CHAPTER XVI.
_GOOD WORKS._
The "Rajah" was delayed awhile, and when it sailed poor Mrs. Clara wason board; for every thing was ready, all thought she had better go tocomfort her husband, and since her boy died she seemed to care verylittle what became of her. So, with friends to cheer the long voyage,she sailed away, a heavy-hearted woman, yet not quite disconsolate;for she knew her mourning was excessively becoming, and felt sure thatStephen would not find her altered by her trials as much as might havebeen expected.
Then nothing was left of that gay household but the empty rooms,silence never broken by a blithe voice any more, and pictures full ofpromise, but all unfinished, like poor Charlie's life.
There was much mourning for the bonny Prince, but no need to tell ofit except as it affected Rose; for it is with her we have most to do,the other characters being of secondary importance.
When time had soothed the first shock of sudden loss, she wassurprised to find that the memory of his faults and failings, shortlife and piteous death, grew dim as if a kindly hand wiped out therecord, and gave him back to her in the likeness of the brave, brightboy she had loved, not as the wayward, passionate young man who hadloved her.
This comforted her very much; and, folding down the last blotted leafwhere his name was written, she gladly turned back to reopen andreread the happier chapters which painted the youthful knight beforehe went out to fall in his first battle. None of the bitterness oflove bereaved marred this memory for Rose, because she found that thewarmer sentiment, just budding in her heart, had died with Charlie,and lay cold and quiet in his grave. She wondered, yet was glad;though sometimes a remorseful pang smote her when she discovered howpossible it was to go on without him, feeling almost as if a burdenhad been lifted off, since his happiness was taken out of her hands.The time had not yet come when the knowledge that a man's heart was inher keeping would make the pride and joy of her life; and while shewaited for that moment she enjoyed the liberty she seemed to haverecovered.
Such being her inward state, it much annoyed her to be regarded as abroken-hearted girl, and pitied for the loss of her young lover. Shecould not explain to all the world, so let it pass, and occupied hermind with the good works which always lie ready to be taken up andcarried on. Having chosen philanthropy as her profession, she feltthat it was high time to begin the task too long neglected.
Her projects were excellent, but did not prosper as rapidly as shehoped; for, having to deal with people, not things, unexpectedobstacles were constantly arising. The "Home for Decayed Gentlewomen,"as the boys insisted on calling her two newly repaired houses,started finely; and it was a pleasant sight to see the comfortablerooms filled with respectable women busy at their various tasks,surrounded by the decencies and many of the comforts which make lifeendurable. But, presently, Rose was disturbed to find that the goodpeople expected her to take care of them in a way she had notbargained for. Buffum, her agent, was constantly reporting complaints,new wants, and general discontent if they were not attended to. Thingswere neglected, water-pipes froze and burst, drains got out of order,yards were in a mess, and rents behindhand. Worst of all, outsiders,instead of sympathizing, only laughed and said, "We told you so,"which is a most discouraging remark to older and wiser workers thanRose.
Uncle Alec, however, stood by her staunchly, and helped her out ofmany of her woes by good advice, and an occasional visit ofinspection, which did much to impress upon the dwellers there the factthat, if they did not do their part, their leases would be short ones.
"I didn't expect to make any thing out of it, but I did think theywould be grateful," said Rose, on one occasion when several complaintshad come in at once, and Buffum had reported great difficulty incollecting the low rents.
"If you do this thing for the sake of the gratitude, then it _is_ afailure: but if it is done for the love of helping those who needhelp it is a success; for in spite of their worry every one of thosewomen feel what privileges they enjoy and value them highly," said Dr.Alec, as they went home after one of these unsatisfactory calls.
"Then the least they can do is to say 'Thank you.' I'm afraid I _have_thought more of the gratitude than the work; but if there isn't any Imust make up my mind to go without," answered Rose, feeling defraudedof her due.
"Favors often separate instead of attracting people nearer to oneanother, and I've seen many a friendship spoilt by the obligationbeing all on one side. Can't explain it, but it is so; and I've cometo the conclusion that it is as hard to give in the right spirit as itis to receive. Puzzle it out, my dear, while you are learning to dogood for its own sake."
"I know one sort of people who _are_ grateful, and I'm going to devotemy mind to them. They thank me in many ways, and helping them is allpleasure and no worry. Come in to the hospital and see the dearbabies, or the Asylum and carry oranges to Phebe's orphans: _they_don't complain and fidget one's life out, bless their hearts!" criedRose, clearing up suddenly.
After that she left Buffum to manage the "Retreat," and devoted herenergies to the little folks, always so ready to receive the smallestgift, and repay the giver with their artless thanks. Here she foundplenty to do, and did it with such sweet good-will that she won herway like sunshine, making many a little heart dance over splendiddolls, gay picture-books, and pots of flowers, as well as food, fire,and clothes for the small bodies pinched with want and pain.
As spring came, new plans sprung up as naturally as dandelions. Thepoor children longed for the country; and, as the green fields couldnot come to them, Rose carried them to the green fields. Down on thePoint stood an old farmhouse, often used by the Campbell tribe forsummer holidays. That spring it was set to rights unusually early,several women installed as housekeeper, cook, and nurses; and, whenthe May days grew bright and warm, squads of pale children came totoddle in the grass, run over the rocks, and play upon the smoothsands of the beach. A pretty sight, and one that well repaid those whobrought it to pass.
Every one took an interest in the "Rose Garden," as Mac named it; andthe women-folk were continually driving over to the Point withsomething for the "poor dears." Aunt Plenty sowed gingerbreadbroadcast; Aunt Jessie made pinafores by the dozen; while Aunt Jane"kept her eye" on the nurses, and Aunt Myra supplied medicines soliberally that the mortality would have been awful, if Dr. Alec hadnot taken them in charge. To him this was the most delightful spot inthe world: and well it might be; for he suggested the idea, and gaveRose all the credit of it. He was often there, and his appearance wasalways greeted with shrieks of rapture, as the children gathered fromall quarters: creeping, running, hopping on crutches, or carried inarms which they gladly left to sit on "Uncle Doctor's" knee; for thatwas the title by which he went among them.
He seemed as young as any of his comrades, though the curly head wasgetting gray; and the frolics that went on when he arrived were betterthan any medicine to children who had never learned to play. It was astanding joke among the friends that the bachelor brother had thelargest family, and was the most domestic man of the remaining four;though Uncle Mac did his part manfully, and kept Aunt Jane in aconstant fidget, by his rash propositions to adopt the heartiest boysand prettiest girls to amuse him and employ her.
On one occasion she had a very narrow escape; and the culprit beingher son, not her husband, she felt free to repay herself for manyscares of this sort by a good scolding; which, unlike many, producedexcellent results.
One bright June day, as Rose came cantering home from the Point on herpretty bay pony, she saw a man sitting on a fallen tree beside theroad, and something in his despondent attitude arrested her attention.As she drew nearer, he turned his head, and she stopped short,exclaiming in great surprise,--
"Why, Mac! what _are_ you doing here?"
"Trying to solve a problem," he answered, looking up with a whimsicalexpression of perplexity and amusement in his face, which made Rosesmile, till his next words turned her sober in a twinkling,--
"I've eloped with a young lady, and don't
know what to do with her. Itook her home, of course; but mother turned her out of the house, andI'm in a quandary."
"Is that her baggage?" asked Rose, pointing with her whip to the largebundle which he held; while the wild idea flashed through her headthat perhaps he really _had_ done some rash deed of this sort.
"No, this is the young lady herself;" and, opening a corner of thebrown shawl, he displayed a child of three,--so pale, so thin, andtiny, that she looked like a small scared bird just fallen from thenest, as she shrunk away from the light with great frightened eyes,and a hand like a little claw tightly clutching a button of Mac'scoat.
"Poor baby! where did it come from?" cried Rose, leaning down to look.
"I'll tell you the story, and then you shall advise me what to do. Atour hospital, we've had a poor woman who got hurt, and died two daysago. I had nothing to do with her, only took her a bit of fruit onceor twice; for she had big, wistful sort of eyes that haunted me. Theday she died I stopped a minute, and the nurse said she'd been wantingto speak to me, but didn't dare. So I asked if I could do any thingfor her; and, though she could hardly breathe for pain,--being almostgone,--she implored me to take care of baby. I found out where thechild was, and promised I'd see after her; for the poor soul couldn'tseem to die till I'd given her that comfort. I never can forget thelook in her eyes, as I held her hand, and said, 'Baby shall be takencare of.' She tried to thank me, and died soon after quite peacefully.Well, I went to-day and hunted up the poor little wretch. Found her ina miserable place, left in the care of an old hag, who had shut her upalone to keep her out of the way, and there this mite was, huddled ina corner crying, 'Marmar, marmar!' fit to touch a heart of stone. Iblew up the woman, and took baby straight away, for she had beenabused; and it was high time. Look there, will you?"
Mac turned the little skinny arm, and showed a blue mark which madeRose drop her reins, and stretch out both hands, crying with a tendersort of indignation,--
"How dared they do it? Give her to me; poor, little, motherlessthing!"
Mac laid the bundle in her arms, and Rose began to cuddle it in thefond, foolish way women have,--a most comfortable and effective way,nevertheless; and baby evidently felt that things were changing forthe better, when warm lips touched her cheeks, a soft hand smoothedher tumbled hair, and a womanly face bent over her, with theinarticulate cooings and purrings mothers make. The frightened eyeswent up to this gentle countenance, and rested there as if reassured;the little claw crept to the girl's neck, and poor baby nestled to herwith a long sigh, and a plaintive murmur of "Marmar, marmar," thatcertainly would have touched a stony heart.
"Now, go on. No, Rosa, not you," said the new nurse, as theintelligent animal looked round to see if things were all right beforeshe proceeded.
"I took the child home to mother, not knowing what else to do; but shewouldn't have it at any price, even for a night. She doesn't likechildren, you know, and father has joked so much about the Pointersthat she is quite rampant at the mere idea of a child in the house.She told me to take it to the Rose Garden. I said it was running overnow, and no room even for a mite like this. 'Go to the Hospital,' saysshe. 'Baby isn't ill, ma'am,' says I. 'Orphan Asylum,' says she. 'Notan orphan: got a father who can't take care of her,' says I. 'Take herto the Foundling place, or Mrs. Gardener, or some one whose businessit is. I will _not_ have the creature here, sick and dirty and noisy.Carry it back, and ask Rose to tell you what to do with it.' So mycruel parent cast me forth; but relented as I shouldered baby, gave mea shawl to put her in, a jumble to feed her with, and money to pay herboard in some good place. Mother's bark is always worse than her bite,you know."
"And you were trying to think of the 'good place' as you sat here?"asked Rose, looking down at him with great approval, as he stoodpatting Rosa's glossy neck.
"Exactly. I didn't want to trouble you, for you have your house fullalready; and I really couldn't lay my hand on any good soul who wouldbe bothered with this little forlornity. She has nothing to recommendher, you see,--not pretty, feeble, and shy as a mouse; no end of care,I dare say: yet she needs every bit she can get to keep soul and bodytogether, if I'm any judge."
Rose opened her lips impulsively, but closed them without speaking,and sat a minute looking straight between Rosa's ears, as if forcingherself to think twice before she spoke. Mac watched her out of thecorner of his eye, as he said, in a musing tone, tucking the shawlround a pair of shabby little feet the while,--
"This seems to be one of the charities that no one wants to undertake;yet I can't help feeling that my promise to the mother binds me tosomething more than merely handing baby over to some busy matron orcareless nurse in any of our over-crowded institutions. She is such afrail creature she won't trouble any one long, perhaps; and I _should_like to give her just a taste of comfort, if not love, before shefinds her 'Marmar' again."
"Lead Rosa: I'm going to take this child home; and, if uncle iswilling, I'll adopt her, and she _shall_ be happy!" cried Rose, withthe sudden glow of feeling that always made her lovely. And,gathering poor baby close, she went on her way like a modernBritomart, ready to redress the wrongs of any who had need of her.
As he led the slowly stepping horse along the quiet road, Mac couldnot help thinking that they looked a little like the Flight intoEgypt: but he did not say so, being a reverent youth,--only glancedback now and then at the figure above him; for Rose had taken off herhat to keep the light from baby's eyes, and sat with the sunshineturning her uncovered hair to gold, as she looked down at the littlecreature resting on the saddle before her, with the sweetthoughtfulness one sees in some of Correggio's young Madonnas.
No one else saw the picture, but Mac long remembered it; and everafter there was a touch of reverence added to the warm affection hehad always borne his cousin Rose.
"What is the child's name?" was the sudden question which disturbed abrief silence, broken only by the sound of pacing hoofs, the rustle ofgreen boughs overhead, and the blithe carolling of birds.
"I'm sure I don't know," answered Mac, suddenly aware that he hadfallen out of one quandary into another.
"Didn't you ask?"
"No: the mother called her 'Baby;' the old woman, 'Brat.' And that isall I know of the first name: the last is Kennedy. You can Christenher what you like."
"Then I shall name her Dulcinea, as you are her knight, and call herDulce for short. That is a sweet diminutive, I'm sure," laughed Rose,much amused at the idea.
Don Quixote looked pleased, and vowed to defend his little ladystoutly, beginning his services on the spot by filling the small handswith buttercups, thereby winning for himself the first smile baby'sface had known for weeks.
When they got home, Aunt Plenty received her new guest with heraccustomed hospitality, and, on learning the story, was as warmlyinterested as even enthusiastic Rose could desire, bustling about tomake the child comfortable with an energy pleasant to see; for thegrandmotherly instincts were strong in the old lady, and of late hadbeen beautifully developed.
In less than half an hour from the time baby went upstairs, she camedown again on Rose's arm, freshly washed and brushed, in a pink gownmuch too large, and a white apron decidedly too small; an immaculatepair of socks, but no shoes; a neat bandage on the bruised arm, and astring of spools for a plaything hanging on the other. A resignedexpression sat upon her little face; but the frightened eyes were onlyshy now, and the forlorn heart evidently much comforted.
"There! how do you like your Dulce now?" said Rose, proudly displayingthe work of her hands, as she came in with her habit pinned up, andcarrying a silver porringer of bread and milk.
Mac knelt down, took the small, reluctant hand, and kissed it asdevoutly as ever good Alonzo Quixada did that of the Duchess; while hesaid, merrily quoting from the immortal story,--
"'High and Sovereign Lady, thine till death, the Knight of the RuefulCountenance.'"
But baby had no heart for play, and, withdrawing her hand, pointed tothe porringer, with the suggestive remark,--
/>
"Din-din, _now_."
So Rose sat down and fed the Duchess, while the Don stood by andwatched the feast with much satisfaction.
"How nice she looks! Do you consider shoes unhealthy?" he asked,surveying the socks with respectful interest.
"No: her shoes are drying. You must have let her go in the mud."
"I only put her down for a minute when she howled; and she made for apuddle, like a duck. I'll buy her some new ones,--clothes too. Wheredo I go, what do I ask for, and how much do I get?" he said, divingfor his pocket-book, amiably anxious, but pitiably ignorant.
"I'll see to that. We always have things on hand for the Pointers asthey come along, and can soon fit Dulce out. You may make someinquiries about the father if you will; for I don't want to have hertaken away just as I get fond of her. Do you know any thing abouthim?"
"Only that he is in State Prison for twenty-one years, and not likelyto trouble you."
"How dreadful! I really think Phebe was better off to have none atall. I'll go to work at once, then, and try to bring up the convict'slittle daughter to be a good woman; so that she will have an honestname of her own, since he has nothing but disgrace to give her."
"Uncle can show you how to do that, if you need any help. He has beenso successful in his first attempt I fancy you won't require much,"said Mac, picking up the spools for the sixth time.
"Yes, I shall; for it is a great responsibility, and I do notundertake it lightly," answered Rose, soberly; though thedouble-barrelled compliment pleased her very much.
"I'm sure Phebe has turned out splendidly, and you began very earlywith her."
"So I did! that's encouraging. Dear thing, how bewildered she lookedwhen I proposed adopting her. I remember all about it; for uncle hadjust come, and I was quite crazy over a box of presents, and rushed atPhebe as she was cleaning brasses. How little I thought my childishoffer would end so well!" and Rose fell a musing with a happy smile onher face, while baby picked the last morsels out of the porringer withher own busy fingers.
It certainly had ended well; for Phebe at the end of six months notonly had a good place as choir-singer, but several young pupils, andexcellent prospects for the next winter.
"'Accept the blessing of a poor young man, Whose lucky steps have led him to your door,'
and let me help as much as I can. Good-by, my Dulcinea," and, with afarewell stroke of the smooth head, Mac went away to report hissuccess to his mother, who, in spite of her seeming harshness, wasalready planning how she could best befriend this inconvenient baby.