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TITLE: A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES
AUTHOR: MRS. O. F. WALTON
EBOOK: E06495 (O'Briens Book Cellar)
LANGUAGE: ENGLISH

A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES

BY MRS. O. F. WALTON

Author OF 'CHRISTIE'S OLD ORGAN,' 'SAVED AT SEA' 'SHADOWS,' ETC.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. ROSALIE

II. THE LITTLE THEATRE

III. THE DAY AFTER THE FAIR

IV. THE ACTEESS'S STORY

V. ROSALIE'S FIRST SERMON

VI. A FAMILY SECRET

VII. THE CIRCUS PROCESSION

VIII. LITTLE MOTHER MANIKIN

IX. THE DOCTOR'S VISIT

X. BRITANNIA

XI. THE MOTHER'S DREAM

XII. A LONE LAMB

XIII. VANITY FAIR

XIV. BETSEY ANN

XV. LIFE IN THE LODGING-HOUSE

XVI. A DARK TIME

XVII. ALONE IN THE WORLD

XVIII. THE LITTLE PITCHER

XIX. SKIRRYWINKS.

XX. MOTHER MANIKIN'S CHAIRS

XXI. IN SIGHT OF HOME

XXII. THE LOST LAMB FOUND

XXIII. THE GREEN PASTURE.

[Illustration: ]

A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES

CHAPTER I

ROSALIE

Rain, rain, rain! How mercilessly it fell on the Fair-field that Sunday
afternoon! Every moment the pools increased and the mud became thicker. How
dismal the fair looked then! On Saturday evening it had been brilliantly
lighted with rows of flaring naphtha-lights; and the grand shows, in the
most aristocratic part of the field, had been illuminated with crosses,
stars, anchors, and all manner of devices.

But there were no lights now; there was nothing to cast a halo round the
dirty, weather-stained tents and the dingy caravans.

Yet, in spite of this, and in spite of the rain, a crowd of Sunday idlers
lingered about the fair, looking with great interest at the half-covered
whirligigs and bicycles, peeping curiously into the deserted shows, and
making many schemes for further enjoyment on the morrow, when the fair was
once more to be in its glory.

Inside the caravans the show-people were crouching over their fires and
grumbling at the weather, murmuring at having to pay so much for the ground
on which their shows were erected, at a time when they would be likely to
make so little profit.

A little old man, with a rosy, good-tempered face, was making his way
across the sea of mud which divided the shows from each other. He was
evidently no idler in the fair; he had come into it that Sunday afternoon
for a definite purpose, and he did not intend to leave it until it was
accomplished. After crossing an almost impassable place, he climbed the
steps leading to one of the caravans and knocked at the door.

It was a curious door; the upper part of it, being used as a window, was
filled with glass, behind which you could see two small muslin curtains,
tied up with pink ribbon. No one came to open the door when the old man
knocked, and he was about to turn away, when some little boys, who were
standing near, called out to him--

'Rap again, sir, rap again; there's a little lass in there; she went in a
bit since.'

'Don't you wish you was her?' said one of the little boys to the other.

'Ay!' said the little fellow; 'I wish _our_ house would move about,
and had little windows with white curtains and pink bows!'

The old man laughed a hearty laugh at the children's talk, and rapped again
at the caravan door.

This time a face appeared between the muslin curtains and peered cautiously
out. It was a very pretty little face, so pretty that the old man sighed to
himself when he saw it.

Then the small head turned round, and seemed to be telling what it had seen
to some one within, and asking leave to admit the visitor; for a minute
afterwards the door was opened, and the owner of the pretty face stood
before the old man.

She was a little girl about twelve years of age, very slender and delicate
in appearance. Her hair, which was of a rich auburn colour, was hanging
down to her waist, and her eyes were the most beautiful the old man thought
he had ever seen.

She was very poorly dressed, and she shivered as the damp, cold air rushed
in through the open door.

'Good afternoon, my little dear,' said the old man.

She was just going to answer him when a violent fit of coughing from within
caused her to look round, and when it was over a weak, querulous voice said
hurriedly--

'Shut the door, Rosalie; it's so cold; ask whoever it is to come in.'

The old man did not wait for a second invitation; he stepped inside the
caravan, and the child closed the door.

It was a very small place; there was hardly room for him to stand. At the
end of the caravan was a narrow bed something like a berth on board ship,
and on it a woman was lying who was evidently very ill. She was the child's
mother, the old man felt sure. She had the same beautiful eyes and sunny
hair, though her face was thin and wasted.

There was not room for much furniture in the small caravan; a tiny stove,
the chimney of which went through the wooden roof, a few pans, a shelf
containing cups and saucers, and two boxes which served as seats,
completely filled it. There was only just room for the old man to stand,
and the fire was so near him that he was in danger of being scorched.

Rosalie had seated herself on one of the boxes close to her mother's bed.

'You must excuse my intruding, ma'am,' said the old man, with a polite bow;
'but I'm so fond of little folks, and I've brought this little girl of
yours a picture, if she will accept it from me.'

A flush of pleasure came into the child's face as he brought out of his
pocket his promised gift. She seized it eagerly, and held it up before her
with evident delight, whilst her mother raised herself on her elbow to look
at it with her.

It was the picture of a shepherd, with a very kind and compassionate face,
who was bearing home in his bosom a lost lamb. The lamb's fleece was torn
in several places, and there were marks of blood on its back, as if it had
been roughly used by some cruel beast in a recent struggle.

But the shepherd seemed to have suffered more than the lamb, for he was
wounded in many places, and his blood was falling in large drops on the
ground. Yet he did not seem to mind it; his face was full of love and full
of joy as he looked at the lamb. He had forgotten his sorrow in his joy
that the lamb was saved.

In the distance were some of the shepherd's friends, who were coming to
meet him, and underneath the picture were these words, printed in large
letters--

'Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost. There is joy in
the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth.'

The little girl read the words aloud in a clear, distinct voice; and her
mother gazed at the picture with tears in her eyes.

'Those are sweet words, ain't they?' said the old man.

'Yes,' said the woman, with a sigh; 'I have heard them many times before.'

'Has the Good Shepherd ever said them of _you_, ma'am? Has He ever
called the bright angels together and said to them of _you_, "Rejoice
with Me, for I have found My sheep which was lost"?'

The woman did not speak; a fit of coughing came on, and the old man stood
looking at her with a very pitying expression.

'You are very ill, ma'am, I'm afraid,' he said.

'Yes, very ill,' gasped the woman bitterly; 'every one can see that but
Augustus!'

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