The minister and Mrs. Prior were a great deal happier for having these children in the house. Indeed Mrs. P. put on the most awkward little maternal airs, like a great girl beginning to play with dolls late in life, for which the minister admired her prodigiously. Once, when they were quite alone, he observed in a dreamy way, "That it was a sad pity such talent for government should be exhausted on other people"s children," at which Mrs. Prior went off in a spasm of blushes, and the minister crept out of the room, quite ashamed of himself, feeling that he had approached the verge of total depravity in that unhappy speech.
One day when Paul and Jube were busy among the strawberry vines in the meadow, searching, with great anxiety, for the first tinge of red upon the slowly ripening fruit, for the boy was eager to secure a handful for little Rose, that young lady was seen dashing through the back door of the house, and running full speed toward the strawberry hollow. Paul started up and shook his head to indicate that there was no hope of strawberries yet, while Jube, who was on all fours among the vines, lifted his broad face like an expectant dog, and laughed till all his teeth shone again, with the joyousness of her approach.
On she came, rushing through the fresh wind, her curls floating out behind her, and her face full of wild excitement.
"Something is the matter," said Paul, stepping forward to meet her. "Who has frightened Rose, I should like to know?"
"Paul, Paul, come here, under the apple tree," were the first breathless words of our little girl. "I want to tell you something."
Paul took her hand with his usual gentle kindness, and the two ran to the apple tree"s shade.
"This is it," said Rose, panting for breath, while her eyes sparkled like diamonds. "He has come--that man who loves my mother so much. He"s a going to marry her right off, as sure as you live. Marry her--my own, own mother--who never will love me again after that; never, never!"
Rose burst into a pa.s.sion of tears, and flinging herself against the trunk of the tree wept bitterly.
Paul was greatly troubled; not that he understood the matter, but because it grieved him to see Rose cry so bitterly.
"Oh," she exclaimed, dropping two dimpled hands from her eyes, and stamping her tiny feet on the gra.s.s, "oh dear, how I wish that Captain Thrasher was dead."
Paul started, and turned very pale. "Jube, Jube," he called out, with a cry of pain.
Jube started up from his knees, and came running toward the children.
"What is it--what is it, little ma.s.ser?"
"He is here, that bad man--he wants to marry Rose"s mother," cried the lad, flinging his arms around the little girl, and looking the brave, bright boy he really was.
"Who, who, little ma.s.ser?" cried Jube, looking around for some enemy.
"Captain Thrasher." Paul uttered the name in a whisper.
Jube clenched his hand, looking fiercely toward the house.
"He there, Ma.s.ser Paul?"
"Yes," said the angry child, shaking her little rosebud of a fist at the house. "He"s there with my own mother, this minute. He"ll carry her off in spite of us all."
"What can we do?" said Paul, anxiously looking at Jube.
"Couldn"t you just kill him, Jube, as you did the garter snake," cried Rose, shaking the drops from her eager eyes.
Jube hesitated; the fellow had a vague idea that some one might object to this mode of settling the difficulty. Paul drew back with affright.
He had received a cruel knowledge of the laws regarding human life, and the remedy pointed out by little Rose made him shrink.
"We must not ask Jube to be wicked," he said, gently.
Rose dashed his hand away. "Isn"t it wicked for that man to come here after my own mother?" she cried, indignantly.
"Yes, Rose; but it would be more wicked for Jube to harm him. The law, Rose, the law."
"Well, I don"t care. What is the law? If it"s a man, Jube can whip him, can"t you, Jube?" cried the little damsel, going for belligerent rights with all her puny strength.
"But it isn"t a man, Rose," said Paul, solemnly. "It"s something that no one ever sees. It comes like death, and when a person does wrong, even if it was a beautiful lady, strikes her down till her heart breaks. It shuts people up in prison."
"Oh don"t, don"t," cried Rose.
"It hangs "em by the neck between two beams."
"Oh, how you frighten me, Paul."
"It hunts after a person who has done wrong, day and night, and catches him at last. Oh, Rose, if you only knew how cruel the law can be."
Rose hushed her sobs and drew close to Paul, quite awe-stricken. "Never mind, Jube needn"t do it. I"ll ask the minister to pray G.o.d to help us, that will be the best thing."
"Yes," said Paul, brightening, "and I"ll--no matter about that, people shouldn"t talk about these things, but "our Lady" has done great things for people in distress."
They sat down in a group under the apple tree, consulting eagerly together. After awhile the parlor window opened, and a clear, ringing voice called out:
"Rose! Rose Mason, I say."
"I must go," said the little girl, with a look of deplorable helplessness. "She"ll want me to kiss him, but I wont!"
Paul lifted her little hand to his lips, and kissed it with touching grace.
"Don"t be afraid, Rose. Jube wont let anybody hurt you."
"I--I aint afraid," cried Rose, tossing her golden curls. "He daren"t kiss me, I know that."
She went away slowly, looking over her shoulder from time to time during her progress toward the house. The apple tree was not within sight of the parlor windows, thus both Jube and Paul remained unseen by the two people who occupied that room; an unfortunate circ.u.mstance, perhaps, for their recognition might have changed the whole course of events. As it was, both Paul and Jube were anxious to keep out of sight. When they left the meadow, Paul went to his room, and in the simplicity of his faith, put up many an orison to the Virgin, in behalf of this pretty friend. What else could the child do?
CHAPTER XLVIII.
PAUL SEES HIS MOTHER"S NECKLACE.
Before Rose left the parlor she was so frightened and subdued by her mother"s stern reprimands, that all idea of appealing for help forsook her. So she ran desperately into a closet connected with her mother"s chamber, fell upon the floor, and cried herself to sleep, with her flushed cheeks resting on two round arms, folded helplessly on the bare boards.
Toward night, Mrs. Mason came up-stairs, looking haughty and excited.
Without heeding the child, who lay just within the closet, with her curls scattered over the threshold of the door, she began to open trunks and bureaus, from which she drew first a heavy silk dress, which just escaped being white by a tinge of pearl gray, some gossamer laces, and other indications of an elaborate toilet. Then she let down her magnificent hair, brushed out its glossy waves, and began to braid it; stopping now and then to rest her arms on the table before her, and sighing heavily, as if it required all her energies to keep up that proud show of strength.
After wreathing these heavy braids around her head in the form of a coronet, she arose and went to the closet for something. Lo, there was her child p.r.o.ne upon the floor, disturbed by her approach, and moaning at her feet.
A person who deliberately does wrong, is almost sure to be angry at any thing calculated to touch the conscience. Mrs. Mason"s cheeks flushed and her eyes flashed at the sight of little Rose. She was tempted to spurn the child with her foot, but restrained herself, only touching the bare, white shoulder, with the point of her slipper.
"Get up, child. Get up. What on earth are you doing here?"