandma and the perfumery. But she could stay out on the door-stone, as the musk-rat had done; and when Grandma talked to her from the window, she was not obliged to hold a handkerchief to her nose, as she did when the musk-rat was there. She well knew how to make amends to the dear child for her cruelty in keeping her out of doors; and such tempting sweetmeats pa.s.sed through the window, and such wonderful shapes of gingerbread, that Flora was very happy in her banishment. The little exile was not wholly deprived of society, for it happened, fortunately, that the black baby had no sense of smell.

Whether she had lost it or was born without it, Flora never knew; but she did not possess it, and so was not annoyed by the odor that troubled everybody else. It was not long before she was as highly perfumed as her mistress, and could not be tolerated in the house even for a nap. The black baby was in disgrace, and she was knocked about so roughly that her complexion was spoiled and her fine figure very much injured. Flora had serious thoughts of sending her to be repaired; but she wondered how she got so many b.u.mps. She did not know that everybody took the liberty of tossing her out whenever she was found in doors. It was a common thing to come upon her in unexpected places. Sometimes Flora met her at the foot of the steps, sometimes at the bottom of the garden; and once, after a long search, she was discovered hanging from the bough of a tree, with arms extended as if pleading for help. Flora could not reach her, and she was brought down from her perilous position by Charley and a ladder.

"I don't blame her for trying to hang herself," said Charley, who saw the housemaid when she threw her out of an upper window, "and I hope she will have better luck next time."

"Didn't hang herself," replied Flora.

"Wanted to fly."

"Like a bird."

"She did."

"Thought she was a blackbird, may be."

"Yes," said Flora, clapping her hands and laughing, "thought she was."

"She was flying away from the musk."

"No!"

"I believe she was," said Charley, solemnly, "and if you take your eyes off I am afraid you will lose her. You must watch her closely."

"I will."

Flora held the baby tightly in her arms, to prevent her soaring out of sight.

"Can't fly now, Charley Waters."

"No, but you must hold on."

Flora held on tighter than ever.

"And I would not let her go into the house any more," continued Charley.

"It does not agree with her. She cannot stay in the house."

"Keep her in the garden."

"I would."

"In the arbor?"

"Yes," said Charley, after pausing to weigh the matter, "I would keep her in the arbor."

So Dinah was forced to give up her old quarters in the house for a new home in the arbor, and Flora informed her why the change was made. For a time she was closely watched, but as she did not again attempt to fly away, Flora concluded she was contented in her new situation, and, after a while, ventured to carry her indoors occasionally. But Charley was right. Dinah could not stay in the house. She was sure to be tossed out by somebody, though Flora did not know that. She thought the black baby was pining for the outer air.

CHAPTER X.

FLORA GOES TO RIDE IN THE LITTLE BLUE CART.

Flora began to grow tired of staying so much alone, but she was not ready to give up the "'fumery," so she had to continue an exile. Dinah was no longer good company, for she had lost many of her faculties, and one eye. She glanced at Flora, with the one that was left, in a very singular manner. Perhaps she wanted to explain to her mistress that somebody had taken a fancy to the blue b.u.t.ton, but you must remember she could not talk. She could only stare in a very startling way. Flora did not like it at all, and at Amy's suggestion tied a bandage round her head, which completely hid the defect, and softened the expression of the blue b.u.t.ton remaining. She was supposed to be sweetly sleeping in the library this pleasant afternoon. She was really lying in a heap on the kitchen door step, and Flora, for lack of something better to do was hanging lazily on the big gate, gazing down the road. She was in that critical condition when mischief "takes."

She had climbed the gate and was hanging there, ready to be swayed by the first wind that blew, whether fair or foul. It happened to be a foul wind, and it came in the form of a queer little cart drawn by a limping horse moving slowly up the road. The body of the cart was a square box, and it was painted blue. The wheels were red. The old horse had been gray in his palmy days; he was now a dingy white. Flora liked him because he looked sober, and because he jumped so high when he walked; and when the cart got near enough for her to see its bright colors, she concluded to take a ride. So she got down, drew the bolt and opened the big gate (thereby breaking one of mamma's rules), and then she went out and waited at the side of the road for her carriage. The limping horse jumped so high at every step that he did not get over the ground very fast, and Flora had some time to wait. Long enough to realize that she was about to do a very wrong thing, and grieve mamma. But she did not once think of that; her head was turned by the little blue cart, and the old white horse. When the driver came within speaking distance, she nodded as a signal for him to stop, and he, thinking the child had business with him said "Whoa!" and the horse stopped.

"Anything in my line to-day, little girl?"

"Yes," said Flora. "I should like--"

"Any soap grease, old boots--iron, bottles, rags, newspapers? Carry the best of soap, and pay cash on the nail. Eight cents for white, three for colored."

"To take a ride," said Flora, somewhat bewildered, but finishing her sentence.

"Hey?"

"If you please, I should like to take a ride."

"Not with me?"

"I should."

"Not in this cart?"

"I think it is a very pretty cart, and I like your horse very much."

"You do, eh?"

"Yes," said Flora.