Violet: A Fairy Story Part 7

And the fairy Love shed such a beautiful light around the poor berry girl, that Ambition hid in a corner, and Alfred didn't think of his books again that day.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE NEW OLD HOME.

The doctor lent them money enough to hire a pleasant, sunny room in the village street, where her mother could sit and watch the pa.s.sers by when she was tired of knitting and reading, for she was alone now almost all the day, and Violet was mistress of the village school.

One morning, as Mary sat in her comfortable chair, and was wishing old Reuben could see what a beautiful home she had, a carriage drove to the door below, and then came a knock at her own door, and Dr. Story entered.

"I have come to give you a ride this pleasant day," he said. "We will call for Violet. Wouldn't you like to see how I have improved the old blackberry field?"

Mary was delighted. She had never ridden in a carriage in her life; and to go in that splendid one of the doctor's, with velvet cushions, and footmen behind! She sat very straight, you may be sure, and kept tucking in her gown; for though it was new, she was afraid it might harm the seats, and her wrinkled face was shining all over with smiles.

They met Violet on her way home from school, and she was almost as much pleased as the old lady with her ride.

But what was their surprise to find, instead of the little footpath, a broad avenue through the pasture, with young trees on each side, and the hill where the blackberry vines had been, covered with waving oats, and in front of Violet's own beloved wood a beautiful great house large as a palace!

"But now look on the other side," said Dr. Story.

Where the old hut had stood was the prettiest little cottage you ever saw, with the very clematis, and honeysuckle, and wild roses Violet had planted trained over it; and there was Reuben's garden all in order, just as they had left it; and under the great elm tree there was his grave, with a new white stone at the head, and the old man's name and age cut in it.

They alighted at the cottage door, and Violet noticed how the air was perfumed with her own favorite flowers. While Alfred stooped to gather some of these for Violet, his father said,--

"Do you remember, Mary, whose birthday this is?"

"Sure enough, it's Violet's!" exclaimed the old woman.

"And this," said the doctor, "is Violet's birthday present--this house and garden, and these beds of flowers."

But before they could thank him, he added,--

"In return, you are to give up your school, and teach my own children.

Will you do it, Violet? They are so young it will be easy at first, and meantime you shall have teachers yourself."

Pleased as Violet and Mary were, I don't think they were half as glad as Alfred, who threw his book down into the gra.s.s so suddenly at his father's speech, I should not be surprised if it broke fairy Ambition's head.

CHAPTER XXIII.

ALFRED.

The cottage was all furnished, and had even a foot stove for the old lady, and a soft, stuffed easy chair in the parlor, while on the woodshed wall hung Reuben's tools; and what do you think hopped up from under a board as Violet stood looking at these? Toady, on his three legs, who winked his one round eye at her, as if he would say, "Isn't all this fine?"

Then there was a school room, where Violet's pupils came every morning, and learned to love her as if she were their own sister.

After school she would tell them stories about the birds, and squirrels, and flowers, among which she had lived so long, or take them to walk in the old pleasant places.

They told their sister Narcissa, who, like Violet, was grown to a young lady now, so much about the new teacher, that one pleasant day she went to the cottage with them.

Violet was grieved to see how the handsome face was scarred and spoiled; but Narcissa said,--

"It was the best thing that ever happened to me, Violet--that accident; it cured me of pride and selfishness."

And it had, truly. Narcissa was so gentle and patient, you would not have known her for the same person. She grew as fond of Violet as the children were; and when they were busy in the school room, studying, she would often sit and read to the old lady in the sunny little room where she slept and spent almost all her time. This room looked out towards the violet beds, and over it the vines grew most luxuriantly; their blossoms looked in at her window, and their shadows flickered over the bright-red carpet; while old Mary sat in her easy chair thinking of Reuben, who was dead and gone, and rejoicing that she could live and die where every thing reminded her of him, and be buried by his side.

By his side she _was_ buried, under the great elm tree, but not until she had lived many years in the cottage with Violet--the happiest years of her life.

Then Violet's friends at the great house said she had better go and live with them, it was so lonely in the old place now; and about this time Alfred came home from India, where he had lived long enough to grow very sickly and very rich.

He told Violet that he had been earning money to take care of her, and now, if she would be his wife, they might still live in the cottage and be happy all their days.

But Alfred's father was proud and ambitious, and would not be satisfied to have his son marry a poor berry girl. This Violet knew well enough; so she never told Alfred that she loved him, but only said "No" to his offers, at which he felt so badly he threatened to shoot himself.

But instead of this, he concluded afterwards to marry some one else--a lady, rich, and accomplished, and gay, who made the great house merrier than it had ever been before she went to it.

There were b.a.l.l.s, and parties, and concerts, strangers coming and going constantly; there was no such thing as quiet.

Violet was unwilling to exchange for this her pleasant, sunny little cottage; the vines and the elm tree and crowded garden beds had grown so dear to her, and the very birds and squirrels seemed to know and love Violet, and sing and chip to her, "_Do_ stay."

How could she refuse? Who would take care of poor Toady if she went? and who would feed the old faded cat lying now on the doorstep half asleep, opening half an eye sometimes to watch her kittens play, and then going off into a doze again like a worn-out grandmother, as she had become.

Who will believe it?--she was the same kitten that followed Violet into the wood about the time our story began, and wasn't old enough then to catch a cricket or keep from drowning in the brook.

CHAPTER XXIV.

NARCISSA.

While Violet sat on the doorstep wondering whether to please Alfred and his father by going to live with them or to stay with her favorites in the cottage, Narcissa came in sight.

She was limping along with her crutches through the gra.s.s, and looked very pale and tired; for the walk from the wood to the cottage, which was nothing to Violet, was a great undertaking to the lame girl. She never walked as far in any other direction; but some how the path to Violet's seemed the smoothest and easiest.

Shall I tell you why? Because the fairy Love went before her, picking up every rough stone and bur or brier, and when the sun was hottest, shaded the invalid with her delicate purple wings.

Violet, too, had taught Narcissa how many pleasant things there are in the world even for one who is sick. So, instead of fretting because the way was dusty and the sunshine hot, Narcissa looked up at the cool green leaves which were fanning her, and watched along all the way to see what beautiful flowers the heat and light were opening. She, too, had learned to love the cool song of the brook; to be glad--though she could not follow them herself, poor cripple!--that the b.u.t.terflies could flutter about and drink honey from all the flowers, and the squirrels could dart away with their nuts, and the birds go sailing and singing up into the far blue sky.

Her old fairy, Envy, was banished forever from Narcissa's heart, and in its place dwelt Violet's fairy, Love, and Contentment, Love's unfailing friend.