Little Maid Marian - Amy Ella Blanchard (the best electronic book reader .txt) 📗

Marian had gone to bed and was lying forlornly awake, after an hour of trying to sleep, Miss Dorothy tiptoed into her room to bend over her, and seeing the wide eyes, to say: "I have been down to Mrs. Hunt's. She is a dear. Go to sleep, honey. Just have faith that it will all come out right. Don't worry. I am going to leave my door open so you will not feel that you are all alone." And with a kiss she left her to feel somehow quite satisfied that matters were not so desperate as they seemed, and that Monday's trial might in some way be set aside if she had faith.


CHAPTER VI


The White Apron

But Monday morning came and there seemed no prospect of any change in Mrs. Otway's decision. She came herself to see that Marian was clad in the costume of disgrace, and she was sternly sent out with the order not to be late. But lest she should shame Miss Dorothy the child lingered out of sight around the corner till her teacher should have passed by and then she ventured down the street by herself. No one imagined the agony each step cost her, nor how she avoided any familiar face, crossing and recrossing as she saw an acquaintance in the distance. She was even about to pass Mrs. Hunt's gate without looking up when some one called her.

"Marian, Marian," came Mrs. Hunt's pleasant voice. "Stop a minute, chickadee."

The first impulse was to run on, but that meant reaching the schoolhouse so much the sooner, so the child hesitated and presently was captured by Mrs. Hunt, who bore down upon her as one not to be denied.

"I've been watching for you," she said. "Come right along in. You have plenty of time. I have something to say to you. There, never mind, I know the whole story and I ought to have all the blame, for it was myself that urged you to go. Now your grandma never said you were not to cover up that ridiculous petticoat, did she? She said you were to wear it, I know, and wear it you must, of course.

"Now, look here, I have an apron that was my little angel Annie's; it's a real pretty one, and it is made so it will cover you all up. I hunted it out this morning early. Put your arms in the sleeves. That's it. Just as I thought; it covers you well up and hides all the spots, doesn't it? It is a little yellow from lying, but no matter, it is clean and smooth. I've two or three more the same pattern. I always liked 'em with those little frills on the shoulders.

"Now, never mind, I know just what you're going to say, but you needn't. I'm taking all the responsibility of this. Just you go along to school and feel as happy as you can. I'm going to see your grandmother before you get home, and I'll make it all right with her, so you are not to bother yourself one little mite. Now trot along, and hurry a little, or you might be a wee bit late. You can wear the apron home. You look real nice in it."

Marian started forth as she was bidden, and then overwhelmed by her sense of relief, she raced back to throw her arms around her good friend's neck and say, "Oh, you are so good. I do love you, I do. What should I do without you and Miss Dorothy?"

"Bless her heart," murmured Mrs. Hunt, giving her a hearty hug. She stood in the doorway, looking after her till she was out of sight. "I never expected to be so happy in seeing another child wear anything of my Annie's," she murmured, wiping her eyes as she entered the house.

The girls were trooping into the schoolroom from the playground when Marian reached the spot, and Miss Dorothy was already at her desk. She looked across and gave Marian a bright smile and an understanding nod as she came in, as much as to say: "What did I tell you? Hasn't it all come out right?" As hers was not the only apron worn, Marian did not feel at all oddly dressed, and her relief was so great that she smiled every time any one looked at her.

Alice sought her out at recess and asked eagerly: "Was your grandmother awfully mad?"

"She didn't like it," returned Marian evasively.

"What did she do?"

"She didn't do anything. She sent me to my room."

"Was that all? Well, I'm glad you came off so easily," said Alice. "We all know how particular your grandmother is, and we were afraid she would do something awfully severe." Then Ruth came up and Marian went off with her to eat luncheon, so no more was said on the subject.

"Mrs. Hunt told me I could wear it home," said Marian to herself, as she went up street from school. She was alone, for Miss Dorothy had been detained and had told her not to wait. Marian paused at Mrs. Hunt's gate to see if she were there to give her further encouragement, for as she was nearing home, the child felt her spirits oozing. What would her grandmother say? She remembered, however, that Mrs. Hunt had charged her not to worry, so, finding all silent and deserted at her friend's house, she plucked up courage, believing that Mrs. Hunt had not failed her, and that she was probably at that very moment, closeted with her grandmother.

She was not disappointed, for as she entered the sitting-room she saw the two having a lively chat. "Here comes the child," cried Mrs. Hunt cheerily. "We were just talking over old times, Marian. I was reminding your grandmother of the time we all went nutting to Jones's lot, and she fell into a mud-hole and was plastered to her ears. She had to sit in the sun till she dried off, and then I took her home. My mother rigged her up in some of my clothes, and she went home with her heart in her mouth." Marian smiled. She understood the method Mrs. Hunt was taking to smooth matters over for herself.

"Another time," Mrs. Hunt turned to the other lady, "do you remember, Maria, when we all went to Perryman's Beach and waded in the water? You'd had a cold or something, and were afraid your mother would find out you'd gone with us. She did find out, I remember, because you didn't dry your feet well, and your bed was full of sand the next morning. Dear me, dear me, that was a good while ago, wasn't it?"

Mrs. Otway was smiling with a far-away look in her eyes. "I remember," she said.

"You can't put old heads on young shoulders," went on Mrs. Hunt, "and if our mothers had looked ahead and had seen what sober old matrons we would become, I guess they wouldn't have worried as much as they did over our little pranks."

Marian edged up to her good friend who put her arm around her. Mrs. Otway turned her eyes upon her granddaughter. "Where did you get that apron, Marian?" asked Mrs. Otway, a change coming over her face.

"I lent it to her," Mrs. Hunt spoke up. "It was my Annie's and I wasn't going to have Ralph Otway's daughter disgraced by going through the streets in a petticoat; I'm too fond of him and of her, too. I remember once how I made my Annie wear a purple frock she despised. It was the very week before she died," Mrs. Hunt's voice dropped, "and you can believe, Maria Otway, that if I had it to do over again, the purple frock would have gone in the fire before she should ever have worn it. Poor little darling, the girls made fun of it because it was so ugly and old-womanish. I could have spared her feelings and I didn't. I have that purple frock now," she went on. "I kept it to remind me not to hurt the feelings of one of His little ones when there was no need to." The tears were running down Mrs. Hunt's cheeks by now, but she went on: "You can think as you choose, but I have said my say."

"I don't think you would ever hurt any one's feelings if you could help it, Salome," said Mrs. Otway, melted by the childless woman's tears. Then turning to Marian, "Run along now, Marian," she said.

"Shall I take off the apron?"

"No, you needn't."

And that was all there was of it, but the next morning before breakfast said Mrs. Otway outside Marian's door: "You may put on your blue gingham for school, Marian."

So did Mrs. Hunt triumph and so did Miss Dorothy laugh in her sleeve when she saw Marian appear in the clean blue frock. It was after school when she and Marian were coming home together that she confessed to having had something to do with bringing about this pleasant state of things. "I went down to Mrs. Hunt's and told her all about it," she said, "and we hatched up the scheme between us, so our works and your faith brought about what we wished for. If you had been really disobedient, and had intended to do wrong we could not have been so eager to help you, but I think your punishment exceeded the offense and Mrs. Hunt thought the same. Isn't she a dear woman, Marian? I feel as if I had known her all my days, and as if I could go right to her in time of trouble."

"That is the way every one feels," Marian told her. "I stopped there this morning to take back the apron, and she said she knew Annie was glad I had worn it. She talks that way about Annie, so I almost feel as if I knew her and as if she knew me."

"Perhaps she does," returned Miss Dorothy quietly. "Now, when are you going to send the letter to your father? Don't you think it is most time you were getting it ready? And, by the way, I have not shown you my camera. I left it in the city to be put in order and it came this morning. Now, I was thinking it would be very nice to send your father a little book of snap pictures of his small daughter. I will take them, and can develop and print them myself. I have some gray paper that we can cut into sheets to be folded the proper size to mount the pictures upon, and it will make a very nice present, don't you think so?"

"Oh, Miss Dorothy!" Marian's face showed her delight. "I think that is the very loveliest idea that any one ever thought of. I think you have an angelic mind for thinking of things."

Miss Dorothy laughed. "I am so glad you are pleased with the idea. My plan is not to take the pictures all at once, but as I happen to catch you in a characteristic position, or an artistic one. For instance, one can be taken at school at your desk, or the blackboard; another in the garden, another in the sitting-room with your grandparents, another with Tippy and Dippy."

"More and more lovely," cried Marian. "Then he will feel almost as if he were here seeing me every day, and will get acquainted with me so much better in that way. I don't feel as if my father and I were very well