But, as the summer wore away, she sickened for home and friends, and in the midst of the happy children felt all, all alone. And one day, one calm, bright summer day, when she and Myrtle were floating about in their little boat, which scarcely moved, so still was the water, she told him her whole history,—told it with sobs and tears and broken words, which caused Myrtle to sigh and weep too, although he strove to talk bravely, and promised Rosebud that, when he was only one year older, they would set out together to seek her friends or to learn their fate. He himself was tired of their gloomy little hut.
The hut, indeed, was but a cheerless home. For as months passed, and still Rupert did not appear, the old woman became angry that Rosebud should be left so long, and no money sent. And she was cruel to the child, and laid tasks upon her too heavy to bear. Bess and Judy, seeing that Rosebud was better liked than themselves, became envious. And they, too, gave her rough words and sometimes blows.
“You pink-faced thing, you! You eat our bread!” they cried.
But not when Myrtle was by. They did not dare. Her brave defender was Myrtle; for he believed the whole world could not produce another so good, so kind, so lovely as their Rosebud.
Indeed, from the very first, this boy had seemed to consider himself bound to shield from all harm the delicate, gentle child, who had come among them. He performed her rougher tasks, he made his sisters afraid to ill-use her, and even one day faced the old woman herself, and, when she was about to strike Rosebud, caught the staff from her hand!
So, when he was by, Bess and Judy did not dare show their ill temper. Neither did they dare give him any other name than Myrtle when within his reach. But sometimes, when they were safe behind granny, they would call him “Grump.” Or, if he were off a little way from the shore, in his boat, they would sit upon the rocks, calling out, “Grump! Grump! how is your health, Grump!”
CHAPTER IX.
THE FLOWER-GARDEN.
ONE day Myrtle met Rosebud coming from the fishermen’s huts, looking quite sorrowful.
“Pretty little Rosebud,” said he, “what troubles you, I pray?”
“Alas!” said Rosebud, “I have now nothing to bestow. I have seen a little lame child, and a poor, suffering, sick young maiden, and a pale woman, dressed all in black, who weeps every day. And I have nothing to bestow. At the palace were so many beautiful things, and gold in plenty. The wood-cutters’ children were so pleased when I brought them gifts! Now I have nothing! Not even a flower! But, Myrtle,” she cried, “we will plant flowers! and they will grow! And we will gather such sweet nosegays! Nosegays and garlands for everybody! for all love flowers. Flowers such as I plucked in my own garden. Bright, blooming, fragrant flowers!” she continued, mournfully, her voice growing every moment fainter and more sorrowful. Myrtle feared she was going to cry, and so made haste to answer.