Bessie on Her Travels

The story had spread through the train; and people were coming in from the other cars to look at the three little waifs, who, all by themselves, were each instant being taken farther from their friends; and Belle, looking up as the door was opened afresh, spied a familiar object.

“Oh! there’s the ‘bad hat’ man!” she cried, glad to see any thing on which she had ever laid her eyes before, even though it might be that ugly hat with the strange face beneath it.

At the same moment there came in also the conductor, and the gentleman who had gone to find him; and now the children felt a faint hope that there might be some way out of this trouble.

But the conductor was surly, and absolutely refused to put back, – which indeed would have been hardly safe, – or to stop the train and let out the children, as was proposed by some person, and pleaded for by the little ones themselves.

And here the “bad hat” man put in his word.

“That would never do,” he said; “those little things could not possibly walk back to – , and no conveyance could be found along here. They must come on to the next station, and there we will see what can be done.”

Down went the three heads and up went Belle’s voice again at these unwelcome words; but the “bad hat” had a kind heart beneath it, and the wearer at once set himself to comfort the forlorn children.

“Come, come, take heart,” he said cheerily. “Now let us see how soon we shall get back to papa and mamma. It will not take us more than one hour or so, to reach the next station, and then – well, to be sure, we’ll have to wait awhile there for the up-train,” – he did not think it best to say it would be more than four hours, – “but we’ll telegraph them and let them know you are all safe, and will be with them before long.”

“Do you know the children sir?” asked a lady.

“Well, no, madam, and they don’t know me; but they know my hat pretty well, and I think that is ground for an acquaintance. It’s a broad one, anyhow, is it not?” he said with a nod at Belle, “and we’re going to take advantage of it.”

“It’s a great while for poor mamma to wait for us, and she’ll be very frightened,” said Bessie, wiping the tears from her eyes, though they were immediately filled again. “I s’pose she’ll think we’re never coming back to her.”

“Not a bit of it,” said “Bad Hat:” “she’ll think you’ll find some one to look after you and bring you back; and how delighted she’ll be to see you safe after such an adventure.”

At this last word all the children pricked up their ears, especially Maggie. She, being the most timid of the three, had been the most broken down by terror, and had, until now, remained in the very depths of despair. But it was really almost a consolation to hear this called “an adventure,” and to remember that here was a subject for the most interesting of letters, provided they ever again reached home and friends, and had the opportunity of writing such. She was still rather doubtful how this was to be brought about, in spite of Mr. “Bad Hat’s” assurances.

“Why! so it is an adventure,” said Bessie; “and Maggie said she wished we’d have some great adventure, but she didn’t mean this kind of a one; did you, Maggie?”

“No, indeed I didn’t,” sobbed Maggie.

“But you can write a letter about it,” said Belle, catching her breath between almost every two words; “and it will be so interesting: all the people you know will want to read it.”

Belle, as well as Bessie, had the greatest admiration for Maggie’s letters, and thought them the most marvellous works of genius.

“Of course they will,” said the gentleman, whom our little strays were already beginning to look upon as a friend. “And so, Maggie writes letters, does she? I wish she would write one to me one of these days.”

“But she don’t know your name,” said Bessie.

“Well, perhaps she might find out. I am not ashamed of it. But I think this little lady has found a name for me. When I came in the car I heard her say, ‘There’s the bad hat man.’ Now suppose Maggie writes a letter and directs it to the ‘bad hat man,’ do you think it would reach me?”

“Yes, I fink it would,” said Belle with emphasis, and eyeing the hat with a look which seemed to add, “there’s no possibility of mistaking that hat.”

So, in pleasant, cheerful talk, the friendly stranger tried to beguile the way, and help the little ones to bear their troubles; and he partly succeeded, though now and then a heavy sigh, or a murmured “Are we most at the next station?” or “Oh, mamma!” showed that they were not forgotten. The other people, who had gathered round in pitying sympathy, saw that they had fallen into good hands, and went back to their seats, leaving them to his care.

“But what shall we do now?” asked Maggie, in new alarm, as they at last approached the longed-for station where they were to leave this train, and at least feel that they were to be borne no farther from their friends. “I don’t know about the streets.”

Now it was rather a strange, but a very good thing that, timid as Maggie was, she seldom lost her presence of mind; and, however frightened she might be, could still think what was best to do for herself and others. You will remember how she thought of her own sash and Bessie’s, as a means for saving Aunt Bessie’s life when she fell over the precipice at Chalecoo. So now feeling as if the care of Bessie and Belle rather fell upon her, since she was the oldest of the three, she tried to collect her thoughts and plan how she should act. But it was all useless, this was such a new and untried place, and so many dangers and difficulties seemed to beset her, that she could not see her way out of them. But her fears were speedily set at rest.

“Oh! you are only going to do as I tell you,” said their new friend. “I shall see you safe in your parents’ hands.”

“Will you, sir?” cried Maggie joyfully, and slipped her hand into his, in her great relief.

“Are you going to get out here?” asked Bessie, as the train slackened its speed.

“Yes: you did not think I would leave you to shift for yourselves?”

“Do you live here?” asked Belle.

“No: I live down in Florida,” was the answer.

“And are you going to get out here just to take care of us?” asked Bessie.

He smiled and nodded assent.

“You are very good, sir,” said Bessie. “Is it just as convenient as not for you?”

“Well, no,” he returned. “I cannot say it is; but then I heard a little girl say, this morning, that ‘any thing was to be choosed before mamma should be worried,’ so after that I think I must do all I can to relieve mamma’s anxiety, and get you back to her as soon as possible.”

So Bessie’s thoughtfulness and care for her dear mother was reaping its own reward.

VIII

OLD JOE

R Station was not much of a place. There were only about half a dozen houses, as many barns, and one store, which was part of the little station-house. And there was no telegraph; but when our little girls and their protector left the train, another gentleman promised to send a message to their parents from the next stopping-place.

There was not much to entertain the children, even had they been in a mood to be amused; and the hours dragged very wearily. The kind gentleman would have taken them for a walk in the pleasant pine woods, but they were so fearful lest they should miss the up train, which was to carry them back to their mother and father, that they could not be induced to lose sight of the railroad track. Maggie and Belle could be persuaded to do nothing but sit on the low bank at the side of the road, and look up and down the long line of rail for the train, which was still so far away. Bessie, naturally more trusting and less timid than the others, had more confidence in their new friend and what he told her; but she would not leave her sister and Belle, and, moreover, was too tired to do more than wait with what patience she might. So the “bad hat” let them do as they would, furnishing them with some dinner, for which they had little appetite, and telling them droll stories, which could not draw forth more than faint smiles. But at last Bessie found something to interest her.

There was an old colored man working around the station, cutting wood, drawing water, and so forth, and he cast many a pitying glance toward the sorrowful little strangers. Nor did he content himself with looking; for, having finished his work for the time, he walked away into the woods, and soon came back with a large leaf full of wood-strawberries, and a bunch of scarlet cardinal flowers and yellow jasmine, which he offered to them.

Bessie took them, and, after thanking him prettily, divided them with Maggie and Belle; then, out of her own share, arranged a little bouquet for Mr. Travers; for that, the “bad hat man” had said was his name.

“How pale and tired you look, my little girl!” he said as she fastened it in his button-hole: “suppose you lie down and take a sleep? It would be well if the others would do it too.”

They all thought they could not possibly do such a thing, “the train might go by” while they were asleep; but when Mr. Travers proposed that he should spread his railway rug under the shade of the pine-trees, where they could not miss hearing the train, and said he would sit beside them and wake them the moment it was near, Bessie and Belle felt as if they should be glad to take advantage of his kindness. For it was true that they were all three quite worn out with fatigue and excitement. But Maggie was very decided in her refusal to take a nap, saying that she “never went to sleep except at night, when it was no use to stay awake, there was nothing to do.”

But when the rug was spread beneath the trees, she took her seat upon it with the others, leaning her back against a great pine, with Bessie’s head in her lap. Belle, too, cuddled close up to her; and Mr. Travers seated himself opposite, with his book.

“I wish I had a story-book for you, Maggie,” he said.

“It’s no matter, sir,” said Maggie, dolefully. “I’m not in good enough spirits to read. I’d rather think about going back.”

“Suppose you pass the time by composing that letter you are to send home, telling of this adventure?” said the gentleman. “Here are a pencil, and the back of a letter, if you’ll have them.”

Maggie brightened considerably at this suggestion, and gratefully accepted the kind offer.

Bessie lay with her head in Maggie’s lap, drowsily thinking how pleasant it would be to go to sleep in this nice place, if papa and mamma and baby were only here too. It was so cool and quiet. No one seemed to be stirring in the cottages or the small station; not a sound was heard but the gentle whisper of the breeze in the tree-tops, the chirp of the crickets, and the varied notes of a mocking-bird perched not far from them. Then the spicy smell of the pines was so delicious and balmy.

Not a human being was to be seen but their own party, and the old negro man, who now sat upon a wheelbarrow at a little distance, reading what looked like a leaf or two from a book. He seemed to read very slowly and with great pains, pointing his finger along from word to word, and forming the words with his mouth, as people do who cannot read very well; but he appeared to be very intent over it.