HAT has become of these two children of mine?” said Mrs. Wingfield fretfully, as on her return from her neighbour’s she found the cottage empty. “I’m sure such a day of bustle as I have had—scarce out of one trouble before I am into another! Well, poor Mrs. Bright is still worse off, that is one thing. I am glad that the baby has at last dropped asleep.” It grew darker and darker. Mrs. Wingfield became uneasy. She stirred the fire, filled the kettle, then with a long weary sigh sat down to rest. She missed Minnie and her quiet attentions.
[132]“I suppose that they are still out, searching for little Johnny. I fear that there will be rain. I wish that they were back.” Mrs. Wingfield fancied that she heard a low knock at the door.
“Come in,” she said; but no one entered. Mrs. Wingfield drew her chair nearer to the fire, leaned her head upon her hand, and wished that Tom and Minnie would not stay out so late.
Again the same low knock. She called out louder, “Come in,” and the faint light which came through the doorway was darkened by a figure which seemed to linger, as if in fear, on the threshold. Then the voice of poor Polly was heard—“O Mrs. Wingfield, can you tell me how baby is?”
“What! Polly, is that you? Come in, my poor child. All cold and wet with the dew! Why don’t you go home?”
“I dare not,” said Polly, bursting into tears; “mother forbade me till Johnny is found. Oh, tell me how baby is. Is he[133] better? will he live?”—she could hardly speak through her sobs.
“Yes, he is better; that is to say, he is asleep.”
“Not dead!” exclaimed Polly, alarmed at the word.
“Dead! no, child. Why, how you tremble! Come to the fire; I’ll get you a little tea and toast.”
“I could not eat, it would choke me! Oh, that I had never left the children—that I had done my duty as Minnie would have done! She—she has been a comfort in her home—but I—”
“Come, come,” said Mrs. Wingfield in a soothing tone, “don’t go breaking your heart in this way; all may come right at last. Would not you like to see the baby?”
“Oh, if I might only sit up with him all night! But I may not return without Johnny.”
“Your mother never meant that. Come, I’ll take you to her myself. When she sees[134] how you feel all this, I am sure that she will forgive you.”
Mrs. Wingfield was a kind-hearted woman, and taking Polly’s trembling hand within her own, she crossed over the lane to Mrs. Bright’s. Polly shrank back as they reached the door.
“Oh, say, do you bring me news of my child?” cried the poor anxious woman from within.
“Not of Johnny, yet still of your child. There is one here who is afraid to come in. Poor thing, she has almost cried herself to death.”
“Polly,” murmured the mother, and stretched out her arms. In another moment the poor girl was sobbing upon her bosom.
Amidst the troubles of our human friends we must not quite forget those of our little winged ones. The frightened hungry bees, confined in their small prison, passed the long hours in most uncomfortable plight.
[135]“What a bitter thing it is,” cried Violetta, sinking exhausted after a last effort to gnaw through the unyielding crockery, “to think of all the joy and happine............