Annabel: A Novel for Young Folks — Inside the Classic

ILL MEETS WITH A REBUKE.

“Here are your vegetables, Nora,” said Will Carden, as he scraped his feet upon the mat before the kitchen door of the “big house.”

“Come in, Masther Willyum,” called the cook, in her cheery voice.

So the boy obeyed the summons and pushed open the screen door, setting his basket upon the white table at Nora’s side.

“Oo, misery! but them pays is illegant,” she said, breaking open a green pod and eating the fresh, delicious contents. “Why, Masther Willyum, the bloom is on ’em yet.”

“I picked them myself, Nora,” the boy answered, with a pleased laugh, “and only a little while ago, at that. And you’ll find the tomatoes and the celery just as nice, I’m sure.”

“They can’t be bate,” responded the cook, emptying the basket and handing it to him. “Sure, I don’t know whatever we’d do widout yez to bring us the grans stuff, Masther Willyum.”

“I wish,” said he, hesitatingly, “you wouldn’t call me ‘master,’ Nora. Call me Will, as everyone else does. I’m not old enough to have a handle to my name, and I’m not much account in the world,--yet.”

Nora’s round, good natured face turned grave, and she looked at the boy with a thoughtful air.

“I used to know the Cardens,” she said, “when they didn’t have to raise vegetables to earn a living.”

Will flushed, and his eyes fell.

“Never mind that, Nora,” he answered, gently. “We’ve got to judge people by what they are, not by what they have been. Good bye!” and he caught up his basket and hastily retreated, taking care, however, to close the screen door properly behind him, for he knew the cook’s horror of flies.

“Poor boy!” sighed Nora, as she resumed her work. “It ain’t his fault, at all at all, that the Cardens has come down in the wurruld. But down they is purty close to the bottom, an’ it ain’t loikly as they’ll pick up ag’in in a hurry.”

Meantime the vegetable boy, whistling softly to himself, passed along the walk that led from the back of the big house past the stables and so on to the gate opening into the lane. The grounds of the Williams mansion were spacious and well kept, the lawns being like velvet and the flower beds filled with artistic clusters of rare blooming plants. A broad macadamed driveway, edged with curbs of dressed stone, curved gracefully from the carriage porch to the stables, crossing the lawn like a huge scroll.

At one side of this a group of children played upon the grass--two boys and three girls--while the nurse who was supposed to have charge of the smallest girl, as yet scarcely more than a baby, sat upon a comfortable bench engaged in reading a book.

As Will passed, one of the little girls lay flat upon the ground, sobbing most dismally, her golden head resting upon her outstretched arms. The boy hesitated an instant, and then put down his basket and crossed the lawn to where the child lay, all neglected by her companions.

“What’s wrong, Gladie?” he asked, sitting on the grass beside her.

“Oh, Will,” she answered, turning to him a tear-stained face, “m--my d--d--dolly’s all bwoke, an’ Ted says she’ll h--h--have t’ go to a h--h--hospital, an’ Ma’Weeze an’ Wedgy says they’ll m--m--make a f--fun’ral an’ put dolly in the c--cold gwound, an’ make her dead!” and the full horror of the recital flooding her sensitive little heart, Gladys burst into a new flood of tears.

“Don’t you worry about it, Gladie,” he said, in a comforting tone. “We’ll fix dolly all right, in less than a jiffy. Where is she, and where’s she broke?”

Hope crept into the little face, begot of a rare confidence in the big boy beside her. Gladys rolled over upon the grass, uncovering a French doll of the jointed variety, dressed in very elaborate but soiled and bedraggled clothes and having a grimy face and a mass of tangled hair. It must have been a pretty toy when new, but the doll had never won Gladys’ whole heart so long as it remained immaculate and respectable. In its present disreputable condition it had become her dearest treasure, and when she handed the toy to Will Carden and showed him where one leg was missing from the knee down, a fresh outburst of grief convulsed her.

“Her l--leg is all b--bwoke!” she cried.

“That’s bad,” said Will, examining the doll carefully. “But we’ll play I’m the doctor, come to make her well. Where’s the other piece, Gladie?”