What Bessie Found Out.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXV, Issue XX, 17 November 1900, Page 951

What Bessie Found Out.

“Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling!” said the bell at the front door, and Bessie jumfped from the breakfast table and went out to see who was calling there so early in the morning. “It’s a telegram, mamma.” she cried excitedly, as she came back to the diningroom, “and the man wants you to sign the book, and Oh. my. I wonder who could have sent it!" Mrs Royse looked anxious. We always do, I think, when telegrams come to us. “It’s from John,” she said to her husband, when she had read it. “Sister Mary is very ill and wants to see me.” “Then you had better go at once.” returned Mr Royse. “I ‘suppose, so. But I wonder if things will be all right here.” “Of course. Why shouldn’t they be? The girl is able to take care of the house, and as for Bessie, she isn’t a baby any longer —are you. dear?” “Indeed I am not,” Bessie declared emphatically. “I am; nine years old this very month.” “Then you think you can take care of yourself for two whole days?” asked her mother. “I may be gone as long as that.” “Why, yes, mammia. I mostly take care of myself when you are here." was the confident reply. Mrs Royse smiled as she thought of the many demands tlhat her little daughter made on her time and attention, but she thought it would be well for her to lie entirely dependent on herself for a while. “Don’t liot’her Kate, dear, for she will have enough to do,” was her injunction as she began hurriedly to make preparations for her departure. “Oh, no! I wouldn’t do that.” Bessie assured her; and afterwal’d, when she was kissing her mother good-by, she said, “Don't worry about me one bit. mamma; I’ll be all right.”

Then, when her mother was really off and her father had gone to buaineas, the little girl started to get ready for school. “There!” she said to herself the minute she entered her room. “I forgot all about my braids. I never can fix them decently myself. I wish—mamma had done it before she went away.” But mamma had not. and it still hail to be done, so Bessie began to struggle wit.]i her hair. It may seem easier than it really is for a little girl to braid her own hair. The strands would get mixed and the partings crooked. She eombwl it all out three or four times, and started the braids again, and finally told herself 'that it would have to do. She knew it didn’t look nice, buf it was getting late, ami she could not afford to bother anymore over it. Then she changed her dress, and a new difficulty presented itself. She could not hook it up in the back. “Mamma always does that,” she thought,” and what am I going to do?” She tugged and pulled.' fastening up one hook only to unfasten it in the attempt to do the next. At last she had to go down into the kitchen to get Kate to hook her dress. “I couldn’t help that, of course,” she excused herself with when she thought of her mother's words about not bothering Kate. “I wonder what mamma did with my hat yesterday,” was her next thought. And she began to look hurriedly around the sitting room. “Oh, dear! It isn't so easy to get along without mamma as 1 imagined it would be. She had that hat here,

because she was going to sew the ribbon where it was ripped off. I donT believe she‘did it. though, for Mrs Leonard came hl and talked ever so long, ami that hat ought to be here yet. Where —where can it be? My books are iq the closet, anyhow, for I put them here.” And Bessie opened the closet door, and there was her hat. too. just where it belonged. it was done up after all. as Bessie saw when she took it down, but she wondered when her mother hail found tinii to do it. At noontime she rushed into the house, saying: “Mamma, can you go ——Oh!" she a'ded. seeing no one in the diningroom but her father. “I forgot that mamma wasn’t here. I wish she would come home.” “Already?” Mr Royse said in surprise. “Why, I thought you were the little lady who coukl get along so nicely alone!” “For some things 1 can. But then, papa, there are things that 1 need mamma for. Now you see there's an entertainment down ait the Opera Hctlfie—a' ventriloquist anil such things—and we school children have tickets that will let us in for sixpence. I don't want to go so far without mamma." "No; anil you ought not to. either. I'd take you if I could, but I'm too busy. Never mind; there will be more entertainments when your mother is here.” And Bessie had to lie consoled with that thought. At three o’clock there was a lesson that she wanted her mother to help her with, there was a rip in her sleeve, and a great hungry feeling inside of her. “Mamma always gives me some-

thing nice when I eome home," she said to herself, "but I'm not going to bother Kate about it. Oh dear! What a lot of things mothers do for us. and we. never know it till they're away somewhere! They must get so tired working for us all the time!” At supper Bessie's hunger was satisfies!. She hail struggled along with the lesson, too. and as for her dress, she hail deciiled to wear another until her mother came home ami could mend that sleeve. So far she had managed "after a fashion," as she told herself, but when it came bedtime she began to wonder what she should do without her another's good night kiss. The very idea of going to bed and not having it brought tears to her eyes. “What's the matter, little daughter?" asked |>apa. "Why—l think 1 want my mother.” sobbed Bessie. J ust then the liell rang, and when the door was opened in walked Mrs Royse. “Oh. mamma!" cried Bessie, rushing into her arms, "I am so glad that you didn't stay two days!” "Well, Aunt Mary was improving, so I hurried home. But what's the matter? Weren't you getting along all right, dear?” "Why, you see. inaimna,” said Bessie, smjiling through her tears. “I didn't really know how much mothers did until you weren’t near to do it.”