it was a bright, fresh saturday afternoon in october, and johnny, who had found it a little hard to settle down into school habits again, after the boundless freedom of the vacation at the farm, remarked at the dinner-table that he knew just how the horses felt when they went kicking up their heels all over the pasture, after having been in harness all day.
“and where do you propose to kick up your heels this afternoon?” inquired mrs. leslie, as she filled johnny’s plate for the second time with indian pudding.
“that’s just what i wanted to consult with you about, mamma,” said johnny, “there’s a base-ball match over at the south ground, and a tennis match at the new court; it’s just the same to get in for either. i’ve enough of my birthday money left, and i thought if tiny’d like to go, i’d take her to see the tennis, i mean, of course, if you’re willing—but if she couldn’t go, i’d go to see the base-ball match.”
now tiny, although she was only a small girl, had that treasure which miss ann considered so desirable—“a heart at leisure from itself,” and she felt very sure that johnny would rather help do the hurrahing at one base-ball match, than watch a dozen games of tennis, so she said at once,—
“oh thank you, johnny, you’re very kind, but if mamma will let me, i’m going to ask kitty to come this afternoon, and help me dress my new doll, and cover the sofa you made me.”
mrs. leslie understood quite well the little sudden sacrifice which tiny had made, but she was not going to spoil it by talking about it, so she only said,—
“yes indeed—i always like you to play with kitty. ask her to come to tea, and then johnny will have a share of her too. and if you’ll ‘fly ’round,’ you and i can make some ginger snaps, first, and then, with the cold chicken and some dressed celery, we shall have quite a company tea.”
tiny’s face fairly shone. of all things, she enjoyed helping her mother make cake, and it would be especially nice to-day, because the maid-of-all-work was going out for the afternoon, and they would have the kitchen quite to themselves. and johnny, who really did prefer the base-ball match very much, was entirely satisfied. he could take his fun without feeling that he was taking it selfishly. it was only one o’clock, and the match did not begin until two, so johnny sprang up, saying,—
“i’ll help you ‘fly ’round’! load me up for the cellar, tiny.”
two loadings up cleared the table of all the eatables, and a race, which was a little dangerous to the dishes, was just beginning, when mrs. leslie said,—
“if you’ll do an errand for me, johnny, i can take a nice little nap, after tiny and i have finished. i don’t think it will make you late for your base-ball match, if you start at once, for you need not come home again before you go to the ground.”
“now, mamma!” and johnny’s tone was slightly injured as he spoke, “don’t you suppose i’d do it for you, and like to do it, even if it made me late? you shouldn’t say ‘if’ at all! waiting orders!”
and he stood up stiffly, drawing his heels together, and touching his cap.
mrs. leslie laughed, but she kissed him, too.
“there’s a bundle in it,” she said, “quite a large bundle—some work to be taken to your friend mrs. waring, upon whom you have called so many times at my invitation. i’m afraid, from what one of her neighbors told me yesterday, that the poor woman has had very little work lately, and less than very little money; so i have hunted up all i could for her. and please tell her, johnny, that i have some things for phil, which i will give her when she brings the work home; and to please bring it as soon as she can. she will find two car tickets in the bundle.”
“couldn’t you roll ’em up with the work, and let me take ’em to her now, mamma?” asked johnny.
“why, yes,” said mrs. leslie, “if it would not be too heavy for you; but the other bundle is quite as large as this, dear. do you think you can manage so much?”
johnny lifted tiny, swung her round once, and set her down with a triumphant “there!”
“the double load would certainly not be so heavy as tiny,” said mrs. leslie, “so i will tie them together at once.”
while his mother did this, johnny marched up and down, whistling, with polly on his shoulder. then a bright idea struck him: he put polly down, ran for his shinny stick, thrust it through the twine, and slung the bundle over the shoulder where polly had just been.
“i’ll pretend i’m an emigrant, starting for the ‘far west,’” he said. “goodbye, my dear mother, my dear sisters!” and, with a heart-rending sob, followed by a wild prance down the walk, johnny was gone.
now the particular horse car which he was to take only came along every half-hour. he saw one as he walked up the cross street, about a block away, and was just going to shout, when he heard a crack and a “flop”; the shinny stick flew up in the air, and, turning round, he saw his bundle, a bundle no longer, but a confused heap. the twine, worn through by the stick, had given way, and the paper had been burst by the fall.
johnny gathered up the things as best he could, and was vainly trying to put them once more into portable shape, when a shop door opened, and a good-natured voice called,—
“fetch them in here, sonny, and i’ll tie them up in a strong paper for you.”
he was only too glad to accept this good offer, and the pleasant-faced woman who had called him made a very neat parcel out of the wreck which he had brought her, and tied it with a stout string. he thanked her very heartily, afraid of offending her if he offered to pay for the paper and string and looking about the little shop for something he could buy.
a soft ball of bright-colored worsted caught his eye, and when he found the price of it was only ten cents, he quickly decided to buy it for phil. he had missed his car, and had nearly half an hour to wait. he would be late for the match, but—
“never mind,” he thought, “here’s a first-rate chance to keep from getting mad!”
so he talked cheerfully with the woman as she wrapped up the ball, and before the car appeared they were on very friendly terms, and parted with cordial goodbyes.
but his troubles were not over yet. he had not gone half a mile, when a “block” took place on the car track, and it was another half-hour before they were free to move on. but for the bundle, johnny would have jumped out and walked, and as it was he started up once or twice, but each time the driver announced that they were “’most through,” and he sat down again.
he reached the house at last, and knocked vigorously; he felt that he had no time to lose. there was no answer, and he knocked again, and then again, until he was satisfied that anybody, no matter how sound asleep she might have been, in that house, could not have failed to hear him. he was strongly tempted to leave the bundle on the step, and run; but he resisted the temptation, and at last, tired of knocking, sat down on the step, saying doggedly to himself,—
“she’ll have to come home to her supper!”
and as he said it, she turned the corner of the nearest street, in a provokingly leisurely manner, leading her baby boy by the hand. johnny dropped the bundle and ball on the step, rushed to meet her, poured out his message, and was gone before the bewildered little woman quite realized who he was. on he sped, as if he had wings on his heels, to be suddenly and most unexpectedly stopped by a violent collision with a very small girl, who had toddled across his path just in time to be knocked down.
very much frightened—for, “suppose anybody did that to polly!” he thought—he picked up the baby girl, petted, coaxed and cuddled her, until she laughed before her tears were dry. he found, to his great relief, that she was much more frightened than hurt, and was trying to make her tell him where she lived when her mother appeared, and carried her off, scolding and kissing her all at once.
“i declare,” thought johnny, “those old fellows who talked about the fates would say i’d better give up this base-ball business! it’s a little too provoking! i wonder what kind of a trap i’ll find in this field.”
for he had at last come to the open space from which the base-ball ground had been fenced off; one of those left-out regions consisting of several fields, which one often finds on the edge of a town or city. it was covered with high grass and coarse weeds, and in a far distant corner two or three cows were feeding.
but, as johnny neared the high fence, thinking that his troubles were certainly over now, and wondering why he had never before taken this short cut, something bright caught his eye; a little scarlet hood, not so very much above the tops of the rank grasses and weeds, and there was another baby! one hand was full of the ragged purple asters, which grew among the grass, and her little face was grave and intent. nobody else was near, and once more johnny thought, “suppose it was polly!”
the child looked fearlessly up at him as he advanced, and nodded.
“what are you doing, baby, all by yourself, in this big field?” asked johnny, in the kind, hearty voice which made him more friends than he knew of, and the baby answered, gravely,—
“picking f’owers for my mamma! and i’m not baby. baby at home.”
“come on, then, let’s go see him;” and johnny took the little hand, groaning to himself,—
“i can’t leave this mite all alone in a field with cows,—suppose it was polly!”
at that moment a wild shout went up from the base-ball ground. the quiet cows in the corner raised their heads; one stepped forward, caught sight of the scarlet hood, gave a vicious bellow, and began to run straight for the baby; and when johnny, breathless and almost exhausted, scrambled over the rail fence, which ran around three sides of the field, with the baby in his arms, he was only just in time—the sharp horns struck the fence as he and his charge struck the ground, and the enraged cow stood there, bellowing and “charging,” as long as the hood remained in sight.
the little girl, quite unconscious of her narrow escape, took johnny’s hand once more, and led him gravely on for nearly a block; then she pointed out a pretty little frame house, standing in a small lawn, and said, in a satisfied voice, “there!” he rang the bell, and was almost angry to find that the child had not even been missed.
“sure,” said the irish nursemaid, “i tould her to play in the front yard a bit, and i thought she was there.”
“there’s a cross cow in that field where she was,” said johnny, briefly. “you’d better not let her out by herself again, i should think.”
he turned away without stopping for farther explanation. but he did not go to the ball ground; he walked slowly home, with his mind full of confused thoughts, eager to pour it all out to his mother. how vexed he had been at the various delays! how needless, how troublesome they had seemed! and yet, if that shout had risen five minutes sooner—he shuddered, and left the picture unfinished. dear little girl, with her innocent hands full of “f’owers for mamma!”
kitty was there when he reached home, and she and tiny were merrily setting the table. they were full of sympathy when they found he had not seen the match, and tiny’s face glowed with joyful pride in him, when he told about the baby’s narrow escape.
but the real talk was when his mother came for her last kiss, after he was in bed; and it was a talk that he never forgot. “this time, dear,” mrs. leslie said, “you can see and understand the great good which came of the hindrances and interruptions of your plan, and i love to think that the dear father has sent you this lesson so early in your life, just to make you trust him hereafter, when you cannot see. you know what the loving saviour said to his weak and doubting disciple: ‘thomas, because thou hast seen, thou hast believed. blessed are they who have not seen, and yet have believed.’
“i do not mean that we are to excuse ourselves, and give up weakly, for every small hindrance, but that, when honest effort fails to overcome the barriers in our path, we are to believe, with all our hearts, that it is because the dear father wishes us to go some other way. that is all, johnny, darling, ‘the conclusion of the whole matter,’—just to rest on his love.”
“mamma,” said johnny, holding his mother fast in a long, close hug, “i don’t think i ever loved him so much as i do to-night; and i don’t think i’ll ever be really worried, or not long, anyhow, when things seem to go crosswise again.”
