VI.
During the hour of Mildred's absence there had been great excitement at her home. They thought she was lost, and they were all hunting for her everywhere when she walked in with her little bundle in her hand. She might ordinarily have been punished for going off without permission, but now they were all too glad to see her back, and she had such a good excuse. Even Mammy confined herself to grumbling just a little. Mildred rushed to her mother's room and told her everything about her visit—about Molly and everything connected with her. She drew so graphic a picture of the little cripple's condition that her mother at once had a basket of food prepared and ordered her carriage. Mildred begged to go with her, so they set out at once. She had taken notice of the house, and, after driving up one or two streets, they found the right one. She asked her mother to let her carry the basket. When they entered the room Mildred's mother found it even worse than Mildred had pictured it; but a half hour's vigorous work made a great change, and that night, for the first time in many years, Molly slept in a clean bed and in as much comfort as her poor little broken body would admit.
That night Mildred could hardly sleep for happiness. She had the money to buy the mocking-bird. Inquiry was made next day on the street where Mildred described the bird as being. It was found that the only bird on the block belonged to a Mrs. Johnson, "a widow lady who took in sewing." She lived in the third story back room of a certain house and had not been there very long, so no one could tell anything about her except that she owned "a mocker." This, however, was all that was needed, and Mildred was promised that next morning the bird should be bought and she should be allowed to take it to Molly with her own hands. She planned just the way in which she would surprise her.
Next morning a servant was sent around to buy the bird. When he returned Mildred's high hopes were all dashed to the ground. The owner did not wish to sell the bird. The money was doubled and the servant was sent back. The answer came back: "The bird was not for sale." Mildred was grievously disappointed. She could not help crying.
"Send to the dealer's and buy two birds," said her father.
"Perhaps the bird is a pet," suggested her mother gently.
Mildred thought Molly did not want any bird—she wanted that one, though she herself did not understand just why, unless it was that she knew that one could sing.
"Then Molly is unreasonable," said Mildred's father.
Mildred was unreasonable, too. If Molly did not want any other bird she did not want it either. She persuaded her mammy to walk around through the street where the woman with the mocking-bird lived. She knew the house. Just as she passed it the door opened and a woman came down the steps with a bundle. She was dressed in black and looked very poor, but she also looked very kind, and Mildred, who was gazing at the door as she came out, asked her timidly:—"Do you know Mrs. Johnson?"
"Why, I am one Mrs. Johnson," she said. "Whom do you mean?"
"The lady that has the mocking-bird," said Mildred.
"I have a mocking-bird."
"Have you? I mean the lady that has a mocking-bird and won't sell it," said Mildred, sadly.
The woman looked down at her kindly and for a moment did not answer. Then she said:—"What do you know about it?"
"I wanted to buy it," said Mildred.
"I am sorry I could not sell it to you," said Mrs. Johnson kindly. "The bird is all the company I have, and besides I don't think it is well. It has not been singing much lately."
"Hasn't it?" asked Mildred. "I wanted it for Molly. She wants it."
"Who is Molly?"
"The little crippled girl that lives around that way." She pointed. "She lies at a window away, way up. You can almost see her out of your window where the cage hangs. She saw the bird from her window where she lies and that's the reason she wants it."
The woman looked down at the little girl thoughtfully. The big eyes were gazing up at her with a look of deep trouble in them.
"You can have the bird," she said suddenly. "Wait, I will get it." And before Mildred could take in her good fortune she had gone back into the house, and a second later she brought down the cage.
Mildred had not just understood that it was to be brought her then, and a new difficulty presented itself.
"But I haven't any money," she said.
"I don't want any money," said the poor lady.
"But I can send it to you."
"I don't want any; I give it to you."
Mildred was not sure that she ought to accept the bird this way. "Do you think mamma would mind it?" she asked earnestly.
"Not if she ever had a crippled child," said the woman.
"She had. But I'm well now," said Mildred.
She took the cage and bore it down the street, talking to her mammy of the joy Molly would have when she took the bird to her. The poor woman suddenly turned and went back into the house and up the stairs, and a second later was leaning out of the window scanning one by one every window in sight.
Mildred and her mammy soon found the rickety house where Molly lived, and as Mildred climbed the stairs to Molly's room, though she walked as softly as she could, her heart was beating so she was afraid Molly might hear it. Curious faces peeped at her as she went up, for the visit to Molly of the day before was known, but Mildred did not mind them. She thought only of Molly and her joy. She reached the door and opened it softly and peeped in. Molly was leaning back on her pillow very white and languid; but she was looking for her, and she smiled eagerly as she caught her eye. Mildred walked in and held up the cage. Molly gave a little scream of delight and reached out her hands.
"Oh, Mildred, is it—?" She turned and looked out of the window at the place where it used to hang. Yes, it was the same.
Mildred had a warm sensation about the heart, which was perfect joy.
"Where shall I put it?" she asked. "He looks droopy, but Mrs. Johnson says he used to sing all the time. He is not hungry, because he has feed in the cage. I don't know what is the matter with him."
"I do," said Molly, softly.
She showed where she wanted the cage, and Mildred climbed up and put it in the open window. Then she propped Molly up. She had never seen Molly's eyes so bright, and her cheeks had two spots of rich color in them. She looked really pretty. She put her arm around the cage caressingly. The frightened bird fluttered and uttered a little cry of fear.
"Never mind," murmured Molly, softly, as she pulled at the catch. "It is only a minute more, and there will be the fields and the sky."
The peg was drawn out and she opened the door wide. The bird did not come out; it just fluttered backwards and forwards. Molly pushed the cage a little further out of the window. The bird got quiet. It turned its head and looked out of the door. Mildred had clasped her hands tightly, and was looking on with speechless surprise. She thought it might be some spell of Molly's. The bird hopped out of the cage on to the window-sill and stood for a second in a patch of sunlight. It craned its neck and gazed all around curiously; turned and looked at the cage, and then fastened its eye steadily on Molly, shook itself in the warm air, gave a little trill, almost a whimper, and suddenly tore away in the sunlight.
Mildred gave a little gasp, "Oh!" But Molly did not move a muscle. Straight away the bird flew, at first up and then on over the black houses and the smoke toward the blue sky over Mildred's home, his wings beating the fresh spring air, on, on, growing smaller to the sight, flying straight for the open country—a mere speck—till at last he faded from sight. Molly lay motionless, with her gaze still on the fair blue sky where he had disappeared, as if she could still see him. Her lips had been moving, but now were stilled.
"There!" she said, softly. "At last!" and sank back on the pillow, her eyes closed, her face full of deep content. Mildred sat and gazed at her, at first with a vague wonder and then almost with awe. A new idea seemed to enter her mind. Could Molly be sending the mocking-bird to heaven with a message to her mother?