Rose in Bloom: A Sequel to 'Eight Cousins'Alcott, Louisa May
General
Rose in Bloom: A Sequel to 'Eight Cousins'
Alcott, Louisa May
Cousins -- Juvenile fiction; Families -- Juvenile fiction; New England -- Juvenile fiction; Young women -- Juvenile fiction
"I'll tell you the story, and then you shall advise me what to do. At
our hospital, we've had a poor woman who got hurt, and died two days
ago. I had nothing to do with her, only took her a bit of fruit once
or twice; for she had big, wistful sort of eyes that haunted me. The
day she died I stopped a minute, and the nurse said she'd been wanting
to speak to me, but didn't dare. So I asked if I could do any thing
for her; and, though she could hardly breathe for pain,--being almost
gone,--she implored me to take care of baby. I found out where the
child was, and promised I'd see after her; for the poor soul couldn't
seem to die till I'd given her that comfort. I never can forget the
look in her eyes, as I held her hand, and said, 'Baby shall be taken
care of.' She tried to thank me, and died soon after quite peacefully.
Well, I went to-day and hunted up the poor little wretch. Found her in
a miserable place, left in the care of an old hag, who had shut her up
alone to keep her out of the way, and there this mite was, huddled in
a corner crying, 'Marmar, marmar!' fit to touch a heart of stone. I
blew up the woman, and took baby straight away, for she had been
abused; and it was high time. Look there, will you?"
Mac turned the little skinny arm, and showed a blue mark which made
Rose drop her reins, and stretch out both hands, crying with a tender
sort of indignation,--
"How dared they do it? Give her to me; poor, little, motherless
thing!"
Mac laid the bundle in her arms, and Rose began to cuddle it in the
fond, foolish way women have,--a most comfortable and effective way,
nevertheless; and baby evidently felt that things were changing for
the better, when warm lips touched her cheeks, a soft hand smoothed
her tumbled hair, and a womanly face bent over her, with the
inarticulate cooings and purrings mothers make. The frightened eyes
went up to this gentle countenance, and rested there as if reassured;
the little claw crept to the girl's neck, and poor baby nestled to her
with a long sigh, and a plaintive murmur of "Marmar, marmar," that
certainly would have touched a stony heart.
"Now, go on. No, Rosa, not you," said the new nurse, as the
intelligent animal looked round to see if things were all right before
she proceeded.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account