Chapter IX: A Nice Talk

THE baby went to sleep, and the strange lady continued talking with Wells. So Christie, feeling a little lonely after so much excitement, looked about her for amusement, and discovered that the nice old gentleman was motioning to her.

"Come and take care of me a while, little woman," he said, making room for her. "Between us we can catch the baby before he makes up his mind to roll away. You must be tired looking after him. I wish his mother knew what good care he had."

"I am used to it," explained Christie. "I take a great deal of care of our baby, but I am sorry for his mother!"

Christie meant the mother of the baby on the cars, not the baby at home.

The old gentleman understood her.

"It is bad business," he said cheerily, "but not so bad but it might have been worse. Suppose, for instance, you had not been in the cars, what would baby have done then? For that matter, what would any of us have done without our dinner? That was an excellent dinner you got up for us. How have you enjoyed the day, on the whole?"

"Why," said Christie laughing, "I haven't had time to think. It isn't a bit such a day as I had planned."

"I imagine not. Mine isn't, I know. Let us hear what you had planned, and see if your expectations were any like mine."

"Oh, no!" said Christie. "They couldn't be! Why, in the first place, I was to take my first ride in the cars. Well, I have done that, though we didn't ride very far before we stopped."

"Just so; and we seem to find it hard work to get on again. I wonder if this is your first ride! Well, well! You will not be likely to forget it, will you? And where were you going?"

"Why, I expected to spend all this day at my Uncle Daniel's in the city! I have never been there, you know, and he lives in a nice house, and has a great many things that I wanted to see."

"Do you mind telling me the thing that you wanted to see the most?"

A shy little blush came into Christie's face, and she drooped her head.

"It was very silly, I suppose, but I wanted to see the carpet in the parlour. It is what they call 'Brussels,' and has ferns all over it, so natural that mother says you could most pick them; and some berries like what mother used to gather in the woods where she lived, away off East. I never saw such a carpet, and I can't think what it would be like. It doesn't seem to me that they could make natural-looking ferns out of threads of wool; and I wanted to see if I should think so. Then she has pretty furniture in her room, all painted in flowers—roses, you know—and pansies, and oh! a great many flowers and vines, just lovely! I never saw anything like that, either; and I couldn't think how they would look."

The old gentleman got out his only remaining handkerchief, and drew it across his mouth, to hide a smile that he did not want Christie to see, and then drew it across his eyes, for something in her voice seemed to make the tears start.

"I understand," he said, his voice full of kindly sympathy; "and so these were the things that you most wanted to see?"

"No, sir," said Christie; "not quite. I thought a good deal about them, but there was one thing that I thought I should look at more than anything else, and maybe touch."

There was a curious little note of awe in her voice as she said these last words that made her listener bend his head curiously, and question in tones of deepest interest:

"What was that?"

"A piano."

She spoke the words almost under her breath.

"My dear child! Did you never see a piano?"

"Oh, no, sir. My mother has, often. She used to play on one when she was a girl, and she has told me about it often, and 'often.' I think I know just how it looks. I can shut my eyes and see it; and I can think a little how it sounds; at least, it seems as though I could. It isn't like the carpet. I can't imagine that; but the music is easier. Father has a flute. We have a carpet, of course," she added, drawing herself up with a bit of womanly dignity, "but it is made of rags, and looks very different from Brussels, mother says. And I can't imagine a very great difference in 'carpets,' but I can imagine things about music, you know."

"I know," nodded the old gentleman; and he thought to himself that he knew several things which she didn't.

After a little he said:

"And so you are missing all these wonders, but a good many interesting things have happened, I should think?"

Then did Christie's eyes sparkle.

"I should think there had!" she said. "I was thinking just a little while ago that I should have enough to tell mother and father and Karl all the rest of the winter. We have only a few books, and we have to tell things to each other, instead of reading. Father said I was to keep my eyes open to-day, and I guess he will think I have."

This last she said with a happy little laugh.

"I guess he will," declared the old gentleman, "and I hope he will understand to what good purpose you have done it. What did you expect to see in the city that would interest you?"

"Oh, I didn't know. A very great many things, I suppose, but I couldn't imagine them. Only one: one day father, when he was in the city, saw the Governor of the State; you know he lives there. And to go to Uncle Daniel's, we ride past his house; and I thought, maybe, he might be in the door, as he was when father went by, and I would see him. Father says he is a splendid-looking man, and he is a grand temperance man, you know, and I wanted just to have a glimpse of him, but I don't suppose I shall."

Then the old gentleman took out his handkerchief and used it vigorously on nose, and eyes, and even mouth.

"He isn't at home to-day," he said at last.

"Isn't he?"

There was real disappointment in Christie's voice. It was evident that she had not quite given up her glimpse of the Governor.

"No, but you needn't care now, after having had such a nice chance to look at him, and even talk with him."

You should have seen Christie's face then. For a moment she was quite pale with bewilderment.

"I don't understand you," she said timidly, and in her heart she wondered whether the nice old gentleman was a little crazy.

"Why, my dear child, it is a good while since morning, know, but my memory is good, and I distinctly remember seeing you sit up straight in that seat over there beside the Governor of the State, and heard him talking to you in what seemed to be a very interesting way."

Christie sat up straight now, her eyes glowing like two stars, her small hands clasped together, and her voice with such a ring of wondering delight in it that Wells stopped in the middle of his sentence to look over at her.

"Really and truly?"

That was all she said.

"Really and truly. I saw it with my own eyes. And a grand man he is; worth knowing."

Not another word said Christie for the space of two minutes. Then she drew a long, fluttering sigh of delight, and murmured: "What a thing to tell father and mother and Karl."

"You like to see people of importance, do you?" the old gentleman asked, after watching her face in amused silence for a few minutes.

"Oh, so very much! People who are grand, and splendid, and worth knowing."

"Then I suppose you would have been interested in one of the Governor's children, for instance, even if you did not know the boy; just for the sake of his father?"

"Yes, indeed, I should. But he didn't have any boy with him this morning."

"No; I was thinking of myself, and of my father, and wondering whether you would not be interested in me for his sake."

Christie thought to herself that she was interested in him for his own sake, but she did not like to say this, so she waited expectantly for what would come next.

"The truth is, I belong to a very noble family: old and grand in every way. It would be impossible to get any higher in rank than my brother is."

Christie heard this with wondering awe, and looked timidly into the pleasant face beaming on her. She said to herself that she had thought all the time there was something perfectly splendid about him, but it had not occurred to her that he belonged to such very grand people.

"My brother is a king," he said, still smiling.

Then Christie's heart began to beat loud and fast. A king! What a wonderful experience was this! She, Christie Tucker, talking with the brother of a king! In what country, she wondered. And oh, what wonderful stories he could tell her if she only dared ask! Why didn't he wear something that would show his rank? She thought they always did. She was burning with eagerness to have him go on, yet dared not question.

"Are you surprised?" he asked her, and then the next thing he said almost took away her breath.

"Do you know I believe you are a relation of mine? I have been watching you all day, and I see a strong likeness to our family. There are certain things about us which are very much alike, and as we are scattered all over the world, I often find relatives. I believe you are one. In fact, unless I am very much mistaken, you are a little sister of the King. Do you know what I mean; and isn't it so?"

Down went Christie's head, drooping lower and lower, until her face was buried in her two hands and she was wiping away the tears. Wells stopped again, and looked over somewhat fiercely at her companion, but the face that was raised in a moment was bright with smiles. Christie understood.

"I didn't, at first," she said, "but now I do. Oh, you mean King Jesus! Yes, sir, I belong. I thought you 'truly' meant you had a brother who was a king."

"And I certainly truly mean it, and glory in it, as I could not in anything else. You cannot think how pleased I have been to find a new little sister, and to see that she was copying my elder brother so faithfully that she began to look like Him. It is all very well to be a governor, and I am proud of our good one, but after all, what is he compared to the King whose subjects we are? Did you ever think, my dear, how many relatives we have whom we have never met? What a wonderful getting acquainted there will be when we all meet in the palace!"

"I never thought of it in that way," said Christie; "it is beautiful."

"Then there is another thing: the family resemblance is so striking that if you watch long enough, you are almost sure to learn who belong to it. Do you think that pale young man is a member of our family?"

Christie looked over at him thoughtfully, then shook her head.

"No, sir, I don't think he is. Why, from some things he has said, I know he isn't."

"Poor man! Do you suppose he has been invited to join us?"

"Why, yes, sir, I suppose so, a good many times."

"And has refused! That is strange, isn't it? Look here, he will accept somebody's invitation, won't he, if he ever gets home to the King's palace? What if it should be yours? That would be a thing to tell the King, some day, wouldn't it?"

Christie's face glowed, but she made no answer.

"Then there is that handsome boy. I have been thinking about him. I am not sure, but am almost afraid that he does not belong, either."

"No, sir," said Christie, "he doesn't."

"There is certainly a great deal for you and me to do right in this car," the old gentleman said, and added, "what about the young lady; is she acquainted with Him, do you think?"

"No, indeed," said Christie, a touch of scorn in her voice. "It is easy enough to see that. I think she shows it all the time."

"Ah, I don't know! Have you never disguised yourself for a whole day so that nobody would have imagined that you were a member of the royal family?"

"Yes, sir," said Christie humbly, "I have."

"Still, I am afraid as you say, that she does not know Him. It would be dreadful if, through any neglect of yours or mine, she failed of ever making His acquaintance."

Whereupon the baby awoke, and Christie went with haste to save his precious head from the bumping that he seemed determined to give it. But she could not get away from the words of her old new friend.

What if she ought to invite the pale young man, and the disagreeable young lady, to join the family circle? She did not mind talking with Wells, now, but these others were different.

By and by Mrs. Haviland bade Wells good-bye, and went back to her car, and he motioned Christie to his side.

"I've discovered something about my fine lady," he said, a fierce look in his eyes. "I'll tell you about it, and you will see that it is not strange that she is so hateful; it belongs to her nature. You know I was telling you of my sick brother? Well, before he was injured, he was engaged to that very hateful young woman over there. Isn't that horrid? After the fire, and it was found he would be a cripple all his life, what did she do but write that she was sorry for him, but she never could think of marrying a cripple. Yes," he said in answer to Christie's look of horror, "she did just that. Why my brother cared, is more than I can imagine; but he did: it made him sick again, and he has never been so well, and never will be. I never saw her before, and don't want to again. I have heard enough about her, and I am sure her actions all match."

But this story had a very different effect on Christie from what Wells had supposed.

"I am sorry for her now," she said. "I think maybe she feels unhappy all the time, and that makes her cross. When things go all wrong, it makes some people very cross and ugly, and they can't seem to help it. One time when Karl was sick, and I was afraid he was going to die, I felt cross all the time. Maybe she likes your brother very much, and feels so sorry for what she has done, that she cannot be good and happy."

"She may be as 'good' as she likes," Wells said sourly, "but I am sure she deserves never to be happy again."

"She must be very hungry," said Christie thoughtfully. "By and by I mean to offer her a seed cake. The dirty-faced little girl had nothing to do with that, and I know it is clean; maybe she can eat it."

"You're a queer party," Wells said. "If I had been treated as you have, I think I should dislike her enough to keep my distance."

"Oh, it isn't that! I suppose I dislike her—well, a good deal. But I want to get over it, and what you told me helps me to. I want to feel sorry for her, and ask her to be a Christian. You see, she isn't a Christian, and that makes all the trouble. If she would get right about that, it would make everything else straight. Anyway, I ought to invite her, because Jesus told me to, you know; and if I give her a seed cake, maybe I can do it better."

"Humph!" said Wells, twisting himself around until he hurt his foot, and made deep frowns come on his forehead.

He really did not know what to think of Christie.