  With no other intent than to put as great a distance as possible between herself and Primrose Hall, Ladybird wandered on through the last of the Flint orchards, and found herself confronted by a rail fence, over which she promptly climbed. She crossed a small brook, two fields, and another orchard, when from one of the trees she heard a pleasant, young voice say: “Hello, little girl!” Although, as a rule, not many creatures, except birds, are looked for in trees, yet Ladybird’s mind was of the type which accepts without question, and looking up, she called back, “Hello!” though she could see of the person addressed only some pink muslin and a small swinging slipper. “What do you want?” said the voice again, and a pretty, smiling face appeared above the pink muslin. “I don’t want anything,” said Ladybird; “I’m just taking a walk.” “Oh, well, if you’ve walked from Primrose Hall ’way over here, you must be tired. Won’t you come up here and sit by me?” “Yes, thank you,” said Ladybird; and she easily swung herself up the crooked old boughs of the apple-tree, and seated herself facing her hostess, who proved to be a very charming young woman indeed. “Aren’t you the little girl who lives with the Flint ladies?” she said. “Yes,” said Ladybird; “they’re my aunts.” “I am Stella Russell, and I live on this farm, which is next to Primrose Place. I live with my grandfather and grandmother.” “Oh, haven’t you any mother, either?” said Ladybird, quickly, and her little brown paw slid into the girl’s white hand. “No,” said Stella, silently accepting Ladybird’s unspoken sympathy. “I haven’t a friend in the world, except my grandparents.” “Why, how funny!” said Ladybird. “I should think you could have lots of friends, you are so pretty and so bright. I’ll be your friend.” “I think I should like to have you,” said Stella, but slowly, as if considering a weighty matter; “but you see, I am queer about my friends.” “How?” asked Ladybird. “Well,” said Stella, wearily, “of course I know all the people in Plainville,—I have lived here a great many years,—but I can’t seem to persuade myself that they are the kind of people I want for my friends. Oh, of course they are nice, good people, you know—” “Yes, I know,” said Ladybird, nodding her head wisely. “It isn’t that they’re plain,” Stella went on, “or countrified. I don’t mind those things. But they’re uninteresting. When I go to see them, they just talk about the minister, and the dressmaker, and the village gossip.” “Yes,” said Ladybird, again nodding her head like an owl, “I know.” “How do you know, you ridiculous child?” said Stella, laughing. “How old are you, you mountain of knowledge?” “I do know,” said Ladybird, shaking her thin forefinger at her companion across an intervening apple-twig—“I do know just what it is you want and can’t get,—and I’m twelve.” “Oh, you are. Well, my twelve-year-old Solomon, what is it that Stella Russell wants and can’t get?” “You don’t want beauty,” said Ladybird, who was gazing in sheer delight at the lovely face before her, “for you’ve got it; and I think you have education, and accomplishments, and all those things. But you want to be in a place where you can give all those things to others and take some of theirs in return.” “You’re a witch,” said Stella, looking at the pale child before her with amazement. “Oh, I know,” went on Ladybird, her big eyes growing bigger, and her head nodding most expressively. “You want to be among people who talk quick, shining talk that doesn’t mean much, but that’s witty and bright, and most pleasant to hear; and people can’t talk like that unless they have a whole lot of big knowledge, too, that they can use when they need it; and of course,” and now the head was shaking slowly from side to side, “the Plainville people aren’t like that.” “No, they’re not,” said Stella. “But will you please tell me how you know all this?” “I know it,” said Ladybird, “because it is true, that’s all. I always know true things; and besides, my mamma ran away from Plainville because she wanted to marry my papa, who was the other kind.” “Well, I can’t run away,” said Stella, laughing. “You could if you had any one to run with,” said Ladybird, gravely. “Well, perhaps I could, but I certainly wouldn’t.” “No, I s’pose you wouldn’t.” “Well, never mind about me,” said Stella; “it doesn’t make any difference what sort of people I want if I can’t get them; and since you’ve offered, I think you’ll do very nicely for a friend.” “Yes; I’m a good friend,” said Ladybird, with an air of calm confidence in herself; “but I’m not always good. Sometimes I’m very naughty, and I try my dear aunts most exceeding; but then,” she added, with a sigh, “sometimes they are a fearsome trial to me.” “I’ve heard of some of your pranks,” said Stella, smiling; “and I’m not sure but you are a naughty little girl.” “I guess I am a naughty girl,” said Ladybird, soberly; “and sometimes I do it on purpose, and sometimes it’s just because I was born so.” “Well, there’s the dinner-bell,” said Stella; “even if you are a naughty girl, I’d like to have you come in and take dinner with us, if you will. My grandparents will be glad to see you.” “I’d like to come very much, thank you,” said Ladybird; and the two scrambled down the old apple-tree to the ground. Seen at this better advantage, Stella Russell proved to be an exceptionally beautiful girl. Tall and slender, with brown eyes and dark-brown hair, her fresh, sweet color and dainty grace showed the best type of physical beauty, combined with an unusual amount of perceptive and responsive intelligence. Unsophisticated in many ways, she was possessed of an inherent power to see things clearly, and this showed in her beautiful, sensitive face. Ladybird, too, possessed this power; but while hers was quicker, Stella’s was truer. As the two girls walked up the path to the house, Stella said: “It’s very strange, but though you are twelve and I am twenty-one, I see very clearly that we shall be good friends.” “Oh, twelve from twenty-one doesn’t leave much,” said Ladybird, laughing. Stella’s grandparents, old Mr. and Mrs. Marshall, were very much pleased to meet the young stranger. “I knew your mother,” said Mr. Marshall, as he looked at Ladybird; “but you do not look a bit like her.” “No,” said Ladybird; “that’s what my aunts told me.” The two girls spent a long and pleasant afternoon together. Stella showed Ladybird all her books and other treasures, and notwithstanding the difference in their ages, the girls became congenial friends. As it neared four o’clock Ladybird said she must go home, for her aunt had told her to come at that time. “I am going over to Primrose Hall,” said Mrs. Marshall, “to the meeting of the Dorcas Circle. You can drive over with me.” So among the earliest arrivals at the Dorcas meeting were Mrs. Marshall and Miss Ladybird Lovell. Now that Ladybird’s quick and tempestuous anger had spent itself, she felt sorry to see her Aunt Priscilla arrayed in her second-best black silk, for she knew how it must have hurt that good lady to appear before her guests in anything less than the resplendent glory of her best and cherished black silk gown. Both the Misses Flint wore a look of sternness that Ladybird could not misinterpret. But they said nothing to the child, and cordially invited Mrs. Marshall to step into the bedroom and lay off her bonnet. Many successive guests were treated with the same punctilious courtesy. The Dorcas meeting came, the Dorcas meeting ate its supper, the Dorcas meeting went, and after the door of Primrose Hall had closed behind the last departing guest, Miss Priscilla said: “Now, Lavinia, I will talk with you, if you please.” “Good for you, aunty,” said Ladybird, clambering into her Aunt Priscilla’s lap and twining her thin brown arms about the old lady’s neck, thereby—although unconsciously—seriously modifying the tenor of the remarks which Miss Flint had meant to make. “Lavinia,” she said, with much sternness in her voice. “Now, aunty,” murmured Ladybird, “please!” “Lavinia,” went on Miss Flint, unmoved by her niece’s words, “I am more pained than I can tell you at your unkindness to me to-day.” “Aunty,” said Ladybird, solemnly, “I was more pained than I can tell you at your unkindness to me to-day.” “But,” said Miss Priscilla, “you must realize, my child, that I am older than you are, and know more.” “But, aunty,” said Ladybird, “you must realize that I am younger than you are, and care more.” “Care more for what?” said Miss Priscilla. “For red spots,” said Ladybird. “Of course I know, Aunt Priscilla, that you have a right to say what kind of horrid old clothes I shall wear; but it seems to me, if I had a little girl to look after, and she wanted to wear red spots, I’d let her wear them. It wouldn’t kill anybody, you know.” “Priscilla,” said Miss Dorinda, “I think the child is right.” “I’m not aware, Dorinda,” said the elder Miss Flint, “that I asked your opinion concerning our niece’s conduct.” “No,” said Miss Dorinda, humbly. “Aunty,” said Ladybird, still refusing to be pushed from her position on the old lady’s lap, and still with her arms clasped about Miss Priscilla’s stately, if withered, neck, “aunty, are red spots wicked?” “Not that I know of,” said Priscilla Flint. “Then don’t you think, aunty, that you might as well have let me keep them, in the first place? Then I wouldn’t have pasted them on your dress; then I wouldn’t have been naughty; and then everything would be lovely, and the goose hang high,” concluded Ladybird, with an airy, careless gesture of her thin, brown, little paws. “Ladybird,” said Miss Priscilla, and her voice softened as she used the more endearing title, “I am not sure but that you are right in this case. There is no sin in bright colors, and if you want them, I suppose there is no real reason why you should not have them. I am sorry for my part of this unfortunate episode. I was unjust—” “Never mind, aunty,” said Ladybird, clasping her arms tighter round the old lady’s throat and kissing her hard, “I was unjust, too, I was naughty, and I was a bad, bad girl, and I—that is, we’re both sorry, aren’t we?” “Yes,” said Miss Priscilla Flint, “we’re both sorry, and I will get you a new red dress.” “Do,” said Ladybird, cheerfully: “and get yourself a new black silk one, won’t you, aunty?” |
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