Bessie Bradford's Prize

"Here comes Mrs. Fleming," said Jennie Richards, in a tone indicative of anything but pleasure in the coming of Mrs. Fleming.

Mrs. Granby responded with an exclamation which savored of a like sentiment, and rising, she tossed aside the little frock she was working on, as she added:

"I don't see what she's comin' for! I didn't want her a comin' here, bringin' her mournin' an' frettin' an' lookin' out for troubles to pester you, Mary Richards, an' I told her I would be over to her place this evenin'. I did tell her, you know, I'd fit that dress for her Mrs. Bradford give her to Christmas, but she just needn't a come here when I told her I'd go there; an' a kill-joy she is an' no comfort to nobody. You go into the kitchen, Mary, an' stay there till she's gone, which I won't be long fittin' her, an' I'll get rid of her soon's I can,"

Mrs. Richards was about to comply with the suggestion, when Jennie, who was still gazing out of the window, exclaimed with a total change of tone:

"And here come the little Miss Bradfords, with Jane, and Miss Belle

Powers and Miss Lily Norris along with them."

The little sister whom she was diverting by holding her up to the window, began to clap her hands, and Mrs. Richards settled herself back into her chair again, saying:

"I ain't going into the kitchen to miss them, and I'll set the sunshine they'll bring against the clouds Mrs. Fleming drags."

Mrs. Granby beamed upon her.

"Well, I declare, Mary Richards, you ain't no great hand to talk, but when you do, you just do it beautiful; now don't she, Jennie? That's the po'tryest talkin' I've heard this long while, real live po'try, if there ain't no jingle about it. I allers did think you might a writ a book if you'd set about it, an' if you'd put such readin' as that kind of talk into it, I'll be boun' it would bring a lot of money, an' I'm right glad the little young ladies is comin', on'y I wish Amandy Flemin' hadn't hit the same time."

It was plain to be seen that the visit of the young party who were on the way to the door was a source of gratification to the policeman's family, whatever that of Mrs. Fleming might be. Their quicker footsteps brought them in before Mrs. Fleming, and they received a warm welcome. It is to be feared that the younger girl had an eye to the loaves and fishes with which they usually came laden on their visits to the Richards' household, as she ran to them on their entrance, saying,

"What did oo b'ing me?"

"Augh! Shame!" said the scandalized Mrs. Granby, snatching her up; and, "You'll excuse her, young ladies," said Mrs. Richards, mortified also; "but she's only a little thing, and you spoil her, always bringing her something when you come."

That they were not offended or hurt was soon evidenced by the fact that Lily presently had the little one on her lap, while Belle was showing her a linen scrap-book which had been brought for her.

Mrs. Granby was a seamstress, and Jane had brought some work which her mistress, Mrs. Bradford, had sent; and Maggie and Bessie, with Belle and Lily, who were spending the day with them, had chosen to accompany her, the first three because they were generally ready for a visit to the family of the policeman, who had befriended Bessie when she was lost, the latter because she thought Mrs. Granby "such fun." To have Mrs. Fleming come in, as she presently did, was bliss indeed to Lily, who delighted in pitting the cheery, lively little Mrs. Granby against the melancholy, depressing Mrs. Fleming. Nor was the entertainment long in beginning.

Jane was to carry home some work which Mrs. Granby had finished, and as the latter was putting it up Mrs. Fleming came in and was bidden by her to take a seat till she was ready to attend to her.

"And how's little Miss Neville, Miss Maggie?" asked Mrs. Richards. "I think that's the name of the young lady who was so brave in saving her little sister, and was so burned."

"Yes, that's her name," answered Maggie. "She is a great deal better, Mrs. Richards. The doctor has said she is out of danger, and her mother has been able to leave her and to go back to the son who is ill."

"I'm very glad to hear it," said Mrs. Richards, cordially. "My husband was telling me how wonderful and brave she was, and how she never thought of herself trying to save the other children; and how the gentleman Miss Staunton is to marry was burned very bad saving her."

"Yes; it was a terrible time," said Maggie; "but Mr. Howard is much better now, too; so we are all very happy."

All this time Mrs. Fleming had sat nodding her head mournfully, as if she would say, "Don't be encouraged; there is no ground for hope."

"Look! Look at her!" Lily whispered to Bessie. "She's like an insane

Chinese mandarin, rolling round her old head that way."

"Hush!" whispered Bessie, "she'll hear you."

"Don't care if she does," answered Lily.

And now Mrs. Fleming broke forth in just such a lackadaisical, tearful tone as one would have expected to issue from her lips.

"Oh, Miss Maggie," she whined, "if the dear lady, your ma, 'ad but listened to me. I told her no good wouldn't come of 'avin' that number of children to her Christmas tree-twice thirteen; an' I said if thirteen was hunlucky, twice thirteen was twice worse; an' your ma just laughed at me; an' the next day came the burnin'."

Bessie looked gravely at her.

"My mother says that is wrong and foolish, too," she said, in an admonitory tone, "and that thirteen is no worse than any other number."

"You nor your ma can't gainsay that there come the burnin', Miss," persisted the woman.

"I know that Colonel Rush's house was on fire, and that Miss Lena was burned, and Mr. Howard, too," answered Bessie, equally determined to maintain her side of the case. "But they are both a great deal better, and it ought to show you that such things don't make any difference to God, and that He can take just as good care of one number as another."

The other children were rather surprised to hear Bessie speak so decidedly to one older than herself; but this was a subject on which she felt strongly; her own faith and trust and reliance on the goodness and power of God were very strong; and more than one occurrence in her little life had tended to foster these, and she always rather resented the want of them in others. And now Mrs. Fleming, in her turn, resented being chidden by this mite who appeared even younger than she really was. But it pleased her, as usual, to assume the injured role.

"Well, Miss," she said, "'tain't for me to contradick you nor your ma. I can't help havin' my hown feelin's an' hopinions; but the Lord made me to be down-trod, an' I'm willin' to habide 'is will an' stay down-trod."

This was beyond Bessie; she had no answer, no argument for folly such as this, if, indeed, she grasped the woman's meaning; but she did understand that she was still making her moan over matters and things in general, and that in some way she seemed to be blaming her own dear mother. She looked displeased and turned away; but here Mrs. Granby, who had her head in a wardrobe, looking for a large sheet of paper, withdrew it and came to the front.

"Well," she said, raising her voice so that it might be heard above the rattle of the stiff paper which she unfolded and wrapped about the completed work Jane was to carry back, "well, if so be as you enjoy bein' 'down-trod,' as you do enjoy most things as other folks don't find pleasin', there ain't nobody goin' to hinder you; but you look here, Mrs. Flemin', you nor nobody else ain't goin' to cast no slurs onter Mrs. Bradford which there never was a better lady, nor one that was so far from down-treadin' folks but more like to be upliftin' 'em if only they'll let themselves be uplift, an' all her family the same an' the little ladies brought up accordin'; so, if you please, no slurs on any of 'em afore me an' Mary Richards which we would have feelin's on account of it an' wouldn't stan' it in this house. I don't see why you can't live agreeable like other folks; an' it does fret me outer patience to hear a body mortifyin' the Lord's mercies an' you such a heapin' lot sent to you this very winter, an' it's for your own good I speak, which the Lord He does get out of patience with us sometimes I do believe when we're faithless an' mistrustin', an' takes back His blessin's when He finds we don't hold 'em in no appreciation."

By this time Mrs. Fleming had dissolved into tears and buried her face in an already much bewept pocket-handkerchief.

Seeing this Mrs. Granby resumed in a soothing tone and with some self-reproach.

"But just hear me now rattlin' on about my neighbors' short-comin's an' me plenty of my own, me that ain't a woman of many words neither. There, Mrs. Flemin', don't mind, an' if you've a min' to compose your feelin's in the kitchen just step in an' I'll fit your dress soon's Jane's business is over."

But Mrs. Fleming had no idea of retiring to privacy to compose her "feelin's;" she preferred to indulge them in public, and she sat still, sobbing only the louder. The situation was becoming embarrassing to the young party, and Maggie, with her usual ready tact, seized upon an opening to change the subject.

"Why, Mrs. Granby," she said, "I did not know you made dresses. I thought you only did plain sewing such as you have done for our family."

"I do a bit at it, Miss Maggie," answered the seamstress; "though, to be sure, I wouldn't undertake to dress-make for ladies like your ma and aunts an' the like, but for them as hasn't much ambition as to their figgers, I can make out, an' I did tell Mrs. Flemin' I'd fit hers, so she could make it herself an' she shouldn't have to do no expenses about it, for it's on'y right we should all lend a helpin' hand, an' where would me an' the Richardses be if your folks hadn't thought the same an' acted accordin', which there's never a night on my bended knees I don't ask the Almighty's blessin' on you, an' there's none more deserves it, an' I do b'lieve the dear Lord's of the same way of thinkin', for there's none as I see happier nor more prosperin' an' does one's heart good to see it, an' never will I forget the night we was in such a peck of troubles an' seein' no way out of 'em me an' the Richardses, an' your pa comin' in an' turnin' the tide, an' since then, yes, ever since, all goin' so comfortable an' pleasant with us. I did think when I saw Mr. Bradford's face that night I first opened the door to him that he was the agreeablest-lookin' gentleman I ever did see, but me no idea what a blessin' he was a bringin' us all an' help outer our troubles, which the Richardses' troubles is always mine too. But I declare, just hear me runnin' on, as I always do if I get on them times; you'd think I was the greatest hand to talk ever was."

Lily was having her "fun," and she was quite loth to take leave when

Mrs. Granby had the parcel ready and Maggie made the move to go.

"I'm sure, Miss Maggie," said Mrs. Richards, "that I am truly glad to hear that Miss Neville is likely to get well. I suppose she'll be leaving her uncle's now and going away with her mother. It isn't likely Mrs. Neville will want to be leaving her child again after such an escape as she's had. I'm sure I couldn't abide one of mine out of my sight after such a thing. And the bravery of her, too, the dear young thing. My husband says it was a risk a strong man, and one of the police themselves, might have shrunk from."

This was an unusually long speech for Mrs. Richards, who was that which Mrs. Granby so mistakenly called herself, "a woman of few words," for she, as well as the rest of the family, had been greatly interested in the adventure of the heroic little girl who had braved and endured so much to rescue her young brother and sister.

Maggie hesitated one moment, then said:

"No, Mrs. Richards. Mrs. Neville has gone back to her son, but Miss Lena has not gone with her. She is to stay with Colonel and Mrs. Rush for a long time, perhaps a year, and we are all so glad about it."

"And could the mother go and leave her, and she might any time take a turn for the worse, and be took off sudden?" interposed Mrs. Fleming, whose tears did not prevent her from hearing all that passed. "You never know when there's been burnin' if there ain't smothered fire, an' it shows up when you least hexpect it."

No one took any notice of this cheerful prophecy, but Mrs. Granby asked:

"And the young lady is like to be quite well again and about soon,

Miss Maggie?"

"Oh, yes," answered Maggie, confidently; "and we hope to have her back at school before long. She is quite well enough now to enjoy everything except walking; but her feet are still tender and she cannot yet walk about. But come, girls, it is time to go;" and the young party took their leave.

When not far from their respective homes, which were all in the same neighborhood, they met Gracie Howard, and Maggie stopped to speak to her, although Gracie had shown no sign of wishing to do so; indeed, she seemed as if she would rather pass on. Of course, the others lingered too.

"Gracie," said Maggie, "I hope you will come to the meeting of our club the day after to-morrow. It is so long since you have been."

Gracie colored violently, looked down upon the ground, and in a nervous way dug the toe of her overshoe into the snow which had fallen that morning and still lay in some places on the street.

"I don't know; no, I think not-I think-perhaps I may go out with mamma," she stammered, anxious for some excuse, and yet too honest to invent one that was altogether without foundation. Perhaps she would go out with her mother; she would ask her to take her.

"Oh, come, Gracie; do come," persisted Maggie, determined to carry her point if possible. "It is so long since you have been, and you know there is a paper owing from you. Your turn is long since passed; and we'll all be so glad to have you."

Grade's color deepened still more, and she cast a sidelong glance at Lily, who stood at Maggie's elbow; and Lily saw that she was doubtful if that "all" included herself. Lily was very outspoken, particularly so where she saw cause for disapproval, and above all if she thought others were assuming too much; and she had on certain occasions so plainly made known her opinion of some of Grade's assumption, that a sort of chronic feud had become established between the two, not breaking out into open hostility, but showing itself in a half-slighting, half-teasing way with Lily, and with Gracie in a manner partly scornful, partly an affectation of indifference.

Some six weeks since, at a meeting of the club of the "Cheeryble Sisters," to which all three little girls belonged, Gracie's overweening self-conceit and irrepressible desire to be first had led her into conflict with another of her classmates, Lena Neville, in which she had proved herself so arrogant, so jealous and ill-tempered that she had excited the indignation of all who were present. But if they had known what followed after Gracie had been left alone in the room where she had so disgraced herself, how would they have felt then? How she had stood by and seen the source of contention, a composition, which she believed had been written by Lena, torn to atoms by a mischievous little dog, withholding her hand from rescuing it, her voice from warning the dog off from it simply for the indulgence of that same blind, overpowering jealousy. The destruction was hardly wrought, when repentance and remorse too late had followed-repentance and remorse, intensified a thousandfold by after events on the very same day.

But that guilty secret was still locked within her own heart, weighing heavily upon her conscience, but still unconfessed, still unsuspected by others. Ever since that miserable afternoon she had shrunk from meeting her classmates, and although she had been obliged to do so at school, she had avoided all other opportunities of seeing them, and on one excuse and another had refused to attend the meetings of the club which came together every Friday afternoon, the place of rendezvous being at Mrs. Bradford's, Maggie being the president as she had been the originator of the club.

It was true that Gracie had later discovered that the ruined paper was one of her own, a composition on the very same subject as Lena's, and which had, by the merest accident, and without her knowledge, been exchanged for that of the young classmate whom she chose to consider as her rival; and this had in some measure relieved the weight of sorrow and remorse she had felt when Lena was severely burned and lay for days hovering between life and death. But she could not shut her eyes or blind her conscience to the fact that she had been guilty in intention, if not in actual deed, and she could not shake off the haunting sense of shame or the feeling that others must know of the contemptible action of which she had been guilty.

Knowing nothing of this, Maggie and the other members of the club believed that her avoidance of them and her low spirits were caused by shame and distress for the bad temper and unkindness she had shown to Lena on that memorable day; and now Maggie, feeling sorry for her and also very loath to have any unpleasantness in the club, would fain have persuaded her to join them once more and to put things on their old footing.

Gracie was not doubtful of Maggie, nor of Bessie, nor yet of Belle Powers and Fanny Leroy; in fact, she knew she would be received kindly by the majority of the members, but about Lily and two or three others she had her misgivings, and hence that doubtful, half-deprecating glance at the former, who stood at Maggie's elbow.

Lily caught it, and, although she had intended to be very offish and high and mighty with Gracie for the rest of her days, her heart smote her, and flinging her former resolution to the winds, she followed Maggie's example, and laying her hand persuasively on Gracie's muff, said, with her usual directness:

"Oh, come on, Gracie! Don't let's have any more madness and being offended among us. It's horrid; so let by-gones be by-gones, and come to the club meetings again."

"If they only knew," thought Gracie, "they would not ask me, would not say 'let by-gones be by-gones;'" but she said that she would come to the meeting, and then they parted and went their separate ways.

When Maggie and Bessie reached home, they found Colonel Rush there awaiting them, and heard that he had come to take them to his own house. Lena, his niece, was coming down to dinner for the first time since she had been so badly burned; that is, she was to be carried down, for her poor little feet were still too tender to suffer her to put them to the ground, or to take any steps upon them. But she had been so long a prisoner upstairs that it was quite an event for her to be allowed to join the family at dinner once more; and the Colonel had seen fit to make it a little more of a celebration by coming for Maggie and Bessie to make merry with them on the occasion. Indeed, he was apt to think that such occasions were not complete without the company of his two pets, and they had both been perfectly devoted to Lena during the period of her confinement, so that he was more than ready to make this a little jubilee for all concerned.

Mamma's permission being readily obtained-indeed the Colonel had secured it before the two little maidens had appeared upon the scene-the three friends set forth again, well pleased with one another and with the prospect before them.

"Lena has had quite an eventful day," said the Colonel, as they were on their way to his house. "First and greatest, I suppose, was a letter from her brother Russell-only a few lines, it is true, but the first she has had since he was taken ill, and it was full of loving praises for her presence of mind and her bravery, and for the patience with which she has borne her suffering; so it was very precious to her, for she adores him, you know; and there was another from her father, containing news which she would like to give you herself, I am sure; so I leave it for her to do so. And now comes her first dinner with the family, with you to dine with her. But she is such a cool, composed little woman, and takes things so quietly, that we are less afraid of over-excitement for her than we would be for some I could name."

"Now, Uncle Horace," said Maggie, as he looked down at her with a twinkle in his kind eyes, "you know I would keep quiet if you told me to."

"You would try, I am sure, Midget," answered her friend, "but there are girls and girls, you know, and it is easier for one species to keep quiet under exciting causes than it is for another."

"But you can't tell how this species would be in such circumstances," said Maggie, "because I have never been very ill or had any terrible injury, such as Lena's burns."

"I can tell that you are a very 'happy circumstance' yourself, and that I am quite satisfied with you as you are," answered the Colonel, bending another loving look upon the rosy, glowing face upturned to his, and which broke into dimples at the allusion to an old-time joke.

Long ago, when Maggie was a very little girl, she had been very fond of using long words-indeed, she had not yet outgrown this fancy; but in former days, whenever she heard what she called "a new word," she would presently contrive some occasion for using it, not always with the fullest understanding of its exact meaning; and the results, as may be supposed, were sometimes rather droll.

One summer, when Mr. Bradford's family were at the sea-shore, and Colonel and Mrs. Rush were their near neighbors, Maggie had taken a violent dislike to the mistress of the house where she boarded. The woman was somewhat rough and unprepossessing, it is true, and hence Maggie had conceived the prejudice against her; but she was kind-hearted and good, as the little girl learned later. Having heard some one use the expression, "happy circumstance," Maggie took a fancy to it; and, as she informed Bessie, immediately resolved to adopt it as one of "my words."

An opportunity soon presented itself. Mrs. Jones offended both children, Maggie especially, and soon after, she asked Mr. Jones in confidence, if he thought Mrs. Jones "a very happy circumstance." Fortunately, the man, a jolly, rollicking farmer with a very soft spot in his heart for all children, took it good-naturedly and thought it a tremendous joke, and his uproarious merriment called Mrs. Jones upon the scene to reprove him and inquire the cause, greatly to the confusion and distress of poor embarrassed, frightened Maggie. And this was increased by the fact that she took occasion to praise Maggie and Bessie and to say what good, mannerly children they were.

Mr. Jones, however, did not betray confidence, and later on, Maggie changed her opinion; but the "happy circumstance" had remained a family joke ever since, and the expression was frequently brought into use in the sense in which Maggie had employed it, and the children laughed now as the Colonel used the old familiar phrase.