Somebodys Little Girl | Page 9

prettiest clothes, and at the babies, and at the parasols.
She loved so to look, and she loved so to listen to the pretty gay music that she did not notice that a lady had come to the stone bench, and had seated herself just where Sister Helen Vincula had sat before she went to see the ladies and to tell them Good-bye.
There were many other ladies on the Mall, and many ladies passed in their walk by the stone bench where Bessie Bell and the lady sat.
Everybody loved to come to the Mall in the afternoon when the band played. Everybody loved to hear the gay music. Everybody loved to see the children in their prettiest clothes, and to see all the nurses rolling the babies in the carriages with the pretty parasols.
And one of the ladies passing by looked over to the stone bench where Bessie Bell sat with her hands folded on her blue checked apron, and where the lady had seated herself just as Sister Helen Vincula had sat before she went across the long bridge.
And the lady said, as she passed by and looked: ``Striking likeness.''
Another lady with her said: ``Wonderful!''
And another one with them said: ``Impossible! But strange indeed--''
Bessie Bell did not notice what the ladies said, but because they looked so attentively to where she sat on the stone bench her attention was turned the way their eyes turned as they talked in low tones and looked attentively passing by.
So when they had passed by, Bessie Bell turned and looked to the other end of the bench where the lady sat.
Bessie Bell was so surprised at the first look that she hardly knew what to think.
The lady did not look like Sister Helen Vincula, oh, not at all; but the veil that she wore was soft and black like that that Sister Helen Vincula wore. The dress that the lady wore was black also, but it looked as if it were stiff and very crisp, and not soft like the dress that Sister Helen Vincula wore. Bessie Bell did not mean to be rude, but she reached out one tiny hand and took hold of the lady's dress, just a tiny pinch of it.
Yes, it was very crisp.
Then the lady turned and looked at Bessie Bell.
Then Bessie Bell was still more surprised, for there was something white under her veil. Not white all round the face like that Sister Helen Vincula wore, but soft crinkly white just over the lady's soft yellow hair.
Also on the breast of her black dress was a cross, but not white like the cross that Sister Helen Vincula wore. No, this cross was shining very brightly, and it was very golden in the sunlight,--and-- somehow, somehow,--Bessie Bell knew just how that cross felt,--she knew without feeling it. She did not have to feel it as she had felt the dress.
Bessie Bell looked and thought. She thought this lady looked like a Sister--and yet there was a difference. She looked also like Just- A-Lady, and she also looked grand and important enough for a Mama.
Bessie Bell looked and thought, but she could not tell just exactly what this lady was.
It was best that she should ask, and then she would surely know.
So she asked: ``Are vou a Lady, ma'am?''
``I hope so, little girl,'' the lady said.
``I thought, maybe, you were a Sister,'' said Bessie Bell.
``No,'' said the lady.
``Like Sister Mary Felice, and Sister Angela, and Sister Helen Vincula,'' said Bessie Bell.
``No,'' said the lady.
``Are you a Mama, then?'' asked Bessie Bell.
The lady looked as if she were going to cry.
But Bessie Bell could see nothing to cry about. The band was still playing ever so gaily, and all the little children looked so beautiful and so happy, all playing and running hither and thither on the sawdust walks, that it was good just to look at them.
But on the instant Bessie Bell remembered how sorrowful it was to cry when you could not understand things, so she quickly reached out her little pink hand and laid it on the lady's hand--just because she knew how sorrowful it felt to feel like crying and not to know.
``You see,'' said Bessie Bell gently, as she softly patted the lady's hand, ``you see, you do look something like a Sister,--but,'' said Bessie Bell, ``I believe you do look more like a Mama.''
``Little girl,'' said the lady, ``what do you mean?''
And she still looked as if she might cry.
``Yes,'' said Bessie Bell, for she had begun to think very hard, ``Alice has a mama. Robbie has a mama. Lucy has a mama. Everybody has a mama. Never mind, Bessie Bell will find a mama--''
``Little girl,'' said the lady, ``why do you say, Bessie Bell--?''
When the lady said that it seemed to Bessie Bell that