"Yes, of course you must." And she went.

Shock-headed Mab, Alice, and Daisy in the jaunting mail-cart, Dorrie drawing it, playing pony and careful mamma all in one; out at the gate, along the road to the copse; a river came running and babbling along by the road, as one neared the copse. Inside the copse the doves were cooing, squirrels leaping, the cuckoo crying, as the mite went along.

What would send her back? Not her baby conscience, for Annie had told her to go all by herself--big, big Annie, ever so big.

At home, the afternoon wore away, tea-time came; nurse ran down from the nursery to the dining-room to fetch her two little charges. Only Annie was there, who started up from her book, like a girl awaking from sleep.

"Why, Miss Annie, I thought Dorrie was here!" cried nurse, in surprise.

"No, she--she"--Annie's conscience gave her such a p.r.i.c.k.

"She what?" inquired nurse sharply.

"She took the dolls out in the mail-cart, and"--how Annie bowed her head as conscience whispered of that promise to her mamma broken; and her poor troubled heart also whispered, "What if something sad was going to happen?"

Well, they sought the child here, there, and everywhere, little dreaming what had happened, what was happening still. At last Ralph started off, by the way of the copse, to look for her. Annie hurried in another direction, and nurse in yet another. Rover went with Ralph--good Rover, who could fetch, carry, and find so much. Oh, dear! what a seeking and searching love makes, when even one wee maiden is lost! Ay, lost--not a trace of her could Ralph and Rover find, till they came to the babbling river, and there, on the bank, lay a posy of lilies-of-the-valley, and a knot of ribbon from Dorrie's shoulder; the river babbled out the rest of the story. Poor Ralph! how he cried now!

"Dorrie! Dorrie!" he cried, peering down into the shining river, as if fearful of seeing a sun-bonnet and a gleaming of golden hair in its depths. But no; he saw nothing, only the minnows, the water-spiders, and the pebbles.

"Lost! Rover, find!" said he to the dog, showing him Dorrie's shoulder-knot and the flowers.

Rover seemed to understand, for he sniffed at the ground, and then bounded into the river, diving down, and no doubt frightening the fishes as much as he did Ralph. Presently he came out, bringing--ah! what? Mab, dripping, water-bedabbled--a pitiful object indeed. The boy took her in his hand, too alarmed to laugh, though fright and fun almost choked him; then the dog bounded and led the way into the copse, where the doves still cooed, the squirrels leaped, and the cuckoo cried, as if no small maiden was lost, perhaps never to be found again alive. The thought made Ralph shiver.

The river flowed through one corner of the copse; he could see it shining where the sunbeams fell through the tree branches. But Rover did not go that way: he dived away among the trees and undergrowth.

"Dorrie! Dorrie!" cried the little brother.

"Wow-wow-wow!" barked Rover, but at first no response.

Presently, "Wow-wow-wow!" barked Rover again; it was a joyful bark, and Ralph ran to him. There lay poor tired Dorrie fast asleep, the two remaining dolls in the mail-cart smiling and staring at her. But Rover woke her with a pat, Ralph hugged her with such a fond hug; then they started homeward, Ralph taking the mail-cart, with poor wet Mab mounted in disgrace behind, Dorrie clinging to his other hand. They reached home in time to go in with mamma, returned from her visit.

"I left my dollies to go into the copse to pick some flowers, and when I came back Mab had run away; then I went into the copse to find her, and couldn't; then I cried and went to sleep, and Rover found me." This was Dorrie's story of herself.

"I will never, never, never break a promise again, mamma!" said penitent Annie.

ROSIE'S DISAPPOINTMENT.

It _was_ a disappointment! Mother looked gravely at the clouds, Nurse shook her head, and Father said it would never do for Rosie, who was not strong, to go to a picnic if the weather was doubtful.

And it was more than doubtful; for a sharp shower made the gra.s.s and the trees and the flowers look all the more beautiful to the poor child, who was longing for a day in the woods.

"Mother, I believe it will clear up later," she said, looking at the sky.

"I couldn't let you go, Rosie, for the gra.s.s would be wet."

"But I could sit on a rug."

"You couldn't walk on a rug, and the gra.s.s and underwood will be damp. I am very sorry, Rosie, and it is a great disappointment; but, indeed, it can't be helped." And Mrs. Seymour stooped to kiss her little girl.

At that moment a servant came to say that Miss Peters was in the drawing-room.

Miss Peters was a very rich lady, who lived all alone in a beautiful house about two miles away, and she had come to lend Mrs. Seymour some books, and ask her if she would go for a drive with her on the following day. Mrs. Seymour said she would be quite ready at the appointed time; and when they spoke of the weather she told her friend what a disappointment the rain had been to poor Rosie.

"Won't you let me take her home, Mrs. Seymour?" said Miss Peters. "I have the carriage here, and we could wrap her up in rugs; and I will bring her home this afternoon myself. Let me have her; I shall enjoy it; and there will be an end to your difficulties."

Mrs. Seymour was very glad, but wondered if Rosie would like it, as she was rather shy; but the little girl saw that it was the only arrangement by which her brothers could have all their fun, so she went with Miss Peters. She was a very grave little visitor, but Miss Peters was so kind that Rosie could not be shy for long; and then there was so much, so _very_ much, to see! The house was like a museum, the conservatory a fairyland, and the garden a paradise of loveliness.

The showers all pa.s.sed away, and Rosie could run about on the terraces, where there were so many flowers that Miss Peters told her she might pick what she liked, and Rosie made a very pretty bunch to take home, which pleased her; and pleasanter still was Miss Peters's kiss as she said, looking at the modest little nosegay, "I am glad to see that you are not greedy, Rosie."

"Oh, that would be horrid when you are so kind!" said Rosie.

But what Rosie enjoyed most of all was that Miss Peters came out with her, and, calling Jacob, the old gardener, she went down to the lake and told him to get the boat ready, and then they went for a delightful row on the clear water. Rosie _was_ happy then; she did not want Miss Peters to talk to her, and was very glad that the lady had brought a book, though she did not read much of it, for she was steering.

The only time Rosie did speak was when the great swan went gliding by, and, lifting his wings, began to hiss at the boat in a rather alarming manner. Then Rosie did touch Miss Peters's arm, asking, "Will he hurt us?"

"No, dear; but we will not go very near that bank, as he has a nest there, and might be angry if he thought we were going to disturb the hen, who is sitting." And Miss Peters steered away from that end of the lake.

Altogether Rosie pa.s.sed a very happy day, and Miss Peters was so pleased with her that when, after they had had tea together in the delightful room that opened into the conservatory, she brought the child home, she kissed her, saying, "Remember, Rosie, you must come and see me again. I hope you have not been _very_ unhappy at not being at the picnic!"

Rosie laughed and shook her head.

"I don't think I have been sorry at all," she said; "I have been very happy all the time, and I forgot about being disappointed."

A PICNIC OF SEVEN.

We are the Smiths, and there are four of us, and next door to us live the Browns, and there are three of them, so we are seven, and we are great friends. We liked being seven better than being eight, because it's like the poem; and I think that was why we never would let Jim Batson join our party. He and his dog Pincher were always wanting to make friends with us; but we told him there were enough of us without him, and then he would go away, but only to come back another day and try again.

When the spring weather came this year we made a delightful plan with the Browns that on Sat.u.r.day we would go into the park, which was a mile off, and have games under the trees. When Sat.u.r.day came it was a lovely day; so soon after breakfast we started out, all seven of us, with our dinners in our pockets. Willie Brown had the drum, and I had the trumpet, and a fine noise we made, almost frightening our little Sissy, who had to come because Mother was busy, and Bessie was minding Sissy, and we couldn't have any fun without Bessie. Charlie put on an old ragged coat, because Mother says he destroys everything; but Arthur and Patty Brown looked very nice, and we made Patty the queen, and we were her band playing to her.

Then all at once Jim Batson came out from among the trees with his dog (who was held by a string because of the game), and when we saw them we all shouted at Jim to go away. Bessie _did_ ask me if it didn't seem unkind; but we wouldn't listen to her and sent him away, telling him not to sneak about near us. So he went off without a word.

We weren't very happy after that, for Arthur turned cross, and wouldn't speak to any one; but the worst of all was when Willie dropped one of the drumsticks into the river as we were crossing the plank. The river is very deep in parts, and none of us could swim, so we could only follow the stick as it floated along, and hope that it might catch in some weeds in a shallow part. But as we ran by the river we came on Jim and Pincher. Jim was sitting by the bank with his face hidden in his hands, and Pincher was just kissing him as hard as he could. Jim jumped up and began to move away when he saw us, but stopped to ask what was the matter when he saw Willie's face. As soon as he knew what it was, he took the string off Pincher's neck, and throwing a stone at the stick called, "Hie, Pincher! fetch it out!"

We _did_ feel uncomfortable as we saw Pincher bring the drumstick to sh.o.r.e quite safely, but Bessie helped us out splendidly. She held out her hand to Jim, and said, "Thank you so much; we're all very sorry for being so unkind. Please don't make us _more_ sorry by going away now."

ELSIE'S PARTY.

Yes, it was a very nice party! There were cakes, and games, and sweets, and crackers--crackers with caps in them! And little Elsie enjoyed it all, and felt very grand in her embroidered muslin frock, with a yellow paper cap out of one of the said crackers perched on the top of her curly brown head. If only Alfy had been there to enjoy it all with her!

Alfy was her twin brother, and they always did everything together. But to-day poor Alfy must stop at home: he is ill, very ill, with "inflammation of the _tongue_," Elsie says, but the doctor calls it "lungs." Anyway, there is nothing the matter with Elsie's tongue; it wags fast enough, and she tells everybody about Alfy, and how ill he is.

"But he is better to-day, and I shall bring him my 'tracker.'"