"Did you do it?"

"Yes 'm," replied 'Lisbeth, trying to look as though nothing had happened. "I didn't think anybody tended 'm."

"What did you do it for?"

"To give 'm air," replied 'Lisbeth. "Please 'm may Susan Jordan put this string in my shoe, it won't never go in?"

"Come here this moment, you improper child!" said Miss Pritchet.

'Lisbeth dropped her shoe-string and cowered up to Miss Pritchet like a startled dove.

"Didn't you know better?"

"No 'm, I never did."

"You will!"

"Will I? I want to know as much as I can," said 'Lisbeth.

Need I say that Miss Pritchet taught her at once what it was to put the roots of marguerites to air? I need not tell you, I know. But one thing I will tell you, 'Lisbeth bore her punishment by herself, and never told on Jemmy Jenkins; but Jemmy Jenkins was man enough to tell on himself, which was much the best way, and pleased Miss Pritchet so much that she broke off both punishments clear in the middle, and told 'Lisbeth and Jemmy Jenkins that she would try not to remember about the marguerites at all, if they would try never to do so any more.

Yet when 'Lisbeth, upon starting for home, told her that she had learned one thing that day, she had learned not to put the roots of marguerites to air, Miss Pritchet looked very stern, for which 'Lisbeth could not account at all.

Gorham felt very much ashamed in having his sister treat Miss Pritchet's marguerites in such an unfeeling manner; he felt very much ashamed indeed. Gorham was a very proper boy; he did not like to have his sister called an improper child. He would like to have told Miss Pritchet so, only that would have been improper. He was not pleased with Miss Pritchet; he was not pleased with 'Lisbeth; he was not pleased with Jemmy Jenkins.

After school he told Jemmy Jenkins what he thought of it; that it was not proper to treat anybody's marguerites in such a manner; that he was older and bigger and wiser than 'Lisbeth, and should have told her better; and Jemmy Jenkins sat on a log rubbing his fingers together and thinking that Gorham was not making any mistakes at all, though he, himself, had made a great mistake when he helped 'Lisbeth plant the marguerites with the roots up.

Jemmy Jenkins felt very much ashamed of himself, very much ashamed indeed, which was the very best way for him to feel, as he would not be likely, after feeling so much ashamed of himself, to do so again.

'Lisbeth told her mother that she was learning a great deal at school; then the mother smiled, but when she heard about the marguerites she did not smile, she looked as stern as she could, and 'Lisbeth thought this was beyond bearing, for everybody to look stern when she was learning and improving.

But 'Lisbeth did improve, she improved a great deal, only after she had been at school with Miss Pritchet a couple of years it turned out that 'Lisbeth could not stay any longer with Miss Pritchet, could not stay any longer where she grew, but must go to a new place, and go a great way to get to it; in fact, after a great deal of talking, and a great deal of thinking, and a great deal of planning, 'Lisbeth's mother found that she must--she could not help it, she could do nothing better--she must go to live in London.

CHAPTER VIII.

Now 'Lisbeth had never given up counting the miles to London. She had counted them up by tens many a time; she had counted them up by twenties; she had counted them up every way there was to count them, but they continued to be a great many miles. When she learned that she was going to grow in a new place, she believed that nothing would ever trouble her any more; that the world would be made over new.

'Lisbeth could not help in getting ready; if she had done less in getting ready she might have helped her mother more. But mother helped herself. She sold a great many things, and she left a great many things to be sent after her, and she carried a great many things with her.

Mother cried when she left the old house, but 'Lisbeth did not cry, she danced about on the points of her toes, till she laughed herself quite red in the face. 'Lisbeth had always been a little foolish about London.

'Lisbeth had wished a great while to go to London. She might have been a great deal happier in the beautiful place where she grew if she had not wished so hard; she had wished very hard and she got there. She had always believed that London was delightful; now she knew it was. She had lived in a dear little mite of a house, now she would live in a tall one. She had lived next and near to a great many people, now she would live under the roof with a great many people. She had lived on a lane, now she would live on a--well, a street which was too little and short and narrow to be called a street.

'Lisbeth knew she had come to London because she was poorer, instead of because she was richer, but that did not make any difference. At the end of the street too little to be called a street, was a real, true, broad street, with fine houses packed together from one end to the other end of it.

'Lisbeth slipped down the stairs, and along the little street to the corner. She threw up her hands in admiration. She looked up and down in delight. It was a fine thing to live in London, a very great and fine thing indeed. She ran quite out of the little street to look up and down the greater one.

She saw the windows in rows, blazing with lights. She clapped her hands; she was delighted. She heard children's voices from an open window. She climbed stealthily up to the window and looked in. Six children appeared before her, with very sweet faces, and pretty clothes, and the lights flashed down upon them from overhead.

They were playing with dolls. They were playing so hard that they did not see 'Lisbeth clinging to the sill. They were pretending that the dolls were talking to each other, that the one was the man and the other the mistress. The mistress was telling the man to take off his hat; but he was a stubborn man, he would not take off his hat. Then the children all laughed, and 'Lisbeth laughed so much harder than anybody else, that they all looked up and saw her hanging to the sill; then she dropped suddenly, and forgot that she had to drop so far, and had she not caught by her skirt and hung to the iron railing of the area, n.o.body knows how she might have been broken and battered and bruised by falling down the area before she had been in London over night.

But she caught to the spikes and her dress was strong; and the children all ran and saw her hanging to the spikes, and somebody lifted her over and stood her on her feet and turned her around to see what she looked like, and then she ran home as soon as she could find out which way to run.

She found out that the big street was nicer than the little one; that the people on the big street were different from the people on the little one. She found out that all the houses and streets in London were not just alike, and she found this out before she had gone to sleep the first night, in the little black room, in the big dirty house, in the little black street. But she was not sorry she had come to London.

She wondered if everybody who lived in London had such lovely dolls as the mistress, such wonderful dolls as the man she had seen. She wondered if there were many children in London who wore such pretty clothes, and who played under such flashing lights, and who had such shining gla.s.ses, and tables, and chairs, and wonderful furniture of all kinds in the rooms where they played, and she concluded there must be; this time she did not make a mistake, for there were.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

'Lisbeth noticed that her mother, and Gorham, and d.i.c.kon, and Trotty did not go in any rooms of the tall house but two; she found that these two were at the top of the house, and that they had nothing to do with those underneath; she found out that there was a great clatter in the house, and in the next houses, as though the whole town were talking; she wondered how she liked it; but she concluded that she liked it very much; she was living in London, how could she help liking it?

Mother looked solemn, and the rooms looked black, and the things were tumbled upside down, and the air was hot, and the noise kept everybody awake, and everybody was half tired to death, and nothing was as bright as it might have been--not even the tallow candle--but they were in London, a hundred miles from the mile-stone; a hundred miles from the church steeple, and the mill, and the dear bit of a house where they had all grown, and rolled, and tumbled; and from the meadows with the flowers sleeping side by side; but they were in London, what did it matter?

Yet if they really were in London, while they slept they dreamed they were playing, and walking and talking under the shadow of the church steeple, and by the mill, and chasing b.u.t.terflies over the meadows where the flowers were fast asleep, and forgot that the rooms were black, and the air hot, and that things were not as they had been.

CHAPTER IX.

'Lisbeth learned a great many things very soon, though she was not at school. A very great many things indeed; and they were not always pleasant things. She learned, for one thing, that they grew poorer every day, instead of growing richer. She learned that the dirty little street, too little to be a real street, was not as pleasant to look upon as the garden plot at home, and the green of the fields over the way.

She learned that mother grew thinner, and that the boys grew dirtier and crosser, and the people down stairs, she found out, were not like the mill hands at home, the mill hands and the little children.

She saw a great many fine sights; she saw shops which made her open her eyes; and houses which astonished her to behold, and carriages which took her breath away, and people who overcame her altogether. She saw sights and shows such as she had never dreamed of; she saw a wax figure at the corner, with a fine curled wig, a figure which turned from side to side; she saw sights on every side to please her fancy, to delight her eyes, but only to make her remember afterward that she lived among a lot of dirty people, in two miserable old rooms, in a dirty little street; that she was really happier in the place where she grew first than in the place where she grew last; that made her wonder why she had ever sighed, and sighed, and wished to get a hundred miles away from that precious old mile-stone.

She was not contented in London a bit more than she had been contented playing in the shadow of the steeple and of the mill. She was not contented at all. Had she learned to be contented under the shadow of the mill and the steeple, under the walnut tree, and among the flowers around the mile-stone, she might have smiled brighter smiles in the dark little room in the dirty old house, in the dirty little street in London. A bright, contented flower says the same sweet words in the fresh green fields, and in a little flower pot up in a London window; a contented little flower always wears a bright face. A contented heart is always cheerful.

'Lisbeth had never been contented. She was always wishing to be somewhere else. She was not contented before she went to London, that was the reason why she was not contented when she reached there.

'Lisbeth tried to find some nice little London girl to talk to; she tried first to find a great many, then she tried to find one; she tried to find some nice little London boys; then she tried to find one nice little London boy; but the boys and the girls had not been taught to be very nice, in the dirty old house in the dirty little street, and though some of them had good enough faces, they had not pleasant ways, nor pleasant words.

When Gorham and d.i.c.kon wanted to play they found n.o.body but boys who were not comfortable boys to play with; at first they did not play with those uncomfortable boys at all; then they played with them a little, and then they played with them more, so that d.i.c.kon and Gorham became after a time not as good and pleasant themselves as they once were.

One day there were some new people came to live in a room down stairs; a mother and father and three little boys. They looked as though they had never lived in such a dirty street before. They were good little boys, with pleasant ways, and pleasant words, and very pleasant faces.

'Lisbeth liked to peep in and help them play; she liked to play with them very much; they made her feel happier. 'Lisbeth had come to London, but she was not very happy; she did not say so, but it was true just the same.

These little boys had no toys to play with, but they were good and contented just the same. They played with whatever came in their way; they were as happy in playing with the old chairs as many boys are with their rocking-horses. They were contented little boys. But they were very poor; 'Lisbeth knew they were; she was very sorry that they were so poor, but they were not. They did not care at all. She was sorry that the mother and father had to leave them so much alone; perhaps they may have been sorry themselves about this, I do not know.

How 'Lisbeth laughed when she saw them playing with the brooms. They made a procession, that is they all walked in a line; the tallest at the head, and the little one coming last, and each one carried a brush or broom with a long handle, and if soldiers were ever proud of their guns, so were these little boys proud. Perhaps they were more proud than soldiers with guns.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

'Lisbeth knew that these little boys were alone a great deal, because their mother and father were so poor, and were obliged to go and earn all they could, and she used to run in very often to see how they managed. But these were contented little boys; they were contented where they found themselves, and that was the reason why they got along so well.