Mr. Pat's Little Girl Part 7

"Thank you. I suppose I dropped it. Won't you tell me who you are? I am sure you do not live in Friendship."

"No, I am visiting my grandmother. I am Rosalind Whittredge."

A strange expression crossed the face of the young lady at this announcement. Could it be that something displeased her? After a moment she spoke gravely, "I think some one is looking for you," she said.

Turning, Rosalind saw Martin in the distance, and as there seemed nothing else to do or say, she walked away. After she had gone some little distance she could not resist looking back, and just as she did so she saw the young lady fling something from her across the gra.s.s, and--it looked like a rose! Could it be her rose? Rosalind felt her cheeks growing hot.

How very strange! Here was a puzzle, indeed.

Aunt Genevieve had come for them in the carriage, and as they drove home Rosalind tried to describe the young lady she had seen, saying nothing about the rose, however.

"It must have been Celia Fair, mamma, don't you think so?" asked Genevieve.

"Fair was the name on the stone," said Rosalind, adding, "She was pretty."

Miss Whittredge looked at her mother, then as that lady was silent, she remarked, in her usual languid tone, "I think you may as well know, Rosalind, that we have nothing to do with the Fairs."

Why did it make any difference to Rosalind? Why did everything seem wrong?

Why did she feel so unhappy in spite of the blue sky and the sweet summer air?

When they reached home she sat on the garden bench and looked up at the griffins, and the fancy floated through her mind that it might be comfortable to be as unfeeling as they.

"O, dear! I am afraid I am getting out of the Forest. What shall I do?

Perhaps the magician could help me;" she clasped her hands at the thought. Why not go to see him? She knew the way.

"I will take my book to show him," she said; and running to the house for it, forgetful of everything but her longing for sympathy, a few minutes later she flitted down the driveway and out of the gate.

CHAPTER SEVENTH.

THE MAGICIAN MAKES TEA.

"--If that love or gold Can in this place buy entertainment, Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed; Here's a young maid with travel much oppress'd And faints for succour."

The magician was at work in his small garden adjusting some wire netting for the sweet peas, while Curly Q. looked on with interest, and Crisscross finished his saucer of milk.

Rosalind came through the shop so softly that only the cat was aware of it. He gazed at her in evident doubt whether to continue work on the rim of his saucer or take refuge on the fence.

"I should like to have a little house, and a dog and cat to live with me,"

she thought, sitting down on the step to wait till she should be observed. Yes, this was more like the Forest of Arden than any place she knew; her unhappiness seemed melting away in the peaceful atmosphere.

Crisscross decided she was not dangerous, and keeping an eye on her by way of precaution went on with his supper. It was not long, however, before Curly Q. discovered her presence and came bounding to her side, with a sharp bark of welcome, then back to call his master's attention.

"Why! Why!" exclaimed the magician, holding up a pair of rather grimy hands.

There could be no doubt about his being glad to see Rosalind. He asked how she was, over and over, and apologized for his hands, and smiled and nodded and indulged in all sorts of absurd gestures, which made her laugh so she couldn't try her new accomplishment of talking on her fingers.

Directly he hurried into the house, where she could hear him washing his hands, and then he came out again with a teakettle, which he filled at the cistern, and carrying it back set it on a small oil stove, which he lighted.

"We'll have some tea," he said, sitting down beside her and asking again how she was.

Rosalind summoned all her learning and spelled out carefully, with the aid of some very dainty fingers, "I-am-lon--"

"Lonesome?" repeated the magician. "That is too bad. Mr. Pat wouldn't like that."

Rosalind shook her head. The tears were near the surface, but she kept them back, and remembering her book she laid it on the magician's knee, open at the words Cousin Louis had written: "If we choose we may travel always in the Forest where the birds sing and the sunlight sifts through the trees; where although we sometimes grow footsore and hungry we know that the goal is sure. Just outside is the dreary desert in which, alas!

many choose to walk, shutting their eyes to the beauty and peace of the Forest, and losing by the way the sacred gift of happiness."

The magician read it slowly through, then he smiled at Rosalind over his gla.s.ses. "That's so," he said. "It is hard to keep out of the desert sometimes, but it all comes right in the end. Why, the other day I was--"

here he shook his head and put on a woe-begone expression of countenance that made his meaning plain, and caused Rosalind to laugh--"and I looked up and there you stood in the door and pointed to the motto, 'Good in everything,' and I felt better."

"Did I really cheer you up?" cried Rosalind, delighted; and nodding quite as if he heard, the magician answered, "Now I'll cheer you up." Rising, he beckoned her to follow him inside, and she obeyed, feeling as if she were somebody in a story.

The kettle was already singing merrily, and from a shelf the magician took down a fat little teapot and, rinsing it with boiling water, proceeded to make tea. Next he spread a white cloth on a small table, and from the cupboard took out some blue and white cups and plates.

"Let me set it," begged Rosalind, in pantomime, entering gayly into the spirit of the thing.

Laughing, the magician left it to her and went off to his store-room, from which he emerged with a pitcher of milk and a loaf of brown bread.

There was nothing in the appointments of this simple meal to offend the most fastidious taste, and it was a sight to bring a smile to the dolefulest countenance, to see Rosalind and the magician sitting opposite to each other drinking tea. In the midst of it Morgan jumped up and went to the store-room, returning with a tumbler of jelly. "Miss Betty Bishop's jelly," he said. "Do you know Miss Betty?"

Rosalind shook her head.

"She makes good things," he added, as he unscrewed the top.

Rosalind's afternoon in the open air had given her an appet.i.te, and she did full justice to the brown bread and jelly, the novelty of the occasion adding a flavor. Through the open door and window came the glow of the sunset, and the air was sweet with some far-off fragrance. All trouble had faded from her face; it was as if in the heart of the Forest she had come upon some friendly inn. Such a small matter as dinner in the house behind the griffins quite escaped her memory.

"Well, upon my word!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "DO YOU KNOW MISS BETTY?"]

Startled in the act of feeding Curly Q., Rosalind looked toward the door, and saw there a lady in a crisp, light muslin. More than this she did not at once take in, for behind her in the semi-darkness of the shop was Martin's face. The conviction that he was looking for her, and that grandmamma would be vexed, overshadowed everything else. She rose, while the magician greeted the lady as Miss Betty, and offered her a cup of tea.

"I'se been searchin' high and low for you, Miss Rosalind," Martin exclaimed, coming forward.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, Martin; I forgot," said Rosalind.

Miss Betty, who had declined the tea, now held out her hand. "This is Rosalind Whittredge, of course; I am your Cousin Betty."

"I didn't know I had any cousins," said Rosalind.

"You will find a few if you stay long enough," replied Miss Betty. "How do you come to be eating supper with Morgan, I'd like to know? I was sitting on my porch when you went in, so when Martin came along I was able to help him."

"I like Morgan. I wanted to see him. Father told me about him." Rosalind felt she couldn't explain exactly.

"I used to know your father very well indeed," said Miss Betty, as they walked together to the street, after Rosalind had told the magician good-by. "As you seem to like going out to tea, I hope you will come and take supper with me sometime," she added, with a twinkle in her eye.