complexion, when placed too near the nursery fire. She never brokean artery and collapsed through loss of sawdust. These weaknesses werenot at all in her way, for she was of wood, wooden. Her features wereoil-painted on her face, like the figure-head of a ship, and would standwashing. Her hair was a good honest black-silk wig, with sewn-on curls,and the whole affair could be removed at pleasure; but oh, my dearchildren, she _was_ ugly. Where she had come from originally I cannotsay. I feel almost sure it was from no authorised doll manufactory. Irather think she was home-made to some extent, and I consider it highlyprobable that her beautiful features were the production of the villagepainter. But none of these trifling details are of consequence;wherever she had come from, whatever her origin, she was herself--good,faithful Mary Ann Jolly.
One summer time there came trouble to the neighbourhood where littleJanet's home was. A fever of some kind broke out in several villages,and its victims were principally children. For the elder ones of thefamily--such of them, that is to say, as were at home--but little fearwas felt by their parents; but for Janet and the brother next to her,Hughie, only three years older than she, they were anxious and uneasy.Hughie was taken from the school, a few miles distant, to which everyday he used to ride on his little rough pony, and for the time Janet andhe were allowed to run wild. They spent the long sunny days, for it wasthe height of summer, in the woods or on the hills, as happy as twoyoung fawns, thinking, in their innocence, "the fever," to them but thename of an unknown and unrealisable possibility, rather a lucky thingthan otherwise.
And Hughie was a trusty guardian for his delicate little sister. He wasa brave and manly little fellow; awkward and shy to strangers, buthonest as the day, and with plenty of mother-wit about him. Janetlooked up to him with affection and admiration not altogether unmixedwith awe. Hughie was great at "knowing best," in their childishperplexities, and, for all his tenderness, somewhat impatient of "wantof sense," or thoughtlessness.
One day the two children, accompanied as usual by Hughie's dog "Caesar,"and the no less faithful Mary Ann Jolly, had wandered farther than theirwont from home. Janet had set her heart on some beautiful waterforget-me-nots, which, in a rash moment, Hughie had told her that he hadseen growing on the banks of a little stream that flowed through a sortof gorge between the hills. It was quite three miles from home--a longwalk for Janet, but Hughie knew his way perfectly--he was not the kindof boy ever to lose it; the day was lovely, and the burn ran nowherenear the direction they had been forbidden to take--that of the infectedvillage. But Hughie, wise though he was, did not know or remember thatclose to the spot for which he was aiming ran a road leading directlyfrom this village to the ten miles distant little town of Linnside, andeven had he thought of it, the possibility of any danger to themselvesattending the fact would probably never have struck him. There wasanother way to Linnside from their home, so Hughie's ignorance orforgetfulness was natural.
The way down to the edge of the burn was steep and difficult, for theshrubs and bushes grew thickly together, and there was no proper path.
"Stay you here, Janet," he said, finding for the child a seat on a niceflat stone at the entrance to the gorge; "I'll be back before you know Iam gone, and I'll get the flowers much better without you, little woman;and Mary Ann will be company like."
Janet obeyed without any reluctance. She had implicit faith in Hughie.But after a while Mary Ann confided to her that she was "wearying" ofsitting still, and Janet thought it could do no harm to take a turn upand down the sloping field where Hughie had left her. She wandered to agate a few yards off, and, finding it open, wandered a little farther,till, without knowing it, she was within a stone's throw of the road Imentioned. And here an unexpected sight met Janet's eyes, and made herlose all thought of Hughie and the forget-me-nots, and how frightened hewould be at missing her. Drawn up in a corner by some trees stood oneof those travelling houses on wheels, in which I suppose every childthat ever was born has at one time or other thought that it would bedelightful to live. Janet had never seen one before, and she gazed atit in astonishment, till another still more interesting object caughther attention.
It was a child--a little girl just about her own age, a dark-eyed,dark-haired, brown-skinned, but very, very thin little girl, lying on aheap of old shawls and blankets on the grass by the side of the movablehouse. She seemed to be quite alone--there was no one in the waggonapparently, no sound to be heard; she lay quite still, one thin littlehand under her head, the other clasping tightly some two or three poorflowers--a daisy or two, a dandelion, and some buttercups--which she hadmanaged to reach without moving from her couch. Janet, from under herlittle green shade, stared at her, and she returned the stare withinterest, for all around was so still that the slight rustle made by thelittle intruder caught her sharp ear at once. But after a moment hereyes wandered down from Janet's fair childish face, on which she seemedto think she had bestowed enough attention, and settled themselves onthe lovely object nestling in the little girl's maternal embrace. Asmile of pleasure broke over her face.
"What's yon?" she said, suddenly.
"What's _what_?" said Janet.
"_Yon_," repeated the child, pointing with her disengaged hand to thefaithful Mary Ann.
"_That_," exclaimed Janet. "That's my doll. That's Mary Ann Jolly.Did you never see a doll?"
"No," replied the brown-skinned waif, "never. She's awfu' bonny."
Janet's maternal vanity was gratified.
"She's guid and she's bonny," she said, unconsciously imitating, withludicrous exactness, her own old nurse's pet expression when she waspleased with her. She hugged Mary Ann closer to her as she spoke."You'd like to have a dolly too, wouldn't you, little girl?"
The child smiled.
"I couldna _gie_ her tae ye," said Janet, relapsing into Scotch, with afeeling that "high English" would probably be lost upon her new friend."But ye micht tak' her for a minute in yer ain airms, if ye like?"
"Ay wad I," said the child, and Janet stepped closer to her anddeposited Mary Ann in her arms.
"Canna ye stan' or walk aboot? Hae ye nae legs?" she inquired.
"Legs," repeated the child, "what for shud' I no hae legs? I canna rinaboot i' the noo; I've nae been weel, but I'll sune be better. Eh my!but she's awfu' fine," she went on, caressing Mary Ann as she spoke.
But at this moment the bark of a dog interrupted the friendlyconversation. Caesar appeared, and Janet started forward to reclaim herproperty, her heart for the first time misgiving her as to "what Hughiewould say." Just as she was taking Mary Ann out of the little vagrant'sarms, Hughie came up. He was hot, breathless, anxious, and, as anatural consequence of the last especially, angry.
"Naughty Janet, bad girl," he exclaimed, in his excitement growing more"Scotch" than usual. "What for didna ye bide whaur I left ye? Icouldna think what had become o' ye; bad girl. And wha's that ye'reclavering wi'? Shame on ye, Janet."
He darted forward, snatched his little sister roughly by the arm,dropping the precious forget-me-nots in his flurry, and dragged Janetaway, making her run so fast that she burst out sobbing with fear andconsternation. She could not understand it; it was not like Hughie tobe so fierce and rough.
"You are very, very unkind," she began, as soon as her brother allowedher to stop to take breath. "Why should I nae speak to the puir weegirl? She looked sae ill lying there her lane, and she was saeextraordinar' pleased wi' Mary Ann."
"You let her touch Mary Ann, did ye?" said Hughie, stopping short. "Icouldna have believed, Janet, you'd be such a fule. A big girl, tenyears old, to ken nae better! It's `fare-ye-weel' to Mary Ann any way,and you have yourself to thank for it." They were standing near thespot where Hughie had left his sister while he clambered down to theburn, and before Janet had the least idea of his intention, Hughieseized the unfortunate doll, and pitched her, with all his strength,far, far away down among the brushwood of the glen.
For an instant Janet stood in perfect silence. She was toothun
derstruck, too utterly appalled and stunned, to take in the realityof what had happened. She had never seen Hughie in a passion in herlife; never in all their childish quarrels had he been harsh or"bullying," as I fear too many boys of his age are to their littlesisters. She gazed at him in terrified consternation, slowly, veryslowly taking in the fact--to her almost as dreadful as if he hadcommitted a murder--that Hughie had thrown away Mary Ann--her own dear,dear Mary Ann; and Hughie, her own brother had done it! Had he lost hissenses?
"Hughie," she gasped out at last; that was all.
Hughie looked uneasy, but tried to hide it.
"Come on, Janet," he said, "it's getting late. We must put our bestfoot foremost, or nurse will be angry."
But Janet took no notice of what he said.
"Hughie," she repeated, "are ye no gaun to get me Mary Ann back again?"
Hughie laughed, half contemptuously. "Get her back again," he said."She's ower weel hidden for me or anybody to get her back again. Andwhy should I want her back when I've just the noo thrown her awa'? Na,na, Janet, you'll have to put up wi' the loss of Mary Ann; and I onlyhope you won't have to put up wi' waur. It's your own fault; thoughmaybe I shouldna' have left her," he added to himself.
"Hughie, you've broke my heart," said Janet. "What _did_ you do itfor?"
"If you'd an ounce of sense you'd know," said Hughie; "and if you don't,_I'm_ no gaun to tell." And in dreary silence the two children madetheir way home--Hughie, provoked, angry, and uneasy, yetself-reproachful and sore-hearted; Janet in an anguish of bereavementand indignation, yet through it all not without little gleams of faithin Hughie still, that mysteriously cruel though his conduct appeared,there must yet somehow have been a good reason for it.
It was not for long, however, that she understood it. She did not knowthat immediately they got home honest Hughie went to his father and toldhim all that had happened, taking blame to himself manfully for havingfor an instant left Janet alone.
"And you say she does not understand at all why you threw the dollaway," said Janet's father. "Did she not notice that the little girlhad been ill?"
"O yes, but she took no heed of it," Hughie replied. "She thinks it wasjust awfu' unkind of me to get in such a temper. I would like her toknow why it was, but I thought maybe I had better not explain till I hadtold you."
"You were quite right, Hughie," said his father; "and I think it isbetter to leave it. Wee Janet is so impressionable and fanciful, itwould not do for her to begin thinking she had caught the fever from thechild. We must leave it in God's hands, and trust no ill will come ofit. And the first day I can go to Linnside you shall come with me, andwe'll buy her a new doll."
"Thank you, father," said Hughie gratefully. But he stopped as he wasleaving the room, with his hand on the door handle, to say,half-laughing, half-pathetically, "I'm hardly thinking, father, that anynew doll will make up to wee Janet for Mary Ann."
Janet heard nothing of this conversation, however, and the silence whichwas, perhaps mistakenly, preserved about the loss of her favourite addedto the mysterious sadness of her fate. The poor little girl moped andpined, but said nothing. To Hughie her manner was gently reproachful,but nothing more. But all her brightness and playfulness had desertedher; she hung about listless and uninterested, and for some days therewas not an hour during which one or other of her doting relations--father, mother, sisters, and brothers--did not make up his or her mindthat their darling was smitten by the terrible blast of the fever.
A week, ten days, nearly a fortnight passed, and they began to breathemore freely. Then one day the father, remembering his promise, tookHughie with him to the town to buy a new doll for Janet, instead of herold favourite. I cannot describe to you the one they bought, but I knowit was the prettiest that money could get at Linnside, and Hughie camehome in great spirits with the treasure in his arms.
"Janet, Janet," he shouted, as soon as he had jumped off his pony,"where are you, Janet? Come and see what I've got for you!"
Janet came slowly out of the study, where she had been lying coiled upon the floor, near the low window, watching for her father's return.
"I'm here, Hughie," she said, trying to look interested and bright,though the effort was not very successful.
But Hughie was too excited and eager to notice her manner.
"Look here, Janet," he exclaimed, unwrapping the paper which coveredMiss Dolly. "Now, isn't _she_ a beauty? Far before that daft-like oldMary Ann; eh, Janet?"
Janet took the new doll in her hands. "She's bonny," she said,hesitatingly. "It's very kind of you, Hughie; but I wish, I wish youhadn't. I don't care for her. I dinna mean to vex ye, Hughie," shecontinued, sadly, "but I canna help it. I want, oh I do want my ainMary Ann!"
She put the new doll down on the hall table, burst into tears, and ranaway to the nursery.
"She's just demented about that Mary Ann," said Hughie to his father,who had followed him into the hall.
"I'm sorry for your disappointment, my boy," said his father, "but youmust not take it to heart. I don't think wee Janet can be well."
He was right. What they had so dreaded came at last, just as they hadbegun to hope that the danger was over. The next morning saw littleJanet down with the fever. Ah, then, what sad days of anxiety andwatching followed! How softly everybody crept about--a vain precaution,for poor Janet was unconscious of everything about her. How carewornand tear-stained were all the faces of the household--parents, brothersand sisters, and servants! What sad little bulletins, costing sixpenceif not a shilling each in those days, children, were sent off by postevery day to the absent ones, with the tidings still of "No better,"gradually growing into the still worse, "Very little hope." It musthave been a touching sight to see a whole household so cast down aboutthe fate of one tiny, delicate child.
And poor Hughie was the worst of all. They had tried to keep himseparate from his sister, but it was no use. He had managed to creepinto the room and kiss her unobserved, and then he had it all his ownway--all the harm was done. But he could hardly hear to hear herinnocent ravings, they were so often about the lost Mary Ann, andHughie's strange cruelty in throwing her away. "I canna think what cameover Hughie to do it," she would say, over and over again. "I want nonew dollies I only want Mary Ann."
Then there came a day on which the doctor said the disease was at itsheight--a few hours would show on which side the victory was to be; andthe anxious faces grew more anxious still, and the silent prayers morefrequent. But for many hours of this day Hughie was absent, and theothers, in their intense thought about Janet, scarcely missed him. Hecame home late in the summer evening, with something in his arms, hiddenunder his jacket. And somehow his face looked more hopeful and happythan for days past.
"How is she?" he asked breathlessly of the first person he met. It wasone of the elder sisters.
"Better," she replied, with the tears in her eyes. "O Hughie, how canwe thank God enough? She has wakened quite herself, and the doctor saysnow there is only weakness to fight against. She has been asking foryou, Hughie. You may go up and say good-night. Where have you been allthe afternoon?"
But Hughie was already half way up the stairs. He crept into Janet'sroom, where the mother was on guard. She made a sign to him to come tothe bed where little Janet lay, pale, and thin and fragile, but peacefuland conscious.
"Good-night, wee Janet," Hughie whispered; "I'm sae glad wee Janet'sbetter."
"Good-night, Hughie," she answered softly.
"Kiss me, Hughie."
"I've some one else here to kiss you, wee Janet," he said.
Janet looked up inquiringly.
"You must not excite her, Hughie," the mother whispered. But Hughieknew what he was about. He drew from under his jacket a queer, familiarfigure. It was Mary Ann Jolly! There had been no rain, fortunately forher, during her exposure to the weather, and she was sturdy enough tohave stood a few showers, even had there been any. She really looked inno way the worse
for her adventure, as Hughie laid her gently down onthe pillow beside Janet.
"It's no one to excite her, mother," he said. "It's no stranger; onlyMary Ann. She's been away paying a visit to the fairies in the glen,and I think she must have enjoyed it. She's looking as bonny as ever,and she was in no hurry to come home. I had to shout for her all overthe glen before I could make her hear. Are you glad she's come, Janet?"
Janet's eyes were glistening. "O Hughie," she whispered, "kiss meagain. I can sleep _so_ well now."
The crisis no doubt had been passed before this, but still it is certainthat Janet's recovery was faster far than had been expected. And forthis she and Hughie, and some of the elder ones, too, I fancy, gave thecredit to the return of her favourite. Hughie was well rewarded for hisseveral hours of patient searching in the glen; and I am happy to tellyou that he did not catch the fever.
He would have been an elderly, almost an old man by now had he lived--good, kind Hughie. But that was not God's will for him. He died longago, in the prime of his youthful