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Little French Mary
by
“I’ve heard these French folks only desire to get forehanded a little, and then they go right back where they come from,” said some one, with an air of disapproval.
“He says he’ll send another man here; he knows somebody that will be glad of the chance, but I don’t seem to like the idea so well,” said Captain Weathers doubtfully. “We’ve all got so used to Alexis and his wife; they know now where we keep every thing and have got to be so handy. Strange they don’t know when they’re well off. I suppose it’s natural they should want to be with their own folks. Then there’s the little girl.”
At this moment the store door was opened and French Mary came in. She was dressed in her best and her eyes were shining.
“I go to Canada in ze cars!” she announced joyfully, and came dancing down between the two long counters toward her regretful friends; they had never seen her so charming.
Argument and regret were impossible–the forebodings of elderly men and their experience of life were of no use at that moment, a gleam of youth and hope was theirs by sympathy instead. A child’s pleasure in a journey moves the dullest heart; the captain was the first to find some means of expression.
“Give me some o’ that best candy for her,” he commanded the storekeeper. “No, take a bigger piece of paper, and tie it up well.”
“Ain’t she dressed a little thin for travelin’?” asked gruff Mr. Spooner anxiously, and for his part he pointed the storekeeper to a small bright plaid shawl that hung overhead, and stooped to wrap it himself about the little shoulders.
“I must get the little girl something, too,” said the minister, who was a grandfather, and had just come in for his mail. “What do you like best, my dear?” and French Mary pointed shyly, but with instant decision, at a blue silk parasol, with a white handle, which was somewhat the worse for having been openly displayed all summer. The minister bought it with pleasure, like a country boy at a fair, and put into her hand.
French Mary kissed the minister with rapture, and gave him her hand to shake, then she put down the parasol and ran and climbed into the old captain’s lap and hugged him with both arms tight round his neck. She considered for a moment whether she should kiss Mr. Ezra Spooner or not, but happily did not decide against it, and said an affectionate good-by to him and all the rest. Mr. Staples himself came out from behind the counter to say farewell and bestow a square package of raisins. They all followed her to the door, and stood watching while she tucked her bundles under her arm and raised the new parasol, and walked away down the street in the chilly autumn morning. She had taken all her French gayety and charm, all her childish sweetness and dignity away with her. Little French Mary had gone. Fate had plucked her like a flower out of their lives.
She did not turn back, but when she was half-way home she began to run, and the new shawl was given gayly to the breeze. The captain sighed.
“I wish the little girl well,” he said, and turned away. “We shall miss her, but she doesn’t know what parting is. I hope she’ll please ’em just as well in Canada.”