"I found my second trial as nurse-girl, a great deal harder than the first; for there were three children, all sick and cross, and when hot weather came, I had a little room up under the roof to sleep in, and the heat was frightful. I had to be up nearly every night with the children, for two of them were very sick during the hottest weather, and I was called upon for nearly every thing. Between the heat and working so hard, I gave out, and fainted one night, while sitting up with the little girl, and the doctor told my mistress that if I did not have a rest, I would be sick, and probably die on her hands. So in a few days, she sent me and her oldest girl out to her mother's, who lived in the country. I was so glad and grateful for the rest, that I never can forget her. The grandmother was a plain, good-hearted old lady, who seemed very sorry for me, and she used to tell me every day, that I would never live to see another year, especially after she found that my mother had died of consumption. I didn't care how soon I died, and told her so, and then she thought I was wicked, and began to preach long sermons to me, and give me all kinds of queer drinks and medicines, which did me much more good than the sermons, for after staying there three weeks, I was much better, as was Nettie; so we went back to the city, and I stayed with Mrs. Feathers until late in August.

"One day, Mr. Fox, the old manager, came and brought Mr. Hurst, the friend who was going to organize the troupe, and I sang for him. He liked my voice, but said he would not engage me until I had rehea.r.s.ed once or twice with the company, so that he could see what I amounted to, and Mrs. Feathers said I might keep my place with her, until he had decided. After one or two rehearsals, he engaged me, at four dollars a week, and so I left Mrs. Feathers. She was so kind, gave me a new dress and two dollars, and said if I broke down in health, that her mother had taken a fancy to me, and would like to have me come out again and stay awhile with her. I felt so grateful that I threw my arms around her neck and cried, and she kissed me; I never shall forget how good it seemed to really be kissed again by some one who was a mother, and whom I knew, felt sorry for me.

"I had a very rough time in the new troupe. The manager was cross and rude, and I had to study hard to catch up with the old members; we rehea.r.s.ed stiff and steadily, and started out in September, visiting only small places first, and not making much money, so that our pay was often behind. In a while I was promoted from chorus singing to character, and I had no money to buy a wardrobe, so the manager paid me fifteen dollars that he owed me, and advanced ten--"

Here Olive gave an indignant breath, but said nothing, on second thought; and Ernestine went on, without noticing the interruption.

"I bought some stage clothes with part of it, and used the other to redeem my ring, that you gave me, mama, that I had been obliged to p.a.w.n for my board; but while I was working out the ten for him, I had to p.a.w.n it again, and one of my dresses, as I hadn't a cent. We travelled south, and were in Virginia a few nights before going to Staunton, and when I heard that we were to go there, I felt as though I never could! I didn't know whether Jean was there yet, and I didn't expect she would come to an opera if she was; but to go there, and perhaps be so near her, when I would have been glad to have died, just for the sake of seeing, or hearing from one of you, in some way--oh, it was so hard! The manager grew very much provoked and impatient because I coughed so much and was so weak, and threatened to discharge me, as I was getting useless; so I used to nearly strangle trying not to cough, and never dared say I was tired again. The very evening we got to Staunton, Miss Downs, one of the leading ladies, was taken quite sick, and the manager told me I would have to take her part next evening, in 'The Bohemian Girl,' so I sat up nearly all night to study, and sang all next day, until I was ready to drop. When the time came to go to the theatre, I was so faint I could not stand up and dress; I begged them not to tell the manager, for I knew he would discharge me right there; but Madame T---- heard of it, and sent her maid up with a hot whiskey-toddy, and to help me dress, and that is the way I started out for the evening.

"You know the rest. From the time that I felt my voice leaving me, and everything began growing dark, I did not know anything, until I opened my eyes, and saw Olive! Oh, I thought I was in Heaven, surely; it seemed too sweet to be true. I wonder I did not die, instead of faint, with pure joy. Even after I had looked at her long, had heard her speak, and felt her kisses, I could not believe it. I almost expected to wake up and find that I had been dreaming between acts, on the cold, windy stage, or that the manager was scolding me for falling to sleep, and daring to dream of happiness and you. I don't think I would have lived much longer, and perhaps when I found that I was really going to die, I could not have left you without a little word of some kind, for my heart used to nearly break with longing to know if you loved me yet, or would ever want to see me again. I did not feel as though I ever had a right to go back, but when I found that I was coming, that you wanted and loved me, oh, mama! I thought then my heart would surely break, I was so happy!"

At this point every one was crying. Mrs. Dering had laid her face down in the pillows; the girls had, one by one, retired behind their work, and Kat, with her head wrapped in the towel she had been hemming was crying, while she vowed vengeance alike on saint and sinner.

CHAPTER XXI.

MY LADY.

"I would like to see my lady."

It was an imperious demand, that every one in the Dering household had become used to, likewise, to the speaker, a mite of humanity, with wicked big blue eyes, a pug nose, and a frowzled head of brown curls.

She was dressed to day, in a long white fur cloak, a cap of the same, and a mite of a m.u.f.f, with scarlet silk ta.s.sels, and hung to her neck with a broad scarlet ribbon; and she had rung the bell with her own wee hand, and presented her message, in that imperative way, that indicated a spoiled, but precious specimen of babydom.

"I do hope you will forgive us," said the smiling faced young lady, who accompanied her. "We don't intend to come every day, but mother made some delicious chocolate cake yesterday, and I thought possibly Miss Ernestine might relish a taste of it, with some of my wine jelly; and when I spoke of bringing it, Pansy heard me, and insisted on coming too; so here we are."

"How very kind you are," said Bea, taking the dainty wicker basket, knotted with scarlet ribbons, and peeping in at its fancy gla.s.s of moulded jelly, the delicious cake, and a bunch of hot-house flowers. "We should be glad to see you every day; how could we help it, when you always come laden like a good angel!"

"I would like--to--see--my--lady!" repeated Pansy, with impressive dignity, and some severity of manner; for what did she care about jelly, and good angels, and all that. "I haven't seen her since the other day before yesterday morning."

"You shall see her right away," laughed Bea, setting down the basket.

"Excuse me a moment, Miss Clara, Kittie is busy in the kitchen. I'll take Pansy out there, before we go up stairs."

Kittie was pealing apples, and meditating on how she would trim her hat, since it had to be trimmed over, and nothing new to do it with; but she put all such thoughts aside when she saw her visitor, and made a seat for her on the bench.

"I 'spect I'm most gladder to see you than I ever was before," said Pansy, with a devoted smile, as she took her seat near Kittie.

"Why, what are you sitting there for? Here I am," said Kat, who sat opposite slicing apples. "I thought you always knew me."

Pansy looked from one to the other, for a moment, then nestled close to Kittie, as she remarked with decision:

"You're not my lady; you're the other one."

"How do you know?"

"Well, I 'spect I couldn't jes tell, but then you are."

"I shouldn't wonder if you were right, but I want to tell you that you mustn't love Kittie so much; she's mine, and I'm jealous," said Kat, with a foreboding shake of her head.

"But she keeped the bear from eating me up," cried Pansy, with unshaken belief that she would have been forever lost except for Kittie's timely arrival. "I jes never'd seen my papa once any more, 'f she hadn't finded me in the woods; and he said I ought to love her jes as much more as ever I could, and I _do_," accompanying the a.s.sertion with a loving clasp of Kittie's arm, the suddenness of which sent her apple spinning across the floor.

"There, see; I'll get it," she cried, running after it, with a triumphant glance at Kat. "'F I'd knocked your apple, you'd a scolded me."

"Oh, no; I'm an angel," laughed Kat. "Kittie's the one that scolds."

"Do you?" asked Pansy, leaning against Kittie, with a devotion that nearly knocked the whole pan of apples over.

"I never scolded you, did I?" asked Kittie.

"No, but Auntie Raymond says I mind you the bestest of anybody. I think I do. I 'spect it's because I love you best, right up next to my papa; do you love me?"

"Ever so much."

"Well, I don't know what I'll do," said Pansy, with a long sigh, after she expressed a little rapture over the a.s.surance. "My papa said the other day, what I'd do when we went back to the city 'thout you, and I said I was going to take you along; 'll you go?"

"How could I? Leave my mama and sisters?"

"But don't you love me 'n my papa?"

"I love you a very great deal."

"'N not my papa?"

"I think he's a very nice gentleman, and that you ought to be a very good little girl, and love him lots and lots."

Pansy drew back, and slowly surveyed her idol, as though she had just discovered the first flaw. "I think you might love him, too," she said with a grieved air, and some resentment.

"If she loved him, she wouldn't love you so much," said Kat, slyly.

"Then I'm glad you don't," exclaimed Pansy, with sudden satisfaction, and returning to her seat with an enraptured smile.

There was no mistaking the child's devotion. She firmly believed that Kittie had saved her from being lost forever, and on the foundation of her great grat.i.tude, she had built an overwhelming love, that expressed itself in various ways. She never let any one of the family come to town without bringing flowers, and she insisted on coming in at least three times a week, herself; and it may be remarked, that whatever Pansy set her mind on, she did.

Between aunts, uncles, and cousins, and a father, who was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she was the most wonderful child alive, she was in a fair way of being spoiled, and had finally come to where she ruled the household with the most imperious little will, which every one submitted to, and thought delightful.

Twice since the picnic, she had come with her papa, in the phaeton, and taken Kittie to ride, and three times, Mr. Murray had come in the long summer evenings, and brought her to spend an hour or two; and there Kittie's acquaintance with him ceased.

In the rides, he had talked to her but little, preferring to listen to the unbroken chatter which Pansy kept up with her. And then he saw, that to her, he appeared in a fatherly guise, which made her feel perfectly free and unrestrained, and he thought it best to leave it so for the present.

His calls in the evenings had been entirely devoted to Mrs. Dering. They would sit on the porch, in proper, elderly fashion, sometimes joined by Bea, while the twins and Pansy would roam about the yard, and play together like three children, and Mr. Murray would have nothing to say to the one he really came to see except "Good evening, Miss Kittie,"

when he came, and when he left.

No one, except his own sister, suspected in the least that anything took him there save a desire to accompany Pansy, whose absorbing devotion everyone in Canfield knew by this time.

Mr. Murray was quick to see that in the mother's eyes, Kittie and Kat were the merest children, and that a thought of any other kind in connection with them, would not be harbored for an instant; and he also saw, that never a girlish heart was freer from anything of loves or lovers, than Kittie's, and so long as it was so, he was quite content to let it remain, and watch it grow to maturity. There was no denying that he was strangely and powerfully interested in her, wonder and laugh at the idea, as he would, though he could not yet think that the feeling had a.s.sumed the name of love. It was only that respect and interest that comes to the heart of man when he meets a woman, lovely, fresh-hearted, and unselfishly sweet.