Roses

Contents

CHAP. p AGE

I. “A Dream.y Old Place” 9

II. “Daddy and I” 21

CHAPTER I “ A Dreamy Old Place ”

A LONG an old-fashioned terrace walk, ^ in apparent oblivion of all the sweet scents and sounds around her, moved Mrs. Fitzherbert. She looked in keeping with her surroundings. A little old lady with snow-white hair, and delicate ivorytinted complexion, daintily attired in black silk and old lace, with a broadbrimmed garden hat shading a pair of the softest blue eyes yon could come across. No wonder everybody said she was like an old picture. And many a young girl envied her soft rippling voice

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and laugh, and the faculty she possessed of attracting and interesting all who came in contact with her, by her bright personality.

Her quaint, old-fashioned house, with its casement windows and deep window seats, its old oak staircase and paneled rooms, and the scent of pot-pourri and lavender in the air, seemed to belong to a past generation. Four servants formed her establishment, and the youngest was over fifty. Sarah, the cook, a stern, hardfeatured woman, had lived with her mistress for thirty years. She was never seen to smile, though not at all destitute of humor. “ I do my duty, and the world would be a better place if every one did the same,” was her favorite saying.

Taylor, Mrs. Fitzherbert’s maid, was a marked contrast. She was inclined to be stout, wore at all times a placid smile, and was never known to be ruffled in temper. If she had any peculiarity, it was her imperturbable deliberation. No one could hurry her ; no one could astonish her. Bertha, the housemaid, would declare that if the moon were to fall, Taylor would only smile, and say, “ A pretty sight ! ” Bertha herself was a bustling energetic woman, with a wholesome horror of dust and spiders, and a tongue that was continually getting her into difficulties. Lastly came Jonas, the gardener and coachman combined; a “character/’ as he was termed by all who knew him. He regaled the women with all the gossip of the neighborhood, and had an exasperting trick of nodding his gray head up and down mysteriously after giving out his news : “ And in course there’s a deal more to be said, but not by I to women folks who chatters ! ” All were devotedly attached to their mistress, and were so wedded to the quiet regular routine of the house, that a change of any sort seemed as impossible as unexpected.

Mrs. Fitzherbert rose at eight, breakfasted at half-past nine, had prayers im-

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mediately afterwards, and then retired to her morning-room, for an hour, to read and write her letters, interview Sarah, or attend to any domestic matters needing her consideration. At eleven, she put on her garden hat, and spent the rest of the morning in her garden ; for it was the joy of her heart, and she superintended every inch of it. Like everything else around her, it was typical of its owner. The green turf surrounding the house was like velvet to walk upon ; the mulberry tree, the weeping willow, and the stately elms and beeches were scattered in graceful groups about it. But the flower garden and the old terraced walk were Mrs. Fitzherbert’s favorite haunts. Roses of all sorts and sizes bordered the terrace ; violets, lilies of the valley, mignonette, sweet peas, and all sweet-scented flowers were grown in profusion ; but no entreaties from either Jonas or any of her friends would ever induce the old lady to have a scentless flower. “ They may be fair to look at,” she would say quaintly ; “ but I require something more than color and brightness. I like my flowers to have an influence in my garden ; to spread their fragrance round about; to remind me of their presence when I do not see them.”

And you had only to see Mrs. Fitzherbert handling a plant or flower to tell how much she. loved it. At one o’clock she would come in to her luncheon, after which she would retire to her room for a short nap. At three o’clock she would drive herself out in her low pony carriage to pay calls, or do some shopping in the neighboring town. Then came afternoon tea ; a short time with the newspapers or the current literature of the day, and dinner at half-past seven. The rest of the evening would be spent in knitting and reading, and at half-past ten the little household would have retired to rest.

For nearly twenty years Mrs. * Fitz-

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herbert bad led tbis quiet life, and tbis morning as sbe paced along tbe old terrace ber thoughts were in a tumult. Perhaps if we glance at tbe letter held so tremblingly in ber band, we may guess tbe cause of ber discomposure. It was from a clergyman in London, and read as follows : —

“ Dear Madam, —

11 1 am taking tbe liberty of writing to you, though a perfect stranger. For some time past I have been relieving, as well as I have been able, a very sad case lately brought to my notice. It is that of a gentleman reduced in circumstances. He is now recovering from a severe attack of fever, brought on by starvation and exposure to wet. An opening has been found for him in tbe colonies, but be is anxious to find a home for bis little girl, as it is impossible for him to take ber with him. He mentioned you to me as being ber godmother, and I am venturing

“ A Dreamy Old Place.”

to ask if you would like to do anything towards providing her with a home. Her mother died when she was born. It might be possible to put her in some orphanage or school. They seem to have no relations, but she has been carefully brought up, and is an engaging child. You will doubtless remember her father, by name, Arthur Seaton. He tells me he was the son of a clergyman, living in your neighborhood. Apologizing for troubling you with this matter,

“ Yours faithfully,

“ C. Haix.”

It was a lovely June morning, and the roses seemed bathed in golden sunshine. As Mrs. Fitzherbert passed to and fro amongst them, her thoughts took her back eight years ago to a young couple pacing that same terraced walk. Arthur Seaton had been a great favorite of hers, though she often shook her head at his light way of taking life; and when he

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became engaged to a penniless doctor’s daughter on the strength of being put on a certain literary staff, Mrs. Fitzherbert was the first person that was informed of it. He brought Miss Violet Wood to see her one summer evening, and would often after that take possession of the old terrace walk. Love amongst the roses was very sweet, and the young couple looked forward to the future with blissful ignorance of ways and means, and supreme indifference to the warnings of their more experienced relatives and friends.

Mrs. Fitzherbert shook her head and sighed ; but gave them a handsome wedding present, and consented, eighteen months after, to be the godmother of their little girl. Poor Violet had left her motherless little babe to the care of strangers before the christening took place, and Arthur had been too overwhelmed with grief and bewilderment to keep his old friend informed of his movements afterwards. Mrs. Fitzherbert was under tbe impression that the child had not outlived its mother, so that the letter now received by her was a great surprise.

She was deep in her thoughts, when a brisk step on the gravel walk made her look up.

It was Mrs. Howard, the vicar’s wife, a bright-looking, energetic woman, who ruled her husband, house, and parish with a firm hand, for she was a born manager. Mrs. Fitzherbert was the only one that she could not rule, and she liked her the better for it.

“ I am come to beg, Mrs. Fitzherbert, or you would not see me here at this time of the morning. Dear me, how lovely your roses are ! Why cannot ours do as well ? This old garden would have a very demoralizing effect on me if I were in it long. It is such a dreamy old place. I have come for your subscription to the Cottage Hospital. It was due yesterday.

You do not look well. Is any tiling the matter ?”

Mrs. Fitzherbert laid her hand gently on Mrs. Howard’s arm.

“ A little upset, my dear. I have enjoyed such a peaceful quiet life that I dread any change. Have you time for a little chat ? ”

“ Certainly. I hope you do not meditate going away ? ”

“ Let us sit down on this sunny seat. Now I will give you this letter to read.”

The old lady sat very still whilst her friend perused it, and when it was handed back to her she said quietly :

“ It was rather strange this morning. I came across that verse in my daily reading: ‘ Wo to those that sit at ease.’ I thought a good deal about it whilst I was dressing. I have been ‘ sitting at ease ’ for many years now, and then comes this letter to wake me up.”

“But, my dear Mrs. Fitzherbert, you know I am not one to encourage laziness ;

“A Dreamy Old Place.

and I honestly think that you have nothing to reproach yourself with on that score. At your age, when you have borne the burden of life with all its troubles and cares, you have a right to rest a little. We all want some good people who have time to listen to our tales of wo, whether fancied or otherwise. And that is the post you occupy in this neighborhood. Your time, your purse, and your sympathy are all at our disposal. I do not see that this letter need disturb you. I remember Arthur Seaton, a good-for-nothing scapegrace, with more brains than his laziness would let him use! I always think his old father’s death was due to anxiety caused by him. Why don’t you put this child into the Orphanage school at S ? ”

“ I am going to let her live with me,” was the quiet reply.

“ Oh, nonsense ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Howard ; “ you must not dream of such a thing. I have never had any children of

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my own, but from what I see of other people’s, they are an infinite trouble to train. A child in your household would upset everybody and everything, and try your nerves most dreadfully. It is not to be thought of.”

Mrs. Fitzherbert rose from the seat.

“Will you come into the house now? and I will get you my subscription.”

Mrs. Howard obeyed at once, but used all her expostulations and entreaties to ward off this proposed addition to the quiet household. All in vain. As she parted from Mrs. Fitzherbert a short time later, the old lady said with some spirit, and more brightness than she had shown as yet :

“I will bring her to see you the day after she arrives, and you will fall in love with her on the spot ! ”

CHAPTER II “ Daddy and I ”

CHE had come: and stood before her ^ godmother in the quaint, shady drawingroom. White and speechless, her dark gray eyes fixed intently on the kind old face bending towards her.

She had a rough shock of auburn curls, a pale, determined little face, and in a blue waterproof a world too big for her, and a woolen tarn o’ shanter, looked very unprepossessing in appearance. Taylor had been sent up to London for her, and seemed quite in perplexity about her.

“ She hasn’t said a word, ma’am, the whole way down. The clergyman came to Waterloo Station with her, and she hugged him round the neck when he

n

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wished her good-by. She might be a deaf and dumb for all I can get out of her.”

“ Never mind, Taylor, she is shy and tired, poor little mite. Take her up to your room, give her some tea, and put her to bed. She will feel more at home to-morrow.”

Mrs. Fitzherbert dismissed the child with a kiss ; and an involuntary sigh escaped her as Taylor disappeared with her. She had made every arrangement for the child’s comfort ; Taylor had willingly agreed to look after her, and a little bed had been placed in her bedroom accordingly. The workroom, Taylor’s special domain, was a pleasant, sunny room, with two broad windows overlooking the meadows and river beyond. This was to be her nursery ; a new, smartly-dressed doll, some bright picture-books, and a little cushioned chair awaited her there.

Down-stairs, Mrs. Fitzherbert was turning over anxiously some newly-bought

“ Daddy and I.”

books, and each bore somewhat of this title : “ The Mother’s Help,” “ Children, and How to Train them,” “The Nursery Guide.”

“ How I wish,” she said softly to herself as she gazed out into her flowergarden already fading from her eyes in the evening mist and twilight — “how I wish I knew as much about children as flowers ! If only the same training would do for both ! ”

And then her blue eyes assumed a wistful, dreamy look, as mentally she began to con over to herself all that one of her favorite roses needed to bring it to perfection. Looking up at last to the evening sky, she murmured with a smile, “ Lord, she is one of Thy rosebuds. Thou hast given me the honor of tending her in Thy garden. Make me a wise and skilful gardener.”

Mrs. Fitzherbert did not see her little godchild again till the next morning, when she was about to take her usual

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walk along the terrace. Nervousness kept her from making any advances. She was informed by Taylor that the little girl had slept well and eaten well, but as yet would only reply in monosyllables, and she did not feel quite equal to undergo the impenetrable stare and impassive stolidity of the little stranger so early in the morning.

But as she came up the old stone steps to the terraced walk, she was witness behind the rose bushes of a touching scene. Trotting along the walk, her crop of curls bare to the air and her little face dimpled with smiles, was her godchild. The transformation in her little person was marvelous.

“ See, daddy, take my arm ; you aren’t vewy strong yet. Do you smell the roses ? Oh, it’s lovely ! There’s enough of them to make the bed of roses you say will never come to you and me. Let’s sit down. Dear daddy, isn’t this fairy land ? Smell this pink one ; see, I’m

“ Daddy and I.”

pushing it to you. Isn’t it still? All the cabs and carts have gone away, and there’s no fried fish to smell instead of eat here. Oh, daddy, let me snuggle up to you. It’s only make-believe you know, and everybody looks so strange. I must talk to you, dear darling daddy. The little old lady is so grand ; she’s like Cinderella’s godmother. But, daddy, you and me will come and walk in this lovely garden evewy day ; yes, we will, dear, and you’ll get fatter and stronger, and be able to tell me wonnerful stories.”

The little head was nodding up and down, the hands gesticulating, and the busy tongue hard at work, when the rustle of a dress, and the sudden appearance of Mrs. Fitzherbert, interrupted the happy “ make-believe.”

In an instant the child’s figure drooped, the sparkle in the eager little eyes died out, and the tightly closed mouth seemed to intimate that all speech was at an end.

Mrs. Fitzherbert gave her a bright

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little nod, then turned to her roses, and with her garden scissors began to snip off first one beauty, then another, till her basket was full. She did not speak, and the child watched her in silence. Then suddenly Mrs. Fitzherbert turned to her.

“Here, little one, these roses are for you, for I know you must love them as much as I do. What will you do with them? ”

It was a crucial moment. The small hands that were so tightly clasped behind her, relaxed their hold, the lips began to quiver, the eyes beamed with delight, and then Mrs. Fitzherbert was startled by a rush, a spring, and two little arms were hugging her round the neck.

“ I love you, old godmother, I love you. Next to daddy and the roses, I’ll love you.”

The roses had conquered, and the child’s lonely little heart was won.

A few minutes later, and the garden seat was occupied by the old lady and her godchild.

“ With her garden scissors began to snip off first one beauty, then another.”

“ Daddy and I.”

“ Yes/’ the child was saying, “ my proper name is ‘ Dimple/ because daddy gave it to me. He pokes his fingers in my two little holes when I laugh, and calls me 1 Dimple.’ Isabella is my church name, what the clergyman gave me when I was a baby. Mrs. Briggs told me he did, and I’m sure I didn’t want him to, because Dimple is a much nicer name, and I shan’t never be called Isabella by anybody ! ”

Then, after a pause :

“ What’s your name, godmother ? What used your daddy to call you when you were a little girl ? Didn’t yon never have a nicer name than godmother ? ”

“ I used to be called Sylvia. Now every one calls me Mrs. Fitzherbert, for my daddy went to heaven long ago.”

“ My daddy nearly did the other day, but he’s quite well now, only he feels his bones rather. What shall I call you? ”

“ I think you may call me 1 Granny ’ ;

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that will be shorter than godmother. Do you think you will be happy with me ? ”

Dimple clasped her small hands round her knees and drew her feet up to consider. She looked at the roses by her side, then at her godmother, and then her eyes roved round the old garden to the house in the distance.

“ It’s living in a story book here,” she said at last. “ But, oh, I want daddy, I want daddy ! ”

She did not cry, but the pathos of her tone brought the tears to the eyes of Mrs. Fitzherbert.

And then Dimple began to speak eagerly and excitedly.

“ Daddy and I have grown up so many years together. I never remember not having daddy with me ; and when he was late home, I always had the toast ready for him, and sometimes we had an egg between us for tea — turn about, you know ; but daddy always gave me the biggest spoonfuls, acanse he wasn’t hungry, he

“ Daddy and I.”

said. And then, if the fire was out and we had no more coal, I would snuggle inside his coat, and he would tell me stories in the dark, and then I went to bed in the corner of the room, and daddy would light a candle and write books, and afore daddy got ill we would take a walk in the park on Sundays, and it was lovely ! And sometimes we had s’rimps and watercress on Sunday, and once Mrs. Briggs made me a cake, but that was afore we got very poor and had to leave her.”

“ Tell me more,” said “ Granny,” as the little voice paused.

“ And I had a little kitty, such a dear little mite, and she only took a weeny tiny drop of milk, but daddy said I must give her to Mrs Briggs, acause there wasn’t enough milk for me. I did cry when Kitty went ; I couldn’t help it. But daddy always was unhappy when I cried, so I didn’t very often ; not till he tumbled down in the street and was carried home by a policeman ; but when he got better,

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he told me it was because he hadn’t eaten, and then I ran to the baker’s and he lent me a loaf without paying, acause daddy’s money was late in coming.”

Dimple turned over the roses in the basket rather thoughtfully before she went on. “ Daddy used to hold me up in his arms to look at the flowers in the shops, but these bu’ful roses would be pounds and pounds in London. We couldn’t never have bought any, could we ? When daddy makes a lot of money, he is coming back to fetch me to a nice little house in ’Merica, with roses on the walls - and a garden like this, and we will have meat evewy day and always butter with our bread, and I’m to be a good girl till he comes, and p’waps he’ll come next week.”

She nodded her little head cheerfully, and then clambered down from the seat. “ May I walk on the grass here ? ” she asked.

“ Go wherever you like, darling,” Mrs.

“ Daddy and I.”

Fitzherbert said. “ If you’re a good child, you will be sure to be a happy one, and I want you to enjoy yourself.”

Dimple trotted off, talking either to herself or to an imaginary father, and Mrs. Fitzherbert tended her flowers that morning with a preoccupied mind. She was deep in a reverie whilst she was absently brushing some green fly off a pet standard, when a voice at her elbow made her start.

It was Mrs. Howard.

“ I have seen your little godchild,” she began abruptly ; “ she’s a regular little character. I was passing by the gate^ when I saw her looking through the rails, so I came in. ‘ Good morning,’ I said cheerfully ; 1 will you shake hands with me? I know all about you. Where is your godmother ? ’ She drew up her curly head, folded her small arms with the air of an actress I assure you, and her tone was withering : 1 1 keeps myself to myself, thank you, and don’t speak to strangers.’ And then she walked off to

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the house without another glance at me. I haven’t felt so small for a long time.”

Mrs. Fitzherbert looked up with a smile.

“ I am full of her training this morning; wondering whether I ought to get a governess, or nurse, or whether I ought to take her in hand myself. Her chatter to me has made me feel very sad. Tiny child though she is, she must have seen a good deal of privation and want. I sometimes wonder why I have been so shielded through life whilst others from their infancy have to bear suffering and starvation.”

“ It is one of the mysteries of life,” responded Mrs. Howard briskly ; “ you have rescued one small waif at any rate, so be thankful for that mercy. And don’t bother yourself about the child’s education. She is too small for anything of that sort at present. Let her run wild this summer, and by the time the winter conies you will be able to arrange something.”

She talked on for a few minutes, then said good-by, for she was too busy a woman to pay long visits to any one, and had only come in to have a glimpse of the new arrival.

“ Dimple,” said Mrs. Fitzherbert a little later, coming up to where her little godchild was holding an animated conversation with Jonas, as he was weeding out some young lettuces, “ what did you say to that lady who came into the garden just now ? ”

Dimple looked up unconcernedly.

“ Only what Mrs. Briggs taught me to say to everybody.”

“ But it isn’t polite to my visitors,” said Mrs. Fitzherbert ; “it may be city manners, but it certainly isn’t country manners ; and when people are good enough to take notice of you, you must hold out your hand prettily and answer their questions.”

“ Do you speak to everybody in the country ? ” asked the child, looking up 3

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with earnest eyes through her unruly locks. “We never do in Lunnon. Must I shake hands with a black sweep if I see him?”

Mrs. Fitzherbert did not answer; she turned to Jonas, and was soon deep in her garden difficulties, and Dimple listened eagerly till the talk got above her head ; then she flitted away, exploring with a child’s sharp eyes every nook and cranny of the old-fashioned garden.

She carried her roses into the house soon, and climbed up the stairs, singing a wordless little song to herself as she went. Taylor met her at the work-room door.

“ Come in and drink this glass of milk, Miss, you will want something before your early dinner.”

Dimple opened her eyes rather wide, but said nothing, only thoroughly enjoyed her milk and biscuit; and then fetched the new doll in all her finery and surveyed her with critical gravity.

u Do you like her? ” asked Taylor, set-

“ Daddy and I.”

tling herself to her needlework with comfortable deliberation.

“ She doesn’t want a daddy or mnver to take care of her, she’s too grand,” was the slow reply ; “ I shan’t have nothing to do with her while she’s so grand.”

She laid the doll on her face in the corner of the room, and then, taking her basket of roses, climbed on the low window seat by Taylor’s side.

“ I like these best,” she continued, fingering them softly. “ Aren’t they puffickly lovely ? I should like a little bed all of pink roses, and pillows and sheets of white roses, and a house of dark red roses, and all the carpets yellow roses ; that’s what I shall have when I go to daddy’s house he’s getting ready for me.”

“ You can’t live on roses,” said Taylor. u You put your cheek down on those and tell me how it feels.”

Dimple tossed her roses out, and laid her little cheek against them, then started up with a cry.

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“ They’ve got prickles like pins. Look, I’m bleeding.”

“ Yes,” said Taylor quietly; “ they are like most things that we cry out for in this world. When we get them, we discover their sting.”

Dimple stood pondering over this.

“ That’s like the way daddy says things,” she said. “But I love the roses, and I love their prickles too.”

With which conclusive assertion she clambered down and begged to have some water to put them in.

“ Daddy said flowers get as thirsty as we do ; but water is cheap, isn’t it ? They’re not like my little Kitty, who had to have milk.”

And when arranged in a bowl to her liking, Dimple stood over them with loving solicitude, just a little sigh escaping her : “If only daddy could see them ! ”

CHAPTER III “ Nobody to Take Care of ”

TT was some time before tbe house- A bold could get reconciled to a child’s presence, and Dimple proved a restless, talkative little being, with a busy brain and still busier fingers. Occupation she must have ; and if it was not found for her, she would find it for herself.

“ A child is meant to have a nursery and be kept in it,” observed Sarah severely, when the old servants had met for a gossip round the kitchen fire in the evening. “ She has the run of the house, and it ought to be put a stop to ! ”

“ She has the run of my flower-beds,” put in Jonas ruefully. “ She come a-

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dancing across 'em as if they be planted all for her. ‘ What do you plant those ugly old cabbages for ? ’ she asked me this morning, ‘ instead of pretty flowers ? ’ and she fills her hands with Missis’s best carnations and tucks them inside her frock ; and when I shakes my fist at her, she says, laughing and running away, * Granny and I love flowers, and* you love cabbages ; and I love Granny, and I don’t love you.’ ”

“ ’Tis a pity she hasn’t got a nurse to look after her,” said Bertha sharply. “ The Missus looks at her as if she’s a curiosity from China, and lets her have her way most dreadful. She will be a handful soon if I’m not mistaken ! ”

“I’m supposed to have the charge of her,” observed Taylor quietly ; “ and she’s not so difficult to manage if you go the right way about it. You can’t expect a child to be like iis folks, and always prefer sitting still to stirring round.”

“ Speak for yourself, please, Taylor,”

Bertha retorted. “ It isn’t all of us that loves a h’easy chair as you do, or has the chance to use it ! I think if I had the charge of Miss Isabella, I’d teach her a few things ! ”

“ There go you wimen ! ” exclaimed Jonas ; “ allays a-ready to bite each other’s heads off ! As for the little maid, Bertha must just have bin sich anither when she were young ! ”

Bertha tossed her head indignantly at this accusation ; but Taylor, in her slow, unmoved way, said : “ She has a loving little heart when you get to understand her. She comes into the work-room this morning from the garden, dragging her doll after her, in rather a shamefaced way. I looks up, and there I saw that beautiful doll, that cost no less than ten and sixpence, in a most awful state ! Blue silk dress covered with mud, paint all off cheeks and mouth, all soaking and dripping with water ! ‘ Why, whatever