  While the aunts were deciding upon Ladybird’s future, old Matthew was wandering down the garden path toward the orchard. “She bates the Dutch, that child,” he said to himself. “Now I’ll wager me dinner that she’s hidin’ under a cabbage-leaf, or in some burrd’s nest.” But if so, Ladybird made no sign, and old Matthew tramped up and down the orchard, peering anxiously about while the shadows deepened. At last, as he stood beneath an old gnarled apple-tree, he heard what seemed to be a far-away crooning sort of song. “Bird, bird, Ladybird; They called and called, But she never stirred.” “Arrah, miss! an’ are ye up there? Come down, ye rascally baby. Yer aunts is afther huntin’ high an’ low for ye. Do ye hear?” “I hear and I hear, and I don’t heed,” came back the answering voice. “Ye must heed,” said old Matthew, earnestly. “Yer aunts is clean daft. Come down, little lady, come down now.” “Nixy,” said Ladybird, saucily. “You know very well, Matthew, that if I come down my aunts will send me away, and I won’t be sent away.” “But ye can’t stay up in the tree forever, miss.” “Well, I can stay for the present. I don’t think it’s going to rain to-night, do you, Matthew?” “The saints presarve us, miss, how ye do talk! And are ye going to stay up there all night, now?” “Of course I am; I’ve got to sleep somewhere. And say, Matthew, I’m awful hungry.” “Are ye that, miss? Well, thin, come down to yer supper.” “Nay, nay,” said Ladybird, laughing merrily; “but do you, O good Matthew, go to Bridget and beg for me a bit of supper.” “Oh, miss, what dratted foolishness!” “Foolish nothing! I am a captive princess; you are my henchman. Do you hear, Matthew?—henchman.” “What’s that, miss?” “Oh, well, it only means that you must do just as I tell you, because you love me.” “Yes, miss.” “So go to Bridget and ask her to put up some supper in a basket, and bring it out here to me.” “And thin will ye come down and get it, miss?” “Go at once, Matthew! Henchmen do as they’re told without question.” “Yes, miss”; and half dazed, the old man shuffled away, followed by a ringing peal of Ladybird’s laughter. He soon shuffled back again, bringing a fair-sized basket well filled with good things. “‘Come down, little lady’” “‘Come down, little lady’” “Hello, henchman!” called Ladybird, “you’re mighty spry. What did you tell my aunt?” “Nothing, miss,” said Matthew; “sure, ye gave me no message.” “Good Matthew,” said Ladybird, approvingly. “It seems to me we shall be great friends, you and I. And now for my supper.” “But I can’t climb up with it to ye,” said Matthew. “Small need,” said Ladybird, who was already uncoiling a long bit of string. Tying a bunch of twigs to the end of it, she carefully let the string down through the branches of the old apple-tree. “Tie the basket on, Matthew,” she called, and the old man, mumbling, “It’s as much as me place is worth,” tied the basket firmly to the string and started it on its ascending course. After safely passing several dangerous obstacles in the way of knots and twigs, the savory basket-load reached Ladybird, and she gleefully examined the contents. “It seems to me,” she said reflectively, “that Bridget is a duck—a big fat duck.” “She is that, miss,” said Matthew, agreeably. The conversation flagged then, for Ladybird was busily engaged; and Matthew was bewildered, and quite uncertain what course to pursue. He could not see the child, though between the thickly leaved branches he could catch glimpses of her red frock at the very top of the tree. Presently he heard her voice again. “Matthew, there’s no use of your staying there; you’ll get rheumatism. You may go now. I shall stay here. There is no message for my aunts. Good night.” “Oh, miss, don’t be foolish now; come down; let me take ye to the house.” “Good night, Matthew.” “Miss, yer aunts is that worrited!” “Good night, Matthew.” “Well, miss,” with a sigh of resignation, “it does be awful cold here after dark. Sha’n’t I bring ye a blanket jist?” “Good night, Matthew.” Baffled, the old man went back to the house. His emotions were rioting within him; his sense of duty was dulled. He well knew he ought to tell the Flint ladies where the child was; and yet she had said there was no message, and somehow the little witch’s word seemed like an iron law. But when he reached the farm-house and found the Misses Flint pale with real anxiety concerning their niece, he felt intuitively that their feelings had changed, and so he said: “Well, yes, ma’am; I do know where she is.” “Oh, Matthew, where?” cried Miss Priscilla, mistaking the cause of his hesitation; and Miss Dorinda said faintly: “Is she down the well?” “Down the well!” exclaimed Matthew. “No, indeed, ma’am; she’s up a tree. She’s up in the tiptopmost branch of the old Bell-flower apple-tree, and she won’t come down. She says she’s going to stay there all night, ma’am.” “Stay there all night!” cried Miss Priscilla. “How ridiculous! She must come down at once.” “Perhaps we can coax her down with something to eat,” said Miss Dorinda. “Perhaps, ma’am,” said Matthew, his eyes twinkling. “Bring us our things, Martha,” said Miss Priscilla, with a dogged, do-or-die air, “and then Matthew can show us where our niece is, and we will bring her back.” “If yez do, she’ll come home holding the ribbons,” thought Matthew to himself, as he respectfully waited his mistresses’ pleasure. Martha brought to each of the Flint ladies a long black cloak, a wool crocheted cloud, and black worsted gloves; for without such sufficient protection the sisters never went out after dusk. “And I think rubbers, Martha,” said Miss Priscilla, anxiously scanning the sky. “Oh, sister, the grass is as dry as a bone,” said Miss Dorinda. “No signs of rain, ma’am,” said Matthew. “Rubbers, Martha,” said Miss Priscilla. Martha obediently brought four large rubber overshoes, and in a few moments the two aunts were following old Matthew in search of their wayward and erratic niece. The party paused under the apple-tree which Matthew had designated. But though the old ladies peered anxiously up into the tree, they could see nothing but leaves. “Lavinia,” called Miss Priscilla, in a calm, dignified voice. No answer. “Lavinia,” she called again, and still no sound came from the apple-tree. Then Miss Priscilla Flint, moved by the exigencies of the occasion, made what was perhaps the greatest effort of her long and uneventful life. “Ladybird,” she called, more graciously; and a little voice piped down from the tree-top: “What is it, aunty?” Like the larger proportion of human nature, Miss Priscilla, having gained her point, returned to her former mental attitude. “Child,” she said sternly, “come down at once from that tree!” “Why?” said Ladybird. “Because I tell you to,” said Miss Priscilla. “Why?” said Ladybird. “Because I wish you to,” said Miss Priscilla, with a shade more of gentleness in her tone. “Why?” said Ladybird, with two shades more of gentleness in hers. “Tell her she’s going to stay with us,” whispered Miss Dorinda; “tell her we want her to.” But such was the perversity of Miss Priscilla’s nature that a suggestion from her sister to do the thing she wanted to do most, made her do just the reverse. “You are to come down,” she said, again addressing the top of the tree, “because I command you to do so. You are a naughty girl!” “Am I a naughty girl?” called back Ladybird; “then I’ll stay up here and be naughty. It will make you less trouble than if I’m naughty down there.” “Tell her, sister,” urged Miss Dorinda. “Tell her yourself,” said Miss Priscilla, shortly. Dorinda needed no second bidding. “Ladybird,” she cried gladly, “come down, dearie. You are going to stay with us. So come down and be a good girl.” “Of course I’m going to stay with you; I told you, and I told you true,” chanted Ladybird, in her crooning, musical voice. “Then come down at once,” said Miss Priscilla, whose patience was nearly exhausted. “Why?” said Ladybird, gently, but aggravatingly. “Because I want you,” said Miss Priscilla Flint, with a sudden burst of whole-hearted welcome. “Because I want you to live with us and be our little girl,—my little girl.” “All right, aunty dear, I’ll come right straight smack down!” and Ladybird, gathering up her basket of fragments, began to scramble rapidly down through the gnarled branches of the old apple-tree. |
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