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"Her eyes brightened as they fell upon a glass of rosy laurel and delicate maidenhair fern."--FRONTISPIECE.]
MOUNTAIN-LAUREL AND MAIDENHAIR
BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT
AUTHOR OF "LITTLE MEN," "LITTLE WOMEN," "MAY FLOWERS," "POPPIES AND WHEAT," ETC.
Illustrated
BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
_Copyright_, 1887, BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT.
_Copyright_, 1903, BY JOHN S. P. ALCOTT.
University Press JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
MOUNTAIN-LAUREL AND MAIDENHAIR
"Here's your breakfast, miss. I hope it's right. Your mother showed mehow to fix it, and said I'd find a cup up here."
"Take that blue one. I have not much appetite, and can't eat if thingsare not nice and pretty. I like the flowers. I've been longing for someever since I saw them last night."
The first speaker was a red-haired, freckled-faced girl, in a browncalico dress and white apron, with a tray in her hands and an air oftimid hospitality in her manner; the second a pale, pretty creature, ina white wrapper and blue net, sitting in a large chair, looking abouther with the languid interest of an invalid in a new place. Her eyesbrightened as they fell upon a glass of rosy laurel and delicatemaidenhair fern that stood among the toast and eggs, strawberries andcream, on the tray.
"Our laurel is jest in blow, and I'm real glad you come in time to seeit. I'll bring you a lot, as soon's ever I get time to go for it."
As she spoke, the plain girl replaced the ugly crockery cup and saucerwith the pretty china ones pointed out to her, arranged the dishes, andwaited to see if anything else was needed.
"What is your name, please?" asked the pretty girl, refreshing herselfwith a draught of new milk.
"Rebecca. Mother thought I'd better wait on you; the little girls are sonoisy and apt to forget. Wouldn't you like a piller to your back? youlook so kind of feeble seems as if you wanted to be propped up a mite."
There was so much compassion and good-will in the face and voice, thatEmily accepted the offer, and let Rebecca arrange a cushion behind her;then, while the one ate daintily, and the other stirred about an innerroom, the talk went on,--for two girls are seldom long silent whentogether.
"I think the air is going to suit me, for I slept all night and neverwoke till Mamma had been up ever so long and got things all nicelysettled," said Emily, graciously, when the fresh strawberries had beenenjoyed, and the bread and butter began to vanish.
"I'm real glad you like it: most folks do, if they don't mind it beingplain and quiet up here. It's gayer down at the hotel, but the air ain'thalf so good, and delicate folks generally like our old place best,"answered Becky, as she tossed over a mattress and shook out the sheetswith a brisk, capable air pleasant to see.
"I wanted to go to the hotel, but the doctor said it would be too noisyfor me, so Mamma was glad to find rooms here. I didn't think afarm-house _could_ be so pleasant. That view is perfectly splendid!" andEmily sat up to gaze delightedly out of the window, below which spreadthe wide intervale, through which the river ran with hay-fields oneither side, while along the green slopes of the hills lay farm-houseswith garden plots, and big barns waiting for the harvest; and beyond,the rocky, wooded pastures dotted with cattle and musical withcow-bells, brooks, and birds.
A balmy wind kissed a little color into the pale cheeks, the listlesseyes brightened as they looked, and the fretful lines vanished from lipsthat smiled involuntarily at the sweet welcome Nature gave the citychild come to rest and play and grow gay and rosy in her green lap.
Becky watched her with interest, and was glad to see how soon thenew-comer felt the charm of the place, for the girl loved her mountainhome, and thought the old farm-house the loveliest spot in the world.
"When you get stronger I can show you lots of nice views round here.There's a woodsy place behind the house that's just lovely. Down by thelaurel bushes is _my_ favorite spot, and among the rocks is a cave whereI keep things handy when I get a resting-spell now and then, and want tobe quiet. Can't get much at home, when there's boarders and fivechildren round in vacation time."
Becky laughed as she spoke, and there was a sweet motherly look in herplain face, as she glanced at the three little red heads bobbing aboutthe door-yard below, where hens cackled, a pet lamb fed, and the oldwhite dog lay blinking in the sun.
"I like children; we have none at home, and Mamma makes such a baby ofme I'm almost ashamed sometimes. I want her to have a good rest now, forshe has taken care of me all winter and needs it. You shall be my nurse,if I need one; but I hope to be so well soon that I can see to myself.It's so tiresome to be ill!" and Emily sighed as she leaned back amongher pillows, with a glance at the little glass which showed her a thinface and shorn head.
"It must be! I never was sick, but I have taken care of sick folks, andhave a sight of sympathy for 'em. Mother says I make a pretty goodnurse, being strong and quiet," answered Becky, plumping up pillows andfolding towels with a gentle despatch which was very grateful to theinvalid, who had dreaded a noisy, awkward serving-maid.
"Never ill! how nice that must be! I'm always having colds andheadaches, and fusses of some kind. What do you do to keep well,Rebecca?" asked Emily, watching her with interest, as she came in toremove the tray.
"Nothing but work; I haven't time to be sick, and when I'm tuckered out,I go and rest over yonder. Then I'm all right, and buckle to again, assmart as ever;" and every freckle in Becky's rosy face seemed to shinewith cheerful strength and courage.
"I'm 'tuckered out' doing nothing," said Emily, amused with the newexpression, and eager to try a remedy which showed such fine results inthis case. "I shall visit your pet places and do a little work as soonas I am able, and see if it won't set me up. Now I can only dawdle,doze, and read a little. Will you please put those books here on thetable? I shall want them by-and-by."
Emily pointed to a pile of blue and gold volumes lying on a trunk, andBecky dusted her hands as she took them up with an air of reverence, forshe read on the backs of the volumes names which made her eyes sparkle.
"Do you care for poetry?" asked Emily, surprised at the girl's look andmanner.
"Guess I do! don't get much except the pieces I cut out of papers, but Ilove 'em, and stick 'em in an old ledger, and keep it down in my cubbyamong the rocks. I do love _that_ man's pieces. They seem to go right tothe spot somehow;" and Becky smiled at the name of Whittier as if thesweetest of our poets was a dear old friend of hers.
"I like Tennyson better. Do you know him?" asked Emily, with a superiorair, for the idea of this farmer's daughter knowing anything aboutpoetry amused her.
"Oh yes, I've got a number of his pieces in my book, and I'm fond of'em. But this man makes things so kind of true and natural I feel athome with _him_. And this one I've longed to read, though I guess Ican't understand much of it. His 'Bumble Bee' was just lovely; with thegrass and columbines and the yellow breeches of the bee. I'm never tiredof that;" and Becky's face woke up into something like beauty as sheglanced hungrily at the Emerson while she dusted the delicate cover thathid the treasures she coveted.
"I don't care much for him, but Mamma does. I like romantic poems, andballads, and songs; don't like descriptions of clouds, and fields, andbees, and farmers," said Emily, showin
g plainly that even Emerson'ssimplest poems were far above her comprehension as yet, because sheloved sentiment more than Nature.
"I do, because I know 'em better than love and the romantic stuff mostpoetry tells about. But I don't pretend to judge, I'm glad of anythingI can get. Now if you don't want me I'll pick up my dishes and go towork."
With that Becky went away, leaving Emily to rest and dream with her eyeson the landscape which was giving her better poetry than any her booksheld. She told her mother about the odd girl, and was sure she would beamusing if she did not forget her place and try to be friends.
"She is a good creature, my dear, her