A Little Florida Lady | Page 2

face turned from her mother, and did
not answer. Without another word, Mrs. Davenport went to the trunk,
and began smoothing things out.
"I declare, there's something alive in here," and she drew out a poor,
half smothered kitten.
"I think you might let her go in the trunk," cried Beth, aggrieved.
"Child, it would kill the poor kitty. Marian, you take it back to the
chambermaid." Marian left the room with it, and Beth began to pout,
whereupon Mrs. Davenport said:
"Beth, you are so set upon having your own way, I hardly know what to
do with you."
Immediately Beth's pouting gave place to a mischievous smile. "You'd
better call in a policeman, and have me taken away."
Mrs. Davenport smiled too. "So my little girl remembers the policeman,
does she? I was at my wits' end to know how to manage you when I
thought of him. Even as a little bit of a thing, you would laugh instead
of cry, if I punished you with a whipping."
"Well, I was afraid of the policeman, anyway. I thought you really
meant it when you said I was a naughty child, and not your nice Beth,
and that the policeman would take the naughty child away."
"It worked like magic," said Mrs. Davenport. "You stopped crying
almost immediately, and held out towards me a red dress of which you

were very proud, and cried, 'I'm your Beth. Don't you know my pretty
red dress? Don't you see my curls?'" She sat down, having finished
straightening out the trunk, and Beth crept up into her mother's lap.
"Beth, do you remember one night when you were ready for bed in
your little canton-flannel night-drawers, that you lost your temper over
some trifling matter? You danced up and down, yelling, 'I won't. I
won't.' I could hardly keep from laughing. My young spitfire looked
very funny capering around and around, her long curls rumpled about
her determined, flushed face, and her feet not still an instant in her
flapping night-drawers. Many and many a time you escaped
punishment, Beth, because you were so very comical even in your
naughtiness."
"I remember that night well," answered Beth. "You said, 'There, that
bad girl has come back. Even though it's night, she'll have to go.'"
"And," interrupted Mrs. Davenport, "you threw yourself into my arms,
crying, 'Mamma, whip me, but don't send me away.' I knew better than
to whip you, but I punished you by not kissing you good-night."
"And I cried myself to sleep," put in Beth, snuggling more closely to
her mother. "I thought I must be very naughty not to get my usual
good-night kiss. I do try to be good, but it's very hard work sometimes.
But I'll get the better of the bad girl, I'll leave her here in New York, so
she won't bother you in Florida."----
Just then Mr. Davenport entered the room. He was a tall, dark man with
a very kindly face.
"I think the snow is not deep enough to detain the trains," he said. "It's
time for us to start. The porter is here to take the trunks."
"We'll be ready in a moment," answered his wife. "I fear we'll find it
very disagreeable driving to the station."
And, in truth, outside the weather proved bitterly cold. The wind swept
with blinding power up the now mostly deserted thoroughfare. The

Davenports were glad of the shelter of the carriage which carried them
swiftly along the icy pavement. Mrs. Davenport drew her furs around
her, while the children snuggled together.
"I'm glad we're going, aren't you, Marian?" asked Beth, as they
descended from the carriage at the station.
"I guess so," answered Marian doubtfully, remembering the friends she
was leaving behind, perhaps forever.
Mr. Davenport already had their tickets, and the family immediately
boarded a sleeper bound for Jacksonville.
Beth loved to travel, and soon was on speaking terms with every one on
the car. She hesitated slightly about being friends with the porter. He
made her think of the first colored person she had ever seen. She
remembered even now how the man's rolling black eyes had frightened
her, although it was the blackness of his skin that had impressed her the
most. She believed that he had become dirty, the way she sometimes
did, only in a greater degree.
"Mamma," she whispered, "I never get as black as that man, do I? Do
you s'pose he ever washes himself?"
Mrs. Davenport explained that cleanliness had nothing to do with the
man's blackness.
"Is he black inside?" Beth questioned in great awe.
"No. All people are alike at heart. Clean thinking makes even the black
man white within, dear."
Beth had not seen another colored person from that time until this.
Therefore,