The Very Small Person Part 10

At the home station, when at last she reached it, she took a carriage. "Drive fast!" she said, peremptorily. "I'll pay you double fare."

The houses they rattle past were ablaze with light down-stairs, not up-stairs where little sons would be going to bed. All the little sons had gone to bed.

They stopped with a terrific lurch. It threw her on to the seat ahead.

"This is not the place," she cried, sharply, after a glance without.

"No'm; we're stopping fer recreation," drawled sarcastically the unseen driver. He appeared to be a.s.sisting the horse to lie down. She stumbled to the ground and demanded things.

"Yer'll have to ax this here four-legged party what's doin'. _I_ didn't stop--I kep' right on goin'. He laid down on his job, that's all, marm. I'll get him up, come Chris'mas. Now then, yer ole fool!"

There was no patience left in the "fare" standing there beside the plunging beast. She fumbled in her purse, found something, dropped it somewhere, and hurried away down the street. She did not walk home, because she ran. It was well the streets were quiet ones.

"Has he gone to bed?" she came panting in upon drowsy Sheelah, startling that phlegmatic person out of an honest Irish dream.

"Murray--Little Silly--has he gone to bed? Oh no!" for she saw him then, an inert little heap at Sheelah's feet. She gathered him up in her arms.

"I won't! I won't go, Sheelah! I'm waiting. She promis--" in drowsy murmur.

"She's here--she's come, Murray! Mamma's come home to put you to bed--Little Silly, open your eyes and see mamma!"

And he opened them and saw the love in her eyes before he saw her.

Sleep took instant wings. He sprang up.

"I knew you'd come! I told Sheelah! When anybody promises, they-- Come on quick up-stairs! I can unlace myself, but I'd rather--"

"Yes, yes!" she sobbed.

"And we'll have a lark, won't we? You said a lark; but not the reg'larest kind--I don't suppose we could have the reg'larest kind?"

"Yes--yes!"

"Oh!--why!" His eyes shone. He put up his hand, then drew it shyly back. If she would only take out the pins herself--if he only dared to--

"What is it, Little Silly--darling?" They were up in his room. She had her cheek against his little, bare, brown knees. It brought her soft, gold-colored hair so near--if he only dared--

"What is it you'd like, little son?" And he took courage. She had never called him Little Son before. It made him brave enough.

"I thought--the reg'larest kind--your hair--if you'd let it tumble all down, I'd--hide in it," he breathed, his knees against her cheek trembling like little frightened things.

It fell about him in a soft shower and he hid in it and laughed.

Sheelah heard them laughing together.

Chapter IX

The Little Lover

"I wish I knew for very certain," the Little Lover murmured, wistfully. The licorice-stick was so shiny and black, and he had laid his tongue on it one sweet instant, so he knew just how good it tasted. If he only knew for very certain--of course there was a chance that She did not love licorice sticks. It would be a regular pity to waste it. Still, how could anybody _not_ love 'em--

"'Course She does!" exclaimed the Little Lover, with sudden conviction, and the struggle was ended. It had only been a question of Her liking or not liking. That decided, there was no further hesitation. He held up the licorice-stick and traced a wavery little line round it with his finger-nail. The line was pretty near one of its ends--the end towards the Little Lover's mouth.

"I'll suck as far down as that, just 'xactly," he said; "then I'll put it away in the Treasury Box."

He sat down in his little rocker and gave himself up to the moment's bliss, first applying his lips with careful exact.i.tude to the dividing-line between Her licorice stick and his.

The moment of bliss ended, the Little Lover got out the Treasury Box and added the moist, shortened licorice-stick to the other treasures in it. There were many of them,--an odd a.s.sortment that would have made any one else smile. But the Little Lover was not smiling. His small face was grave first, then illumined with the light of willing sacrifice. The treasures were all so beautiful! She would be so pleased,--my, _my_, how please She would be! Of course She would like the big golden alley the best,--the very best. But the singing-top was only a tiny little way behind in its power to charm. Perhaps She had never seen a singing-top--think o' that! Perhaps She had never had a great golden alley, or a corkscrew jack-knife, or a canary-bird whistle, or a red and white "Kandy Kiss,"--or a licorice-stick! Think o' that--think of how pleased She would be!

"'Course She will," laughed the Little Lover in his delight. If he only dared to give Her the Treasury Box! If he only knew how! If there was somebody he could ask,--but the housekeeper was too old, and Uncle Larry would laugh. There was n.o.body.

The waiting wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the red-cheeked pear in the Treasury Box, and the softest apple. They made it a little dang'rous to wait.

It had not been very long that he had loved Her. The first Sunday that She smiled at him across the aisle was the beginning. He had not gone to sleep that Sunday, nor since, on any of the smiling Sundays.

He had not wanted to. It had been rest enough to sit and watch Her from the safe shelter of the housekeeper's silken cloak. Her clear, fresh profile, Her pretty hair, Her ear, Her throat--he liked to watch them all. It was rest enough,--as if, after that, he could have gone to sleep!

She was very tall, but he liked her better for that. He meant to be tall some day. Just now he did not reach-- But he did not wish to think of that. It troubled him to remember that Sunday that he had measured himself secretly beside Her, as the people walked out of church. It made him blush to think how very little way he had "reached." He had never told any one, but then he never told any one anything. Not having any mother, and your father being away all the time, and the housekeeper being old, and your uncle Larry always laughing, made it diff'rent 'bout telling things. Of course if you had 'em--mothers, and fathers that stayed at home, and uncles that didn't laugh,--but you didn't. So you 'cided it was better not to tell things.

One Sunday the Little Lover thought he detected Uncle Larry watching Her too. But he was never quite certain sure. Anyway, when She had turned Her beautiful head and smiled across the aisle, it had been at _him_. The Little Lover was "certain sure" of that! In his shy little way he had smiled back at Her and nodded. The warmth had kept on in his heart all day. That was the day before he found out the Important Thing.

Out in the front hall after supper he came upon a beautiful, tantalizing smell that he failed for some time to locate. He went about with his little nose up-tilted, in a persistent search. It was such a beautiful smell!--not powerful and oversweet, but faint and wonderful. The little nose searched on patiently till it found it.

There was a long box on the hall-table and the beautiful smell came out under the lid and met the little, up-tilted nose half-way.

"I've found it! It's inside o' that box!" the Little Lover cried in triumph. "Now I guess I better see what it looks like. Oh! why, it's _posies!_" For there, in moist tissue wrappings, lay a cl.u.s.ter of marvellous pale roses, breathing out their subtle sweetness into the little face above them.

"Why, I didn't know _that_ was the way a beautiful smell looked!

I--it's very nice, isn't it? If it's Uncle Larry's, I'm goin' to ask him-- Oh, Uncle Larry, can I have it? Can I? I want to put it in Her--" But he caught himself up before he got quite to "Treasury Box." He could not tell Uncle Larry about that.

The tall figure coming down the hall quickened its steps to a leap towards the opened box on the table. Uncle Larry's face was flushed, but he laughed--he always laughed.

"You little 'thafe o' the wurruld'!" he called out. "What are you doing with my roses?"

"I want 'em--please," persisted the child, eagerly, thinking of the Treasury Box and Her.

"Oh, you do, do you? But they're not for the likes o' you."

Sudden inspiration came to the Little Lover. If this was a Treasury Box,--if he were right on the edge of finding out how you gave one--

"Is--is it for a She?" he asked, breathless with interest.

"A--'She'?" laughed Uncle Larry, but something as faint and tender as the beautiful smell was creeping into his face. "Yes, it is for a She, Reggie,--the most beautiful She in the world," he added, gently.

He was wrapping the beautiful smell again in the tissue wrappings.

Then it was a Treasury Box. Then you did the treasures up that way, in thin, rattly paper like that. _Then_ what did you do? But he would find out.

"Oh, I didn't know," he murmured. "I didn't know _that_ was the way!