Bessie on Her Travels

“He was another old fellow who went up into the mountains and went to sleep for ever so many years; and when he woke up nobody knew him, and he did not know anybody. Harry told us about him. I don’t see how people can be so foolish as to sleep for so long; but it came into my head to make our dolls Rip Van Winkles and William Tells till we came back, and then we wouldn’t feel as if they were so lonely when they were asleep all the time.”

“It’s only pretend, you know, and one can make b’lieve about dolls even better than about people,” said Bessie. “And it’s a great relief to suffering to go to sleep and forget it,” she added, as gravely as though there were no “pretend” about it, and the dolls were real children, feeling deeply the separation from their little mammas.

“That’s a very nice thing to do. You do make such nice plays, Maggie,” said Lily, admiringly. “I shall do it with my dolls: you’d better too, Belle.”

“Well, I don’t know; but I’m going to think about it,” said Belle, in whose little heart Maggie’s reproach had awakened a feeling of remorse for the selfishness and obstinacy she had shown about her doll. “I b’lieve Belle Maggie Bessie is most too large. I can’t carry her much myself, and papa did say she’d be in everybody’s way. I guess I’ll make a William Tell of her, if Maggie and Bessie will let me put her with theirs.”

“Yes, we will; and you can take a doll of moderation,” said Maggie, meaning that Belle could take a doll of moderate size.

“Do you think you’ll be seasick on the steamer?” asked Lily.

“Pooh! no, I shan’t. I won’t be,” said Maggie.

“Perhaps you can’t help it,” said Belle. “I’m sure I didn’t mean to be seasick when I came here in the steamer, but I couldn’t help it; and oh dear! – it’s – it is horrid.”

“Is being seasick any thing like being homesick?” asked Bessie.

“Not exactly; but the two things very often go together, darling,” said Aunt Bessie, laughing, and speaking from the next room.

“Then I’m more determined than ever not to be it,” said Maggie, meaning seasick by “it.” “But then I couldn’t be homesick either, when I have so many of my own home people with me.”

But, in spite of her determination, Maggie had privately a great dread of this same seasickness. She could not bear to be sick; not that she was impatient or cross when this was the case with her, but that she thought sickness, like sleep, was “a great waste of being alive.” She wanted to be able to run about and amuse herself all the time; and it was “such fun” to go to sea, that she was very much afraid lest any thing should interfere with her enjoyment of it.

“They give people sour things when they are seasick,” said Belle, who, having once suffered in this way, thought herself entitled to give all necessary information on the subject. “That’s the only nice thing about it. They gave me lots of sour oranges and lemons.”

“But Bessie and I don’t like sour things, so that won’t make it any better for us,” said Maggie, soberly. Nevertheless, she treasured Belle’s remark; and not seeing her way clearly to a private stock of oranges and lemons, she watched her opportunity when her little playmates were gone, and taking Patrick into her confidence, begged him to give her “two pickles and a whole lot of vinegar,” not to eat herself, because mamma would not allow that, but to be prepared, when all the rest of the family were seasick and she had to take care of them.

The good-natured Irishman, expressing great admiration at the “forethought of her,” furnished her with what she wanted; and Maggie went off, rejoicing in her spoils.

The pickles were stowed away in the soup-tureen belonging to her doll’s dinner-set; and she contrived, when nurse and Jane were not looking, to slip them into a corner of one of the trunks. The vinegar she poured into a vial she had also obtained from Patrick; and as the cork did not fit very tightly, and she feared the liquid might run out if she put it into the trunk, she hid it in her bosom, heroically enduring the smell of the vinegar, which was exceedingly disagreeable to her, “for the sake of my family,” as she told Bessie.

For Bessie’s quick little nose soon smelt out the vinegar, which she also disliked very much; and after several sniffs and exclamations of disgust from her, and much wondering as to where that “horrid, vinegarish smell did come from,” Maggie felt forced to tell her the secret which she had meant to keep until they were safely on board the steamer.

But Bessie was by no means so struck with admiration as Patrick had been, and for once did not think Maggie’s plan a good one; at least not unless she could be persuaded to tell her mamma of it.

“For you know, dear Maggie,” she said with a doubtful shake of her head, “mamma does not like us to keep secrets from her; and don’t you think she will know what is best to take?”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Maggie, unwilling to give up her cherished plan; “maybe she won’t think about sour things, and I’m sure she’d be very thankful when she’s seasick, and finds an unexpected pickle just on hand.”

“I think she’ll like it just as well if she knows about it before,” said Bessie. “And I don’t believe it is quite right; and, besides, it is such a very bad-smelling secret to have. Tell her, and see what she will say.”

But even as they were talking, they found that the “bad-smelling secret” had betrayed itself; for nurse, going to finish the packing of the trunk where the pickles were concealed, also perceived the scent of vinegar.

“What have you been putting in here that smells so of vinegar?” she said to Jane.

“Nothing,” was the answer. “I’ve had no vinegar.”

“But it’s here, surely,” said nurse, sniffing around in her turn: “it’s about this trunk, spilled on something I suppose: that’s some of your carelessness, Jane.” And Mammy, who was rather apt to snub her younger helpmate, lifted several articles in turn to her nose.

“Oh dear! I’ll have to tell: she’s scolding poor Janey for it,” whispered Maggie, in great dismay.

“What’s this?” exclaimed nurse, when, having pulled out half a dozen things, she came upon the tiny tureen. “Pickles! and the vinegar dribbled out of them on the master’s clean shirts. Well! that naughty Frankie! he’s gone beyond himself in such a trick as that. He’s been busy with your doll’s china, Maggie, my honey; but where in the world did he lay his mischievous hands on pickles? I’ll just speak my mind to Patrick for leaving them in the child’s reach. Pickles indeed! but he’s a pickle!”

This was too much for Maggie. She could not hear her little brother and Patrick blamed, and she spoke out at once.

“It was not Frankie who put them there,” she said: “it was I, and I want them to stay there.”

“Indeed, they’ll not then,” said nurse. “Ye know your mother never lets ye touch them; and what a way would that be to take them anyhow? What ails ye the day, Maggie? I think the spirit of mischief has hold of ye.”

Maggie was displeased in her turn, and, as usual, was dignified and made use of all the long words she could think of, which were suitable to the case.

“If you interfere with my pickle arrangements, I shall not be responsible for the seasickness,” she said solemnly.

“Responsible for the seasickness! I should think not,” said nurse, forgetting her vexation in her amusement, and bursting into a hearty laugh, in which she was joined by Jane; while Maggie stood swelling and indignant; “responsible for the seasickness! and what put that into your head, my lamb, and what do you think pickles stuffed into trunks have to do with it?”

But Maggie was too much hurt and disappointed to answer, and could only reply with a nod to Bessie’s plea that she would let her explain.

This was soon done; and nurse, sorry to see Maggie so grieved, said, —

“The pickles would have done ye little good packed away in the trunk which ye will not see till we come to land again, honey; and don’t ye fret your little soul about it, for your mamma has provided all things needful; and I promise you if all the rest are taken down but yourself, ye shall play nurse to your heart’s content, and wait on everybody. Ye did mean to be considerate and thoughtful, I’m sure; but it’s always best for such young heads to take counsel of those that are wiser and older in such things.”

Having allowed so much to be confessed, Maggie thought she might as well make a clean breast of the whole affair; and produced the bottle of vinegar, with many entreaties to be allowed to keep it. Nurse shook her head; but Mrs. Bradford came into the room just then, and she turned the matter over to her.

Mamma laughed too when she heard the story, and told Maggie to give up her pickles and vinegar, and she would provide her with something better; so taking both the little girls into her own room, she delighted them by presenting each with a beautiful morocco satchel, just of a right size for small travellers, and with lock and key all complete, to say nothing of a light chain by which they could be hung over the shoulder.

Maggie was farther consoled by a bottle of smelling salts, one of hartshorn, and three lemons; and this she appeared to think a sufficient safeguard against seasickness for all the passengers and crew of the steamer. For the rest of the day her restless energies found satisfaction in locking and unlocking, arranging and rearranging this satchel and its contents, and the busy head and fingers were kept from farther mischief or hindering “help.”

II

AT SEA

“Are we at sea now, papa?” said Maggie, holding by her father’s hand as she jumped up and down on the deck of the steamer; “are we really at sea?”

“Hardly at sea yet, little daughter: we are still going down the bay. When we are fairly at sea we shall lose sight of our own great city, where we have left grandmamma and the boys, and all the other dear ones.”

“Yes,” said Bessie, who was by no means in such overflowing spirits as Maggie; “it’s rather sorrowful to leave so many of our own people behind us. I wish everybody could have come with us.”

“Then we’d have no one to write to,” said Maggie, who found consolation in all partings in the thought of letter-writing, in which she delighted.

“But, papa, will you tell us when we are really and truly at sea?”

“You’ll be apt to know that without telling, little maiden,” said a gentleman who was passing: “we have had high winds the last three days, and shall find it rough enough outside, I take it;” and he passed on.

“Who’s that, papa?” asked Bessie.

“That is the captain,” said Mr. Bradford.

“What a nice face he has,” said the little girl.