Little Ferns For Fannys Little Friends | Page 5

mamma. Grand old trees stood guard round the house, like so many
sentinels, and many a little bird slept every night in the shadow of their
drooping branches. Near the house was a pretty pond, with snow-white
ducks, sailing lazily about, and two little spaniels--named Flash and
Dash--who were as full of mischief as little magpies. Then there were
three horses in the stable, and two cows, and hens and chickens, and a
bearded nanny-goat, besides a little pink-eyed rabbit, who darted about
the lawn, with a blue ribbon around his snowy neck. The trees in the
orchard drooped to the ground with loads of rosy apples, and
long-necked pears, and tempting plums and peaches; the garden bushes
were laden with gooseberries raspberries, and currants, (red and white,)
while under the broad green leaves the red ripe strawberry nestled.
Those were happy days for little Floy. How she rode the horses to the
spring, using their manes for a bridle!--how she ran through the fields,
and garlanded herself like a little May Queen!--how she sprang at night
to meet Papa, who tossed her way up high above his dear curly head!

* * *
Now, though it was sultry midsummer, Floy lived in the hot, stifled city,
up four pairs of stairs, in a room looking out on dingy brick walls, and
gloomy black sheds. Her mamma was dressed in black, and looked
very sad, and very tired; bending all day over that tiresome writing
desk. Sometimes she looked up and smiled at Floy; and then Floy
wished she had not smiled at all--it was so unlike the old smile her face
used to wear in dear papa's life-time. Floy became very tired of that
close room. There were no pretty pictures on the walls, like those in
Floy's house in the country; the chairs were hard and uncomfortable,
and little Floy had nothing to amuse her. Mamma couldn't spare time to
walk much, and Floy was not allowed to play on the sidewalk, lest she
might hear naughty words, and play with naughty children. Mamma's
pen went scratch--scratch--scratch--from sunrise till sunset,--save when
she took a turn across the floor to get rid of an ugly pain in her
shoulders, from constant stooping. Floy was weary of counting the
bricks on the opposite wall,--weary of seeing the milkman stop at seven
o'clock, and the baker at nine,--weary of hearing the shrill voice of Mrs.
Walker, (below stairs,) of whom mamma hired her room. Still Floy
never complained; but sometimes when she could bear the monotonous,
dull stillness no longer, she would slide her little hand round her
mamma's waist, and say, "Please, Mamma, put up that ugly pen, and
take me on your lap."
Floy was always sorry when Christmas, and New Year, and
Thanksgiving came round; because it made mamma's eyes so red and
swollen, and because she was such a little girl that she couldn't tell how
to comfort her. She longed to grow up a big lady, that she might earn
some money, so that mamma needn't work so hard; and it puzzled her
very much to know what had become of mamma's old friends, who
used to ride out so often to their pretty country house, in papa's lifetime,
to eat strawberries, and to drink tea. She was quite sure she had met
some of them once or twice, when mamma had taken her out to
church--but somehow they didn't seem to see either mamma or Floy.
Floy was very careful of her two dresses, for fear they would get soiled,

(ever since she woke one night, and found mamma washing them out,
when she was hardly able to hold her head up.) She was afraid, too, that
mamma often wanted the bread and milk she made Floy eat; and only
said "she wasn't hungry," because there wasn't enough for her, and Floy,
too.
Well, my dear children, it was the thought of all these things that sent
the warm tears to Floy's bright eyes, as she looked in at the fruiterer's
window that hot August morning.
* * *
Two years have gone by. It is August again. The sky is cloudless--the
birds are singing--and little Floy's tears are all dried up. Her cheeks are
plump and rosy; she has plenty to eat now; and another pair of shoes,
when she has danced her toes out of those she has on. And
mamma?--why, she can sit whole hours with her hands folded, if she
likes, and go to sleep whenever she feels tired; for she has earned
plenty of money for herself, and little Floy, too. Floy is glad of this,
because mamma smiles now, and looks happier--and because all her
old friends, who forgot all about her when she was poor, are so
delighted now whenever