Nine Little Goslings

  GOOSEY, GOOSEY GANDER.

  "BUT why must I go to bed? It isn't time, and I'm not sleepy yet,"pleaded Dickie, holding fast by the side of the door.

  "Now, Dickie, don't be naughty. It's time because I say that it's time."

  "Papa never tells me it's time when it's light like this," arguedDickie. "_He_ doesn't ever send me to bed till seven o'clock. I'm notgoing till it's a great deal darker than this. So there, Mally Spence."

  "Oh, yes, you are, Dickie darling," replied Mally coaxingly. "The reasonit's light is because the days are so long now. It's quite latereally,--almost seven o'clock,--that is," she added hastily, "it's pastsix (two minutes past!), and sister wants to put Dickie to bed, becauseshe's going to take tea with Jane Foster, and unless Dick is safe andsound she can't go. Dickie would be sorry to make sister lose herpleasure, wouldn't he?"

  "I wiss you didn't want me to go," urged Dick, but he was asweet-tempered little soul, so he yielded to Mally's gentle pull, andsuffered her to lead him in-doors. Upstairs they went, past Mally'sroom, Papa's,--up another flight of stairs, and into the attic chamberwhere Dick slept alone. It was a tiny chamber. The ceiling was low, andthe walls sloped inward like the sides of a tent. It would have been toosmall to hold a grown person comfortably, but there was room in plentyfor Dickie's bed, one chair, and the chest of drawers which held hisclothes and toys. One narrow window lighted it, opening toward the West.On the white plastered wall beside it, lay a window-shaped patch of warmpink light. The light was reflected from the sunset. Dickie had seenthis light come and go very often. He liked to have it there; it was sopretty, he thought.

  Malvina undressed him. She did not talk as much as usual, for her headwas full of the tea-party, and she was in a hurry to get through and beoff. Dickie, however, was not the least in a hurry. Slowly he raised onefoot, then the other, to have his shoes untied, slowly turned himselfthat Mally might unfasten his apron. All the time he talked. Mallythought she had never known him ask so many questions, or take so muchtime about every thing.

  "What makes the wall pink?" he said. "It never is 'cept just atbedtime."

  "It's the sun."

  "Why doesn't the sun make it that color always?"

  "The sun is setting now. He is not setting always."

  "That's an improper word. You mustn't say it."

  "What's an improper word?"

  "Papa _said_, when I said 'setting on the door-steps,' that it wasn'tproper to say that. He said I must say _sitting_ on the door steps."

  "That isn't the same thing, Goosey Gander," cried Mally laughing. "Thesun sets and little boys sit."

  "I'm not a goosey gander," responded Dickie. "And Papa _said_ it wasn'tproper."

  "Never mind," said Mally, whipping on his night-gown: "you're a darling,if you are a goosey. Now say your prayers nicely."

  "Yes," replied Dick, dreamily. He knelt down and began his usual prayer."Please, God, bless Papa and Mally and Gwandmamma and--" "make Dick agood boy" should have come next, but his thoughts wandered. "Why don'tthe sun sit as well as little boys?" he asked.

  "Oh, Dickie, Dickie!" cried the scandalized Malvina. "You're saying yourprayers, you know. Good children don't stop to ask questions whenthey're saying their prayers."

  Dickie felt rebuked. He finished the little prayer quickly. Mally liftedhim into bed. "It's so warm that you won't want this," she said, foldingback the blanket. Then she stooped to kiss him.

  "Tell me a story before you go," pleaded Dickie, holding her tight.

  "Oh, not to-night, darling, because I shall be late to Jane's if I do."She kissed him hastily.

  "I don't think it's nice at all to go to bed when the sun hasn't sit,and I'm not sleepy a bit, and there isn't nothing to play with,"remarked Dick, plaintively.

  "You'll fall asleep in a minute or two, Goosey, then you won't want anything to play with," said Mally, hurrying away.

  "I'm _not_ a goosey," shouted Dick after her. Ten minutes later, as shewas tying her bonnet strings, she heard him calling from the top of thestairs.

  "What is it, Dickie?"

  "I'm not a goose. Goosies has feathers. They say 'quack.'"

  "You're the kind that hasn't feathers and doesn't say quack," repliedMally from below. "No, darling, you're not a goose; you're Mally's goodboy. Now, run back to bed."

  "Yes, I will," replied Dick, satisfied by this concession. He climbedinto bed again, and lay watching the pink patch on the wall. Yellow barsbegan to appear and to dance in the midst of the pink.

  "Like teeny-weeney little ladders," thought Dick. There was a ladderoutside his door, at top of which was a scuttle opening on to the roof.Dickie turned his head to look at the ladder. The scuttle-door stoodopen; from above, the pink light streamed in and lay on the rungs of theladder.

  "I did go up that ladder once," soliloquized Dick. "Papa took me. It wasvelly nice up there. I wiss Papa would take me again. Mally, she said itwas dangewous. I wonder why she said it was dangewous? Mally's a veryfunny girl, I think. She didn't ought to put me to bed so early. I can'tgo to sleep at all. Perhaps I sha'n't ever go to sleep, not tillmorning,--then she'd feel sorry.

  "If I was a bird I could climb little bits of ladders like that," washis next reflection. "Or a fly. I'd like to be a fly, and eat sugar, andsay b-u-z-z-z all day long. Only then perhaps some little boy would getme into the corner of the window and squeeze me all up tight with hisfum." Dickie cast a rueful look at his own guilty thumb as he thoughtthis. "I wouldn't like that! But I'd like very much indeed to buzz andtickle Mally's nose when she was twying to sew. She'd slap and slap,and not hit me, and I'd buzz and tickle. How I'd laugh! But perhapsflies don't know how to laugh, only just to buzz.

  "'Pretty, curious, buzzy fly.'

  That's what my book says."

  The pink glow was all gone now, and Dick shifted his position.

  "I _wiss_ I could go to sleep," he thought. "It isn't nice at all to beup here and not have any playthings. Mally's gone, else she'd get mesomething to amoose myself with. I'd like my dwum best. It's under thehall table, I guess. P'waps if I went down I could get it."

  As this idea crossed his mind, Dickie popped quickly out of bed. Thefloor felt cool and pleasant to his bare little feet as he crossed tothe door. He had almost reached the head of the stairs when, looking up,something so pretty met his eyes that he stopped to admire. It was astar, shining against the pure sky like a twinkling silver lamp. Itseemed to beckon, and the ladder to lead straight up to it. Almostwithout stopping to think, Dickie put his foot on the first rung andclimbed nimbly to the top of the ladder. The star was just as much outof reach when he got there as it had been before, but there were otherbeautiful sights close at hand which were well worth the trouble ofclimbing after.

  Miles and miles and miles of sky for one thing. It rose above Dickie'shead like a great blue dome pierced with pin-pricks of holes, throughwhich little points of bright light quivered and danced. Far awayagainst the sky appeared a church spire, like a long sharp fingerpointing to Heaven. One little star exactly above, seemed stuck on theend of the spire. Dickie wondered if it hurt the star to be there. Hestepped out on to the roof and wandered about. The evening was warm andsoft. No dew fell. The shingles still kept the heat of the sun, and feltpleasant and comfortable under his feet. By-and-by a splendidrocker-shaped moon came from behind the sky's edge where she had beenhiding away, and sailed slowly upward. She was a great deal bigger thanthe stars, but they didn't seem afraid of her in the least. Dickiereflected that if he were a star he should hurry to get out of her way;but the stars didn't mind the moon's being there at all, they kept theirplaces, and shone calmly on as they had done before she came.

  He was standing, when the moon appeared, by the low railing whichguarded the edge of the roof. The railing was of a very desirableheight. Dickie could just rest his chin on top of it, which was nice.Suddenly a loud "Maau-w!" resounded from above. Dickie jumped, and gavehis poor chin a knock against the railing. It couldn't be the moon,coul
d it? Moons didn't make noises like that.

  He looked up. There, on the ridge pole of the next roof, sat a blackcat, big and terrible against the sky. "Ma-a-uw," said the cat again,louder than before.

  "Why, pussy, what's the matter?" cried Dick. His voice quavered alittle, but he tried to speak boldly. Pussy was displeased at thequestion. She hissed, put up her back, swelled her tail to a puff, andfled to a distant part of the roof, where, from some hidden ambush, Dickcould hear her scolding savagely.

  "She's a cwoss cat, I guess," he remarked philosophically. "Why, thischimney is warm," he cried, as his arm touched the bricks. "It's 'causethere used to be a fire in there. But there isn't any smoke coming out.I wonder if all the chimneys are warm too, like this one."

  There was another chimney not far off, and Dick hastened to try theexperiment. To do this he was obliged to climb a railing, but it was lowand easy to get over. The second chimney was cold, but a little fartheron appeared a third, and Dick proceeded to climb another railing.

  But before he reached this third chimney, a surprising and interestingsight attracted his attention. This was a scuttle door just like theone at home, standing open, with a ladder leading down into a garretbelow.

  Dick peered over the edge of the scuttle. There was no little chamber inthis attic like his at home. It was all an open space, crammed withtrunks, furniture, boxes, and barrels. He caught sight of arocking-horse standing in a corner; a rocking-horse with a blue saddleon his wooden back, and a fierce bristling mane much in need of brushand comb. Drawn by irresistible attraction, Dickie put, first one foot,then the other, over the scuttle's edge, crept down the ladder, and inanother moment stood by the motionless steed. Thick dust lay on thesaddle, on the rockers, and on the stiffly stretched-out tail, fromwhich most of the red paint had been worn away. It was evidently a longtime since any little boy had mounted there, chirruped to the horse, andridden gloriously away, pursuing a fairy fox through imaginary fields.The eye of the wooden horse was glazed and dim. Life had lost itsinterest to the poor animal, turned out, as it were, to pasture as besthe might in the dull, silent garret.

  Dickie patted the red neck, a timid, affectionate pat, but it startledthe horse a little, for he shook visibly, and swayed to and fro. Therewas evidently some "go" left in him, in spite of his dejected expressionof countenance. The shabby stirrup hung at his side. Dickie could justreach it with his foot. He seized the mane, and, pulling hard, clamberedinto the saddle. Once there, reins in hand, he clucked and encouragedthe time-worn steed to his best paces. To and fro, to and fro theyswung, faster, slower, Dickie beating with his heels, the wooden horsecurveting and prancing. It was famous! The dull thud of the rockersechoed through the garret, and somebody sitting in the room below raisedhis head to listen to the strange sound.

  This somebody was an old man with white hair and a gray, stern face, whosat beside a table on which were paper and lighted candles. A letterlay before him, but he was not reading it. When the sound of the rockingbegan, he started and turned pale. A little boy once used to rock inthat way in the garret overhead, but it was long ago, and for many yearspast the garret had been silent and deserted. "Harry's horse!" mutteredthe old man with a look of fear as he heard the sound. He half rose fromhis chair, then he sat down again. But soon the noise ceased. Dickie hadcaught sight of another thing in the garret which interested him, andhad dismounted to examine it. The old man sank into his chair again witha look of relief, muttering something about the wind.

  The thing which Dickie had gone to examine was a little arm-chaircushioned with red. It was just the size for him, and he seated himselfin it with a look of great satisfaction.

  "I wiss this chair was mine," he said. "P'waps Mally'll let me take ithome if I ask her."

  A noise below attracted his attention. He peeped over the balusters andsaw an elderly woman, with a candle in her hand, coming up from thelower story. She went into a room at the foot of the attic stair,leaving the door open. "Hester! Hester!" called a voice from below. Thewoman came from the room and went down again. She did not take thecandle with her: Dick could see it shining through the open door.

  Like a little moth attracted by a flame, Dick wandered down the stair inthe direction of the light. The candle was standing on the table in abedroom,--a pretty room, Dickie thought, though it did not seem as ifanybody could have lived in it lately. He didn't know why this idea cameinto his mind, but it did. It was a girl's bedroom, for a small bluedress hung on the wall, and on the bureau were brushes, combs, andhair-pins. Beside the bureau was a wooden shelf full of books. Abird-cage swung in the window, but there was no bird in it, and the seedglass and water cup were empty. The narrow bed had a white coverlid anda great white pillow. It looked all ready for somebody, but it wasyears since the girl who once owned the room had slept there. The oldhousekeeper, who still loved the girl, came every day to dust and smoothand air and sweep. She kept all things in their places just as they usedto be in the former time, but she could not give to the room the air oflife which once it had, and, do what she would, it looked desertedalways--empty--and dreary.

  On the chimney-piece were ranged a row of toys, plaster cats, barkingdogs, a Noah's ark, and an enormous woolly lamb. This last struck Dickwith admiration. He stood on tip-toe with his hands clasped behind hisback to examine it.

  "Oh, dear," he sighed, "I wiss I had that lamb." Then he gave a jump,for close to him, in a small chair, he saw what seemed to be a littlegirl, staring straight at him.

  It was a big, beautiful doll, in a dress of faded pink, and a pink hatand feather. Dick had never seen such a fine lady before; she quitefascinated him. He leaned gently forward and touched the waxen hand. Itwas cold and clammy; Dick did not like the feel, and retreated. Theunwinking eyes of the doll followed him as he sidled away, and made himuncomfortable.

  In the opposite room the old man still sat with his letter before him.The letter was from the girl who once played with the big doll and sleptin the smooth white bed. She was not a child now. Years before she hadleft her father's house against his will, and in company with a personhe did not like. He had said then that he should never forgive her, andtill now she had not asked to be forgiven. It was a long time since hehad known any thing about her. Nobody ever mentioned her name in hishearing, not even the old housekeeper who loved her still, and neverwent to bed without praying that Miss Ellen might one day come back. NowEllen had written to her father. The letter lay on the table.

  "I was wrong," she wrote, "but I have been punished. We have sufferedmuch. My husband is dead. I will not speak of him, for I know that hisname will anger you; but, father, I am alone, ill, and very poor. Canyou not forgive me now? Do not think of me as the wild, reckless girlwho disobeyed you and brought sorrow to your life. I am a weary,sorrowful woman, longing, above all other things, to be pardoned beforeI die,--to come home again to the house where all my happy years werespent. Let me come, father. My little Hester, named after our dearnurse, mine and Harry's, is a child whom you would love. She is like meas I used to be, but far gentler and sweeter than I ever was. Let me puther in your arms. Let me feel that I am forgiven for my great fault, andI will bless you every day that I live. Dear father, say yes. Yourpenitent ELLEN."

  Two angels stood behind the old man as he read this letter. He did notsee them, but he heard their voices as first one and then the other bentand whispered in his ear.

  "Listen," murmured the white angel with radiant moonlit wings. "Listen.You loved her once so dearly. You love her still. I know you do."

  "No," breathed the darker angel. "You swore that you would not forgiveher. Keep your word. You always said that she would come back as soon asshe was poor or unhappy, or that scamp treated her badly. It makes nodifference in the facts. Let her suffer; it serves her right."

  "Remember what a dear child she used to be," said the fair angel, "sobright, so loving. How she used to dance about the house and sing; thesun seemed to shine always when she came into the room. She loved youtruly then. Her
little warm arms were always about your neck. She lovesyou still."

  "What is love worth," came the other voice, "when it deceives and hurtsand betrays? All these long years you have suffered. It is her turnnow."

  "Remember that it was partly your fault," whispered the spirit of good."You were harsh and stern. You did not appeal to her love, but to herobedience. She had a high spirit; you forgot that. And she was onlysixteen."

  "Quite old enough to know better," urged the spirit of evil. "Rememberthe hard life you have led ever since. The neighbors speak of you as astern, cruel man; the little children run away when you appear. Whosefault is that? Hers. She ought to pay for it."

  "Think of the innocent child who never did you wrong, and who sufferstoo. Think of the dear Lord who forgives your sins. Pray to him. He willhelp you to forgive her,"--urged the good angel, but in fainter tones,for the black angel spoke louder, and thrust between with his fiercevoice.

  "The thing is settled. Why talk of prayer or pardon? Let her go herway."

  As this last whisper reached his ear the old man raised his bent head. Ahard, vindictive look was in his eyes. He seized the letter and tore itin two. "Alas! alas!" sighed the sweet angel, while the evil onerejoiced and waved his dark wings in triumph.

  It was at this moment that Dickie, attracted by the rustle of paper,appeared at the door. His eyes were beginning to droop a little. Herubbed them hard as he crossed the entry. The pit-pat of his bare feetmade no sound on the carpeted floor, so that the old man had no warningof his presence till, turning, he saw the little night-gowned figurestanding motionless in the door-way.

  He sprang from his chair and stretched out his hands. He tried to speak,but no voice came at first; then in a hoarse whisper hesaid,--"Harry--is it you? Ellen--"

  Dickie, terrified, fled back into the hall as if shod with wings. In onemoment he was in the attic, up the ladder, on the roof. The old man ranblindly after him.

  "Come back, Ellen--come back!" he cried. "I will forgive you,--comeback to your poor old father, dear child." His foot slipped as he spoke.It was at the stair-head. He fell forward heavily, and lump, bump, bump,down stairs he tumbled, and landed heavily in the hall below.

  Hester and the housemaid ran hastily from the kitchen at the sound ofthe fall. When they saw the old man lying in a heap at the foot of thestair, they were terribly frightened. Blood was on his face. He wasquite unconscious.

  "He is dead. Mr. Kirton is dead!" cried the housemaid, wringing herhands.

  "No,--his heart beats," said Hester. "Run for Doctor Poster, Hannah, andask Richard Wallis to come at once and help me lift the poor oldgentleman."

  Hannah flew to do this errand. A moment after, Mr. Kirton opened hiseyes.

  "Where is Ellen?" he said. Then he shut them again. Hester glanced atthe torn letter, which through all his fall the old man had heldtightly clasped in his hand, and gave a loud cry.

  "Miss Ellen, come back!" she exclaimed. "My own Miss Ellen. God hasheard my prayers."

  When Mr. Kirton's senses returned, late in the night, he found himselfin his own bed. His head felt strangely; one arm was tied up in a queerstiff bandage, so that he could not move it. A cloth wet with water layon his forehead. When he stirred and groaned, a hand lifted the cloth,dipped it in ice-water, and put it back again fresh and cool. He lookedup. Some one was bending over him, some one with a face which he knewand did not know. It puzzled him strangely. At last, a look ofrecognition came into his eyes. "Ellen?" he said, in a tone of question.

  "Yes, dear father, it is I."

  "Why did you come dressed as a little child to frighten me? You are awoman," he said wonderingly; "your hair is gray!"

  "I did not come as a little child, father. I am an old woman now. I havecome to be your nurse."

  "I don't understand," muttered the old man, but he asked no more, andpresently dropped asleep. Ellen watched him for a long time, then shewent across the hall to her old room, where Hester stood looking at alittle girl, who lay on the bed sleeping soundly, with the pink dollhugged tight in her arms.

  "She is just like yourself, Miss Ellen," said Hester, with joyful tearsin her eyes,--"just like your old self, with a thought more brown in thehair. Ah! good times have begun again for my poor old master; the lighthas come back to the house."

  But neither Hester nor Ellen saw the white-robed angel, who bent overthe old man's bed with a face of immortal joy, and sang low songs ofpeace to make sleep deep and healing. The dark spirit has fled away.

  Meantime Dickie, unconscious messenger of Fate, scrambling easily overthe roofs, had gained his own room, and was comfortably tucked up in hislittle bed. His dreams were of dolls, rocking-horses, black cats. Sosoundly did he sleep, that, when morning came, Mally had to shake himand call loudly in his ear before she could wake him up.

  "Why, Dick!" she cried, "look at your night-gown. It's all over dust,and there are one--two--three tears in the cotton. What _have_ you beendoing?"

  But Dickie could not tell.

  "I dweamed that I walked about on the woof," he said. "But I guess Ididn't weally, did I?"