"What shall I bring you from the city?" he asked. "A new doll? What would you like best of all, Rhoda?"

I considered the question. There were so many things that the major might bring from the city. There were little doll-babies, or picture-books, or cups and saucers, or hooples with bells. Then I had an inspiration. I leaned forward in a glow of excitement.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"I should like--Oh, Major! Will you really give it to me? I should like the littlest watch in the world. With a star! With a star, just like yours!"

"You shall have it," he answered, promptly, as if there was nothing unusual in such a grand request. "Now, remember, if all goes well, I'll be at the gate a week from to-day. And I'll have that watch right here in my pocket."

"And I'll bring flowers!" I cried, joyfully. "All the flowers that you love best, Major."

"Good-by," he said, with a sudden touch of emotion.

"Good-by," I answered, rather tearfully, for even the watch could not reconcile me to his absence.

He turned to go, and came back again.

"Pray for the old major," he said, in a husky whisper.

Through my tears I saw him go up the block, a little slower than usual, as if he did not want to go. At the gate he stopped and waved his hat to me, as he had done on that first day, and squared his gallant old shoulders before he pa.s.sed into the house. I always wished that I had kissed him before he went.

It was not hard to pray for the major, for I believed in the efficacy of prayer. When the elastic bands became loosened in the black doll, Topsy, and she lost her wool and her legs at the same time, I went down, solemnly, on my knees on the floor, and prayed for them to grow together again. And they did, in the night. And when I lost my little front tooth, I prayed to G.o.d and He sent me a new one! So it was not hard to pray for the major. But somehow or other I did not like to do it before my mother. It seemed such a secret sort of a prayer. I waited until I was safe under the covers, and she had taken away the light. Then I climbed out of the bed, in the big darkness, and went down on the floor.

I prayed to G.o.d to bless the old major, and bring him back safely to me.

I said it over twice, so that G.o.d would not forget.

"So the old major has gone to the city," my father said, at the breakfast table. "I can remember him when he was in the pride of his strength, a magnificent figure on horseback. He never rose as high in the service as he should. He made powerful enemies and slipped into the background."

"It's twenty years since his wife died," my mother's soft voice added.

"He has lived alone in that big house ever since. Think of it, Robert!"

"Such is the heart's fidelity," father answered, with his face turned toward hers.

"When he comes back we must make more of him," mother said.

It was a very long week, but even long weeks have a way of slipping by at last. I played about the house and the garden with the twins, but I never went near the gate, not until the day dawned which was seven times from last Friday, and was Friday again, bright and clear, the very day for the major's home-coming. There were so many flowers in the garden that morning, such especially large ones. They knew, too, that the major was coming home, and had put on their prettiest dresses in his honor.

It was quite a puzzle to me what I should put on. I had a closet full of dresses. There was a beautiful blue silk one, too good for anything but church, which matched a little blue parasol. And there was a lovely white one with a lace flounce, which went with my scolloped petticoat.

My third best dress had roses and b.u.t.tons on it, and the fourth best was covered with brown spots, like cough drops. I loved my little dresses, and it was so hard to tell which dress should come out, and which must stay shut up in the closet, with n.o.body to admire them.

"Shall it be the cough drop dress, mother?" I asked, uncertainly.

"It's such a wonderful day, and the sun shines so bright, that I think you might put on the white dress with the lace flounce," my mother said, with that smile which meant that she was laughing with me, and not at me.

"And my little black slippers?"

"And your little black slippers."

"And, mother, you remember the time that I was your little flower girl?

And you put roses in my hair so it looked like a crown? I'd like to be the major's little flower girl."

My mother lent herself to the pretty idea. She crowned my head with roses. There were roses at my throat, and a big, floating, pink sash swept down my back, and there were roses in my hand for the major, one bunch to give him with a kiss when he came, and another to give him with my love when he went.

Grandmother shook her wise head when she saw that toilet.

"If she were my child," she said, "I should dress her in brown gingham down to her heels, and tie her hair with shoe-laces."

I gasped, and mother laughed.

"She's vain," grandmother went on, severely. "Suppose she should grow up a poppet!"

I carried that awful name out with me as I climbed upon the gate, and stared out, bashfully, at the street. I was afraid to think how beautiful I might be.

The grocer's boy came by, my own particular grocer's boy. Stricken with sudden admiration for my charms he put down his basket, and expressed his sentiments.

"Say, you are a daisy!" he said.

"Go away, Jakie," I answered, with embarra.s.sment. "I haven't time to play with you now. Go away! I'm busy."

He was quite crushed by my new haughtiness, and lingered about, thinking that I would relent, but all my smiles and flowers were waiting for that bent figure which I loved so well.

An hour slipped by, but still the major did not come. My crown grew heavy on my head, and the flowers wilted in my hot hands. The lady from over the way came to ask me questions. She had on her ugliest hair, and there were tears in her eyes.

"What are you doing, Rhoda?" she asked, with an anxious look.

Then she seemed to divine.

"You are not watching for the major!" she exclaimed.

"Yes," I answered, wearily.

"Doesn't your mother know, child?" she cried. "But, then, he never told any one. They found that there must be an operation, and he was not strong. There was no one whom he loved there at the end. He died, as he lived, all alone. Oh, poor old man! Poor old man! Let me go by, child!

Let me go by!"

She thrust herself in the little gate, wheeling me back against the fence, and went up the path to our house.

Then, in hardly a moment, Norah came out and led me in, and proceeded to take off all my pretty things and put on a common dress, quite an old one, with a darn on the sleeve.

"I don't want that dress, Norah," I protested. "I want my white dress. I want to see my major. I want to be his little flower girl."

I went in where my mother sat with the lady from over the way, and explained the situation through my tears. Mother was very tender with me. Somehow I felt that she herself was sorry about something, for she dropped a tear on the wilted roses which I still held in my hand.

Together we went out into the garden. Together we gathered all the flowers that there were--the big ones and the little ones--and formed them into a great bunch. It was for the major. I danced with sheer delight, knowing only too well how the kind face would light up when he saw all the flowers which he had admired so often made a present to him.

I added b.u.t.tercups, and dandelions, and bits of feathery gra.s.s, while mother watched me, with a sad smile, and said never a word.

The lady from over the way cried very hard on our front steps, but afterwards she dried her eyes and took my flowers to the major.

He did not come the next day or the next, though I watched at the gate, and then something strange happened. I was told not to go into the garden.

"Not this morning, Rhoda," my mother said. "Grandma and I are going out, and you must stay in the house. When we come back you may go out."