The Fairchild Family

by Mrs. Sherwood

  Bessy's Misfortunes

  Bessy was crying most piteously]

  The Sunday morning was very fine, and there was a nice large partygoing to church together. We have not mentioned Mr. Somers lately, buthe was still there, and very much beloved. His mother had lately cometo live with him; she was a very old friend of Mrs. Goodriche, and whenthe two old ladies saw each other from their pews, they were vastlypleased. They hastened to meet each other after service; and Mrs.Somers begged all Mrs. Goodriche's party to come into the ParsonageHouse, which was close to the church.

  Mrs. Fairchild said there were too many for all to go in; so shedirected Betty to see the young ladies home: they had some way to walk,but had hardly got out of the village when Betty said:

  "We shall surely have a shower--we shall be caught in the rain if weare not sharp."

  "May we run, Betty?" asked Lucy and Emily; and having got leave, theyset off at full speed, and got into the house just in time.

  "Come, Miss Goodriche," said Betty; "you can run, I know, as well asthe best of them, so why don't you set off too? As for me, I have notgot my best bonnet on, for I foresaw there would be showers, and I havenothing else that can hurt. A very few drops would make that prettycrape bonnet of yours not fit to be seen."

  "We shall be at home before the rain comes," said Bessy; "and I am surethat if it is only a few drops they will not hurt my bonnet; I want tostay with you. I want to ask you about the people I saw at church.Come, now, tell me, Betty, what was that family that sat just beforeus?"

  Betty was walking away as fast as she could, and she answered:

  "Miss, I can't stop to talk--it has begun to rain behind us on thehills; we shall have it in no time; and there is no house this way torun into."

  "O la! Betty," cried Miss Bessy next; "my shoe-string is unpinned: do,for pity, lend me a big pin."

  "Why, Miss," said Betty, "sure you don't pin your shoe-strings?"

  "Only when I am in a hurry," she answered.

  Betty found a pin, and the shoe was put to rights as well as might be;but two minutes at least were lost whilst this was being done.

  "Now come on, Miss, as fast as you can," said Betty; "the drops arealready falling on the dust at our feet."

  They went on a few paces without another word, and then Miss Bessyscreamed:

  "Oh, Betty, the other string has gone snap: have you another pin?"

  "Miss, Miss!" said Betty, fumbling for a pin, and in her hurry notbeing able to find one. Once more Miss Bessy was what soldiers call inmarching order, and they made, may be, a hundred paces, without anyother difficulty but the falling of the rain, though as yet it was onlythe skirts of the shower. The house was in view, and was not distantthree hundred yards by the road, and somewhat less over a field.

  "Let us go over the field," said Bessy.

  "No, no," replied Betty, bustling on. "If the gate on the other sideshould be locked--and John often keeps it so--we should be quite atfault."

  "And what sort of a gate must it be," said Bessy, "that you and I couldnot get over?"

  "We had better keep the road, Miss," replied Betty; "the grass must bewet already with the little rain which is come."

  "And yet it has scarce laid the dust in the road," returned Bessy; "soif you choose to keep to the road, I shall take the field; so good-byeto you;" and the next minute she was over the stile, and running acrossthe grass.

  Betty looked after her a minute, and then saying, "Those who have thecare of you have their hands full," she hurried on; but with all herhaste she was like one who had been dipped in a well before she got in.

  Almost the moment in which the two had parted, the shower had come downin right good earnest, driving and gathering and splashing the dust upon Betty's white stockings, and causing her to be very glad that shehad not put on her best-made bonnet and new black ribbons. Betty hadnever worn a coloured bonnet in her life.

  In the meantime Miss Bessy was flying along the field, throwing up thewet at every step from the long grass. The pins in her shoes at firstacted as spurs, pricking her for many steps, and then crooking andgiving way; so that she had the comfort of running slipshod the rest ofthe way. Her shoes, being of stuff, were so thoroughly soaked, in alittle time, that they became quite heavy. The gate at the end of thefield was locked, of course; who ever came to the end of a field in apelting shower, and did not find it locked? It was a five-barred gate,and Bessy could have got over it easily if John had not most carefullyinterlaced the two upper bars with thorns and brambles--for whatpurpose we don't know, but so it was.

  Bessy tried to pull some of them out, and in so doing thoroughly soakedher gloves, and then only succeeded in pulling aside one or two ofthem; but she mounted the gate, and in coming down, her foot slipping,she fell flat on the ground, leaving part of her frock on the thorns,which at the time she did not perceive.

  "It can't be helped," she thought, as she rose again, and ran on to thehouse without further misfortune. She thought herself lucky in gettingin by the front door without being seen; and her aunt was not at home,which was another piece of luck, she believed; and she hastened tochange her dress, cramming all her wet things into a closet in the roomused for hanging up frocks and gowns when taken off. She did not, as ithappened, throw her frock and bonnet on the floor of the closet; andshe thought she had been very careful when she hung the frock on a pegand the bonnet over it. She had some trouble in getting off her wetgloves, which stuck as close to her hands as if they had been part ofthem; and these, with the shoes and other inferior parts of her dress,found their places on the floor of the closet. They were all out of theway before her aunt could come; for though it had ceased to rain assoon as she came in, she knew it would take some time for the walk fromthe Parsonage House.

  Such good use did Bessy make of her time that she had clean linen andher everyday gown on before Mrs. Goodriche came in.

  The first inquiry which Mrs. Fairchild and Mrs. Goodriche made waswhether the young people and Betty had escaped the shower. Lucy, whoknew no more than that they had all come in soon after each other,answered:

  "Oh yes, but we had a run for it."

  Betty was not there to tell her story, and Bessy thought it was quiteas well to let the affair pass.

  Thoughtful people often wonder how giddy ones can be so thoughtless asthey are, and giddy ones wonder how their thoughtful friends can attendto so many things as they do. Many persons are naturally thoughtless,but this fault may be repaired by management in childhood. Poor Bessyhad had no such careful management; and her carelessness had come tosuch a pass, that from the time in which she had hung up her wet andspoiled clothes in the closet, she troubled herself about them no moretill the time came when she wanted to put them on.

  Still, she learned much, as it proved, from the misfortunes of thatSunday. After dinner it began to pour again, and Mrs. Fairchild tookBessy with her own children into a quiet room, and there she read theBible and talked to them. Having been well used to talk to children andyoung people, she made all she said so pleasant, that Bessy was quitesurprised when Betty knocked at the door and said tea was ready.

  The rest of the Sunday evening passed off so very pleasantly that evenBessy yawned only three times, and that was just before supper--and yetit rained--rained--rained.

  The next morning rose in great brightness, promising a charming day.The forenoon was spent as usual; and after the lessons and work, Mrs.Goodriche furnished the pin-cushions and the housewife, and gave outthe two pieces of chintz for the dolls' frocks; and so busy were theold lady and the little girls, that it was time to lay the cloth fordinner before the things were quite put away.

  Whilst all this business was going on, Bessy was somewhere about in thegarden.

  Now it was not a very common thing for a loud knock to be heard at Mr.Fairchild's door. But it was Mr. Somers who knocked, and he came in allin a hurry. He came to say that a lady, who lived about two milesdistant in another parish, had called. He told the lady's name to Mrs.Fairchil
d: and Mrs. Fairchild said she knew her, though they had notvisited. This lady had a nice house and a pretty orchard; and she hadcome, only an hour before, to say that Miss Pimlico, with all her youngladies, were coming to spend the evening with her, and that they wereto have tea in the open air, and to amuse themselves in any way theyliked. The lady hoped that Mr. Somers and his mother would come, andthat they would, if possible, bring with them Mr. and Mrs. Fairchildand their nice children, and make a pleasant evening of it.

  "We told her that Mrs. Goodriche and her niece were at Mr.Fairchild's," added Mr. Somers; "and she said, 'Let them come also, byall means; the more the merrier;' and then she kindly entered into whatcarriages we could muster.

  "I told her," he continued, "that Mr. Fairchild had a carriage whichwould hold two grown-up persons and three little ones, and that minecould do as much if needful; proving that we had even one seat tospare--so come, you must all go. Mrs. Goodriche and my mother shallhave the back seat of my carriage, and I shall make interest for MissLucy to sit by me in the front seat."

  All the children present looked anxiously to hear Mr. Fairchild'sanswer, and glad were they when they heard him say, "At what hourshould we be ready?"

  "At four I shall hope to call for Mrs. Goodriche and Miss Lucy," saidMr. Somers. "I have a poor woman to call on by the way, if this ladydoes not object. We may therefore set out about half an hour beforeyou. So now, good-bye;" and he walked away.

  "_At four I shall hope to call for Mrs. Goodriche andMiss Lucy._"--Page 321.]

  How merry and happy were the faces round the table at dinner! Mrs.Goodriche and Lucy had only just time to get ready before Mr. Somerscame for them.

  When they were gone the rest of the party found it was time to getdressed. John brought the carriage to the gate at the time fixed; andHenry, who had been watching for it ever since he had been dressed,came in to give notice. Emily and her father immediately went to thegate; and Mrs. Fairchild, thinking that Bessy might want a littleattention and help, went to her room. As she knocked at the door shethought she heard low sobs within; she called Bessy twice, and noanswer being given she walked in.

  There was a sight indeed! Bessy was sitting at the foot of the bedwithout a frock, and sobbing and crying most piteously. On the floor,on one side of her, were her best shoes, shrunk up and wrinkled andcovered with mud in the most extraordinary way. In another part of thefloor lay the unfortunate frock, all draggled and splashed round thebottom, and, as Mrs. Fairchild could see without lifting it up, wantinga part of one breadth. On the drawers was the bonnet, which was ofreeved crape made upon wire, and not one at all suited for a carelessgirl; but it was made by a milliner at Plymouth. What with soaking,crumpling, and here and there a rent from some bough, it had lost allappearance of what it had been: it looked a heap of old crape gatheredcarelessly together; and the pair of gloves, much in the state of theshoes, were lying near the bonnet on the drawers.

  "Oh, ma'am! Oh, Mrs. Fairchild!" cried the unfortunate Bessy, "what canI do? What shall I do?"

  Mrs. Fairchild lifted up the dress, but as hastily laid it down again,for she saw it would take some hours to make it fit to be worn. Thebonnet, shoes, and gloves all equally required time and attention.

  "I am afraid," she said kindly, "it will not do for you to attempt toput on these things; and, what is worse, I have none that will fit you.My dresses are as much too large as Lucy's are too small."

  "Oh, do, dear Mrs. Fairchild," cried the sobbing Bessy, "at least, letme try one of your gowns."

  Though aware the attempt would be useless, the kind lady brought one ofher white dresses, to see if anyhow it could be made to fit; but evenBessy, after a while, acknowledged it would not do, being so very muchtoo large for her.

  Mrs. Fairchild next examined the young lady's everyday cotton; but,alas! that was too dirty to think of its being shown beside the bestdresses of the other little misses. Then, too, if a dress could havebeen procured, bonnet, shoes, and gloves would have also beenrequisite; and these could not have been obtained even amongst MissBessy's own clothes; for if her best were unfit to be seen, hercommoner ones were scarce worth picking up in the street.

  "It will not do, I see," said Miss Bessy; "you had better go withoutme, Mrs. Fairchild."

  "I am afraid it must be as you say," replied that lady, "and mostsincerely sorry am I for you, my dear."

  So saying, she left the room, and then came another burst of tears, andmore sobs, for three or four minutes afterwards.

  Bessy, who still sat on the bed, heard the carriage drive away. "Oh,how cruel!" she thought, or rather spoke--"how cruel of Mrs. Fairchildto go away, and hardly to say one word to me! But I know she despisesme; she can think nobody worth anything but her own children:" thenthere was another burst of tears, and more sobs.

  After a little time, all spent in crying, she heard her door openagain, and turning round, she saw Mrs. Fairchild come in without herbonnet, in her usual dress, and with a work-bag in her hand. She camestraight up to the weeping girl, and kissing her, "Now, Bessy," shesaid, "wipe away those tears, and we will have a happy and, I hope,useful evening. Betty will be ready to help us immediately, and weshall set to work and see what we can do in putting your things torights. The carriage is gone with all the rest of the party, and I havesent a message to your aunt by Mr. Fairchild. He will make the best ofthe affair, and if you will help, we will try to put all these thingsto rights."

  "Oh, Mrs. Fairchild," said Bessy, throwing herself into her arms, "andhave you given up your pleasure for such a naughty girl as I am?"

  "I have given up no pleasure so great as I shall receive, dear MissGoodriche, if I can see you trying to do right this evening: trying foronce to work hard, and to overcome those habits which give your aunt somuch pain. Come, put on your frock, and let us set to workimmediately."

  The eyes of poor Bessy again filled with tears, but they were tears ofgratitude and love; and she hastened to put on her frock, and then doanything which Mrs. Fairchild directed: and, first of all, the crapetrimmings were taken from the bonnet and the skirt of the frock; Bettywas then called, and she took them to her kitchen to do what might bedone to restore them. The shoes were sent to John to stretch on a last,and to brush; and Mrs. Fairchild produced some pieces of bombazine fromher store, and having matched the colours as well as she could, shecarefully pinned the piecing, and gave it to Bessy to sew.

  Poor Bessy's fingers had never plied so quickly and so carefullybefore. They were put in motion by a feeling of the warmest gratitudeand love for Mrs. Fairchild.

  No punishment, no severity, could have produced the effect wrought bythis well-timed kindness of Mrs. Fairchild; and it gave to her thesweetest hopes of poor Bessy, when she observed how strongly and deeplyshe felt that kindness.

  They worked and talked till tea-time, and after tea they set to workagain. Betty came up about seven o'clock with the crape and the bonnet,the plaitings of which--for it was a reeved bonnet--she had smoothedwith a small Italian iron, and restored wonderfully. Then she sat downand sewed with Miss Bessy at the frock, whilst Mrs. Fairchild trimmedthe bonnet.

  At eight o'clock the work was got on so finely that Bessy cried out:

  "Another half-hour, if they will but stay away, and it will be done;and oh, how I do thank you, dear Mrs. Fairchild, and dear Betty! I willreally try in future to do better; I never wished to do better as I donow."

  "There is an early moon, miss," said Betty; "I should not wonder ifthey stayed till it was up."

  It struck nine, and they were not come; another five minutes and thework was finished. Bessy jumped up from the foot of the bed and kissedMrs. Fairchild first, and then Betty; and then came a bustle to puteverything away.

  Mrs. Fairchild showed Bessy how to lay aside her bonnet in the bandbox,and her frock in a drawer, with a clean handkerchief over each. Thetippet, which was the only one thing which had escaped mischief, forthe plain reason that it had not been worn on the Sunday with thefrock, was laid in the same drawer; and
then the needles and silk andcotton were collected, and the bits and shreds picked up, and the roomrestored to order as if nothing wonderful had happened.

  The last thing Mrs. Fairchild did in that room was to take up thegloves and give them to Betty, to see what could be done with them thenext day, and then she, with the happy young girl, put on shawls andwalked on the gravel before the house, for it was still hot.

  "Well, we have had a happy, happy evening, dear Mrs. Fairchild," saidBessy; "I never thought I should love you so much."

  The party did not come home till ten o'clock; they had had such anevening as Lucy and Emily had never known before; but they had oftenthought of poor Bessy, and wished for her many times, and their mothertoo. Mrs. Goodriche had also been uneasy about Bessy. How surprised,then, they were to see her looking so cheerful, and Mrs. Fairchild alsoseeming to be equally happy.

  "I will tell you all about it when we get to our room, aunt," whisperedBessy; "but I do not deserve such kindness. Mrs. Fairchild says I hadbetter not speak about it now."

  They had had tea and a handsome supper; so when they had talked theevening over, and Mr. Fairchild had read a chapter, they all went totheir rooms.