Waterbury evening Democrat., 1889-02-20

and rebuke; she was Q baby indeed, she was a little fool, she was a naughty, obstinate child, she was an ungrateful, wtllful little creature, who ought to be beaten till she was blue, if only there was anybody that had the right to do it.
 s But there is nobody that has the right" said Bebee, getting angry and standing up right on the floor, with Antoine's old gray cat in her round arms "He told me to stay here, and he would not have said so if it had been wrong; and am old enough to do for myself, and am not afraid, and who is there that would hurt mel Oh, yes, go and tell Father Francis, if you like I do not believe he will blame me, but if he do, must bear it. Even if he shut the church door on me, will obey Antoine and the flowers will know am right, and they will let no evil spirits touch me, for the flowers are strong for that; they talk to the angels in the night"
 What use was it to argue with a little idiot like this? Indeed, peasants never do argue, they use abuse
 It is their only form of logic.
 They used tito Bebee, rating her soundly, as became people who were old enough to be her grandmothers, and who knew that she had been raked out of their own pond, and had no more real place in creation than water rat, as one might say
 The women were kindly, and had never thrown this truth against her before, and in fact, to be founding was sort of disgrace to their sight; but anger is like wine, and makes the depths of the mind shine clear, and all the mud that is in the depths stink in the light; and in their wrath at not sharing Antoine's legacy, the good souls said bitter things that in calm moments they would no moro have uttered than they would have taken up a knife to slit her throat. They talked themselves hoarse with i'm patience and chagrin, and went backwards | over the threshold, their wooden shoes and their shrill voices keeping a clattering chorus. By this time it was evening; the sun had 1 gone off the floor, and the bird had done sing l ing.
 l Bebee stood in the same place, hardening her little heart, while big and bitter tears swelled into her eyes and fell on the soft fur l of tho sleeping cat
 She only very vaguely understood why it was in any sense shameful to have been raked 1 out of the water lilies like drowning field l mouse as they had said 1t was. She and Antoine had often talked of that l summer morning when he had found her there among the leaves, and Bebee and he had laughed over it gayly, and she had been l quite proud in her innocent fashion that she 1 had had fairy and the flowers for her l mother and godmothers, which Antoine al- l ways told her was the case beyond any man. ner of doubt. Even Father Francis hearing the pretty, harmless fiction, had never deemed l it his duty to disturb her pleasure in it. being 0 good cheerful old man, who thought that l woe and wisdom both come soon enough to l bow young shoulders and to silver young curls l without his interference
 l Bebee had always thought it quite a fine l thing to have been born of water lilies, with the sun for her father, and when people in 1 Brussels had asked her of her parentage, see | ing her stand in the market with a certain look on her that was not like other children, had always gravely answered in the purest good faith:
 l My mother was HOwer."
 "You are a flower at any rate," they would say in return; and Bebee had been all l ways quite content
 But now she was doubtful; she was rather | perplexed than sorrowful These good friends of hers seemed to see some new sin about her. Perhaps, after all, thought l Bebee, it might have been better to have had human mother who would have taken care of her now that old Antoine was dead, instead of those beautiful, gleaming, cold water lilies which went to sleep on their green velvet beds and did not certainly care when the thorns ran into her fingers, or the pebbles 1 got into her wooden shoes. In some vague way, disgrace and envy-the i twin discorCls of the world-touched her inno- cent cheek with their hot breath, and as the evening fell, Bebee felt very lonely and a little wistful.
 She had been always used to run out in the pleasant twilight time among the flowers and water them, Antoine filling the can from the well; and the neighbors would come and lean l fhn 10x1y ly,,iff gossiping, and the big dogs, released from harness, would poke their heads through the wicket for a crust; and the children would dance and play Colin Maillard on the green 1 by the water, and she when the flowers were no longer thirsted, would join them, and romp and dance and sing the gayest of then, all.
 But now the buckets hung at the bottom of
 the we'll and flowers hungered in vain, and the neighbors held aloof, and she shut to the
 hut door and listened to the rain which began
 to fall, and cried herself to sleep in her tiny
 kingdom.
 When the dawn came the sun rose red and
 warm; the grass and boughs sparkled; a lark sang; Bebee awoke sad in heart, indeed, for
 her lost old friend but brighter and braver
 Each of them wants to get something out
 of me-" thought the child. Well, will live
 alone then and do my duty just as he said.
 The flowers will never let any real harm come
 though they do look so indifferent and smil.
 ing sometimes, and though not one of them
 hung their heads when his coffin was carried
 through them yesterday"
 That want of sympathy in the flowers
 troubled her.
 The old man had loved them so well; and
 they had all looked as glad as ever, and had
 laughed saucily in the sun, and not even @
 rose bud turned the paler as the poor still
 stiffened limbs went by in the wooden she'll
 II suppose God cares-but wish they
 did," said Bebee, to whom the garden was
 more ineligible than Providence.
 "Why do you not cares'' she asked the
 pinks, shaking the rain drops off their curled rosy petals
 The pinks leaned lazily against their sticks
 and seemed to say, "Why should we care fo1
 anything, unless slug be eating usAthat is ] real woe, if you like"
 Bebee, without her sabots on, wandered
 thoughtfully among the sweet, wet sunlight
 ened labyrinths of blossom, her pretty bare Al