Somebodys Little Girl | Page 6

after awhile that the big, big
violet might drift away, away, and great grown people might say, ``No,
Bessie Bell, there never was a violet in all the world like that.''
It was the people--and all the people--of that new world that seemed so
strange to Bessie Bell.
There were children, and children in all the summer cabins on that high
mountain.
And those children did not walk in rows.
And those children did not do things by one hours.
And those children did not wash their hands in little white basins sitting
in rows on long back gallery benches.
It was strange to Bessie Bell that those children did not sit in rows to
eat tiny cakes with caraway seeds in them while Sister Angela sat on
the bench under the great magnolia-tree and looked at the row of little
girls.
It was so very strange to Bessie Bell that these children wore all sorts
of clothes--all sorts! Not just blue dresses, and blue checked aprons.
And Bessie Bell knew, too, that those little girls in all sorts of clothes
could not float away into that strange country of No-where and
Never-was, where, too, the things that she remembered seemed to drift
away--and to so nearly get lost, living only in dimming memory.
These little girls in all sorts of clothes were real, and sure- enough, and
nobody could ever say of them, ``There are no such little girls in the
world,'' because sometimes when Bessie Bell would get to thinking,

and thinking about the strangeness of them, she would almost wonder if
she did not just remember them. When she would give one just a little
pinch to see if that one was a real sure-enough little girl, why that little
girl would say, ``Don't.'' She would say ``Don't!'' just the same as a
little girl in the row of little girls all with blue checked aprons would
say ``Don't,'' if you pinched one of them ever so little.
There were no Sisters on that high mountain. Sister Helen Vincula was
the only Sister there. That seemed very strange to Bessie Bell.
One day the strangest thing of all so far happened.
One little girl called another little girl with whom she was playing,
``Sister.''
Bessie Bell laughed at that.
``Oh, she is not a Sister!'' said Bessie Bell.
``Yes, she is; she is my sister!'' said the little girl.
``No,'' said Bessie Bell, just as great grown people said to her when she
remembered strange things, ``No, there never was in the world a Sister
like that!''
Then the smaller of the little girls who were playing together ran to the
larger one, and caught hold of her hand, and they stood together in front
of Bessie Bell--they both had long black curls, but Bessie Bell had
short golden curls--and the smaller girl said: ``Yes, she is my sister!''
And the larger girl said: ``Yes, she is, too. She is my-own-dear- sister!''
The smaller little girl shook her black curls and said: ``She is my
own-dear-owny-downy-dear-sister!''
In all of her life Bessie Bell had never heard anything like that.
And all the other little girls who were playing joined in and said:
``Bessie Bell doesn't know what she is talking about. Of course you are

sisters. Everybody knows you are sisters!''
Bessie Bell was distressed to be told that she did not know what she
was talking about--and she knew so much about Sisters.
So she began to cry, very softly.
Then she stopped crying long enough to say: ``But I never saw Sisters
like that before!''
Then she took up her crying again right where she left off.
Then a little boy--but he seemed a very large boy to Bessie Bell with
his long-striped-stocking-legs--said to Bessie Bell: ``No, Bessie Bell,
they are not Sisters like Sister Helen Vincula and the Sisters that you
know, but they are just what they say they are-- just own dear sisters.''
Then came to Bessie Bell that knowledge that we are often times slow
in getting: she knew all of a sudden--that she did not know everything.
She did not know all, even about Sisters.
Because, in all that she knew or remembered or wondered about, there
was nothing at all about that strange thing that all the little children, but
herself, knew so well about--''Own-dear-sisters.''
Another strange thing came into her mind, brought into her mind partly
by her ears, but mostly by her eyes: There were not in this new world
on the high mountain--perhaps there were not after all so many
anywhere as she had thought--there were not so many Sisters like Sister
Helen Vincula (for was not Sister Helen Vincula the only Sister she had
seen on the mountain?). There were not after all so many Sisters like