“You might take him,” said Tante Modeste, good-naturedly, “but there are so many young ones home they’d pester the bird about to death, and something might happen to him; he might get away, and then you’d never forgive us.”
“I know I mustn’t take him,” said Lady Jane, with sweet resignation. “Dear Tony, be a good bird while I’m gone, and you shall have some bugs to-morrow.” Tony was something of an epicure, and “bugs,” as Lady Jane called them, extracted from cabbage-leaves, were a delight to him. Then she embraced him fondly, and fastened him securely to Pepsie’s chair, and went away with many good-bys and kisses for her friend and not a few lingering glances for her pet.
It was a perfectly enchanting situation to Lady Jane when she was mounted up on the high seat, close under Tante Modeste’s sheltering wing, with her little feet on the cream-cheese box, and the two tall cans standing in front like sturdy tin footmen waiting for orders. Then Tante Modeste pulled the top up over their heads and shook her lines at the fat little mule, and away they clattered down Good Children Street, with all the children and all the dogs running on behind.
It was a long and delightful drive to Lady Jane before they got out of town to where the cottages were scattered and set in broad fields, with trees and pretty gardens. At length they turned out of the beautiful Esplanade, with its shady rows of trees, into Frenchman Street, and away down the river they stopped before a large double cottage that stood well back from the street, surrounded by trees and flowers; a good-natured, healthy-looking boy threw open the gate, and Tante Modeste clattered into the yard, calling out:
“Here, Tiburce, quick, my boy; unhitch the mule, and turn him out.” The little animal understood perfectly well what she said, and shaking his long ears he nickered approvingly.
Lady Jane was lifted down from her high perch by Paichoux himself, who gave her a right cordial welcome, and in a moment she was surrounded by Tante Modeste’s good-natured brood. At first she felt a little shy, there were so many, and they were such noisy children; but they were so kind and friendly toward her that they soon won her confidence and affection.
That day was a “red-letter day” to Lady Jane; she was introduced to all the pets of the farm-yard, the poultry, the dogs, the kittens, the calves, the ponies, and little colts, and the great soft motherly looking cows that stood quietly in rows to be milked; and afterward they played under the trees in the grass, while they gathered roses by the armful to carry to Pepsie, and filled a basket with pecans for Madelon.
She was feasted on gumbo, fried chicken, rice-cakes, and delicious cream cheese until she could eat no more; she was caressed and petted to her heart’s content from the pretty Marie down to the smallest white-headed Paichoux; she saw the fine parlor, the mirror, the pictures, the cabinet of shells, and the vases of wax-flowers, and, to crown all, Paichoux himself lifted her on Tiburce’s pony and rode her around the yard several times, while Tante Modeste made her a beautiful cake, frosted like snow, with her name in pink letters across the top.
At last, when the milk-cart came around with its evening load of fresh milk for waiting customers, Lady Jane was lifted up again beside Tante Modeste, overloaded with presents, caresses, and good wishes, the happiest child, as well as the tiredest, that ever rode in a milk-cart.
Long before they reached the noisy city streets, Lady Jane became very silent, and Tante Modeste peeped under the broad hat to see if she had fallen asleep; but no, the blue eyes were wide and wistful, and the little face had lost its glow of happiness.