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“HELLO, PIRATES!†SAID JAM.
THE LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION
AND OTHER STORIES
BY
SOPHIE SWETT
AUTHOR OF “PENNYROYAL AND MINT,†“CAPTAIN POLLY,†“ FLYING
HILL FARM,†“THE MATE OF THE MARY ANN,†ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
BY
E. B. BARRY AND OTHERS
ose
BOSTON
ESTES AND LAURIAT
PUBLISHERS >
Copyright, 1890, 1891, 1892, 1893, 1894,
By THE CENTURY Co.
Copyright, 1896,
By Estes AND LAURIAT
Colonial JBress:
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, Mass., U.S.A.
Electrotyped by Geo. C. Scott & Sons
CONTENTS.
PAGE
The Lollipops’ Vacation . ‘ : 7 ° ° ° ° . 1
The Gentleman from China . a ° ° ° ° : . 16
Little Miss Muffet and Her Spider . 3 BER EE ° . - - 88
A Queer Valentine .° : ie a 5 48
The Doll That Could n’t Spell Her Name ‘ . 3 ° . 62
The Man in the Moor. 2 i Ree 4 5 : ‘ 77
A Great Financial Scheme . sete cs 5 os . 92
The Cow That Considered . : $ A ; 3 ; - 107
_A Moving Story . : ; ; ° ‘: Sets eee LO
Norals Oil Well es. ye ee ey eet ee ILO
A Scientific Experiment . : : : : . ; 7 7. 158
Mrs. McGinty’s Pigs : : 5 : : % 3 : . 170
Why the Clock Struck One . : : ‘ ¢ . ° wie LTT
_Pease-Porridge Cold ; : . ‘ . 7 weces - 193
The Crew of the Captain’s Gig : . ° 5 ° - 211
Why the Black Cat Winked . : . 3 fi . * . 2382
Being Responsible for Toffy . . é : a > > «244
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
“Hello, Pirates!†said Jam . g é $ wares wd Frontispiece
| Sherbet . Ki . : A . = 7 . : . : 6
| Dujuberss. Ge wen wots Oe : 2 selpelse eats j Te
Cherry . . mien ; ‘ < ‘ . ° 5 : 8
Molly. . . . 5 3 . . 9
A Most Extraordinary Thing far ee . . : : 21
Miss Muffet and Her Spider . 3 : . seers 5 ‘ 37
Mrs. O’Flanigan and Her Queer Valentine : : ; % : 55
Lady Marion and Mary Ann Seated Side by Side in State. : 67
The Man inthe Moon . : : 5 . : : : : 78
«“ We’re Goin’ Home to the Moon as Soon as We Can Find a Con-
| veyance,†He Said . ; : 5 : : : 81
The Bank-President and the Chief Deooalor «I’ve Come for My
} Money†. : : is ; ; : ; : ; . 108
: “Jim Crow†. é ; ; . 5 . : : . . 109
| “Dat am a Cur’us Cow, no Mistake!†remarked Tony . : - 115
«She Threw Her Arms Around His Neck, and Waited †A . 188
; “I Do Be the Washerwoman, Sir†2 3 : 3 . 147
The Inventor Unbends to Caddy Jane. : . . 157
“ Dulcie and Caddy Jane Looked Askance at Each Other†. - 161
“ Micky Clutched His Pigs Tightly, ... and Prepared to Jumpâ€. 175
“ Kitty Was in the Garden Trying to Put Salt on a Robin’s Tail†178
vii
vill ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
The Mysterious Clock . z . : . . . :. . 185
«“ The Clock Struck One †: aurea ‘ : . . . 189
The « Hangel †3 : : : : . . 3 7 69207,
That Boy Nick Started Them. i é : ‘ : ° . 215
Cap’n’Siah Hadlock . . Bete Rare eaten ag
The Captain’s Gig at Great Pou Island © : : : eo 209
“There ’s a Squall Coming†. : 5 ‘ : : 5 2228
« His Father Had Talked to Him Earnestly 2 : . 246
«
Gloomily †5 : S ; 3 : 5 5 fee 2950
*
THE LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION
AND OTHER STORIES
THE LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION.
«eT .want to go where they let you break in colts, and the
circus comes ’round every week,†said the second Master Lollipop,
named Granbury,.but commonly called Cranberry by his friends,
who thought Cranberry Lollipop sounded particularly well.
“T think it is time that I entered fashionable society,†said the
eldest Miss Lollipop, who was past sixteen.
“TI always think first of my children,†said the fourth Miss
Lollipop, who was called Cherry, and who was the mother of ten
dolls, — just as many as she had brothers and sisters, — “ and
Christabel Marie is suffering for sea-bathing.â€
“I want to go where there are sunsets and no cows,†said
Jujube Lollipop, who was fifteen, and painted in water-colours.
“T’m not going where a fellow has to wear his best clothes
and there must be cherry pudding every day.â€
This was the third Master Lollipop, who had been christened
_ Adonijam, but seldom had the benefit of anything but the last
syllable of that dignified appellation, Jam Lollipop being thought
a very appropriate name for him. Indeed, all the Lollipops’
names were capable of being shortened into such very appropriate
ones that most people believed they had been christened with this
nicknaming in view. The eldest Miss Lollipop was named
Araminta, and her name was usually shortened to Minty, or ~
Mint, and people who wanted to tease her even went so far as to
call her Peppermint Lollipop; but she did not like that, and was
cultivating a dignified manner, in the hope of preventing it. Julia
2 THE LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION.
Lollipop was always called Jujube, and Tryphena was Taffy, both
at home and abroad. Carrie Amelia was called Caramel, by com-
mon consent, and Margaret Nutter (named after her grandmother,
who had always been called plain Margaret) was called Nutmeg ~
oftener than anything else. Charity was always Cherry, and Molly,
Molasses. And the boys did not fare much better. Sherburne
was nicknamed Sherbet, and Erastus was never called anything
but Raspberry. They did not mind it very much, though Sher-
bet was sometimes heard to say that he wished they didn’t all
make people think of something good to eat. Papa Lollipop had
been a confectioner, and people would say that he had become
confused, and thought he was naming his candy when he
named his children.
All these stories would probably be soon forgotten, now, for
Papa Lollipop had retired from business, with a fortune; they had
moved from the rooms over the shop, where they had always lived,
into a fine, large house, on a fashionable street, and if any of the
younger children made any reference to the shop, and the times
when Papa was a confectioner, all the others said, “’Sh! ’sh!â€
And it was because they were rich people now, and were
trying to live as rich people did, that they were going to take a
vacation trip. They had never taken one before, except out to
Aunt Jane’s in Popleyville. Aunt Jane kept a candy -shop in
one corner of a big, dilapidated, old house, on the main street.
Papa Lollipop had kept her supplied with candy. The upper
shelf of her shop had eight large glass jars, filled with sugar -
plums artistically arranged in lines of contrasting colour, and in-.
tended merely for ornament. Those jars had stood there for
twenty years, and all the babies in Popleyville had cried lustily
for them; but Aunt Jane, whose heart was torn by a baby’s cry
* for anything else, had never relented so far as to take one. sugar-
plum out of them. Babies of sense and discretion soon learned
to look at them with the silent and hopeless longing with which
they looked at the moon. On the next shelf were the sticks of
THE LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION. 3
candy, of every colour and flavour known to the confectioner’s art,
and always fresh and crisp. Then came, on a lower shelf, jars
of mint-drops and lozenges, sugared almonds and peanuts,
cream - dates and walnuts, and caramels of every flavour; and on
the lowest shelf of all were trays of molasses candy, peanut
taffy, and corn-balls. The contents of that lowest shelf were
always made by Aunt Jane’s own hands, and her pride in them
was only a trifle less than in the ornamental jars.
And though Aunt Jane’s wares were so superior, it was uni-
versally acknowledged that there was “more for a cent†to be
got there than anywhere else in town. Moreover, Aunt Jane
had a most unbusiness - like way of slipping a square of peanut
taffy or a corn-ball into a penniless little pocket; and when she
saw a sad and longing little face glued to the outside of her
window-pane, she mysteriously beckoned it in, and it went away
a jolly little face that you wouldn’t have known for the same
‘one.. Of course, the natural result of this unusual fashion of
shopkeeping was that the penniless pockets and the mournful
little faces came often, and Papa Lollipop shook his head
gravely, and declared that Jane would be ruined.
But Aunt Jane wasn’t ruined. She proved herself to be
possessed of a Yankee bump for trading, with all her generosity.
Everybody in the town was her customer, from sixty - year-old
Deacon Judkins, down to the newest baby, who was never
thought to have properly made its entrance into Popleyville
~ society until it had been, taken to Aunt Jane’s shop; and the
summer visitors who came to Osprey, the seashore resort only
five miles away, were always driving over to Popleyville for
the express purpose of buying some of Aunt Jane’s candy. She
did not make a fortune, but she made enough money to enable
her to support herself, and care for several household pets,
including two dogs, three cats, and four or five canary-birds, and
also to have a very stiff and rustling black silk dress to wear to:
church and to neighbourhood tea-drinkings. If greater happiness
4 THE LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION.
than that was to be found in the world, Aunt Jane never sighed
for it. But when the eleven Lollipops came out to spend the
summer vacation, her cup of joy overflowed. Some people might
have thought there were too many of them, but if Aunt Jane
had a regret, it was that they were only eleven. Ass for the little
Lollipops, they thought there was nothing i in this world so much
like Paradise as Aunt Jane’s.
But now that they had become rich and fashionable, of course
going to Aunt Jane’s was not to be thought of. It would have
been such a dreadful thing if any of their fashionable friends
had discovered that they had an aunt who kept a little candy-
shop.in a queer, old, dilapidated house, that.was running over with
birds, and cats, and dogs, and who kept no servant except a little
lame pauper girl whom she had taken out of pity, and whom she
waited upon as tenderly as she did upon the birds. No, indeed !
fashionable society could not be expected to recognise people
with such an Aunt Jane as that, so, although it was a great pity,
they never could visit Aunt Jane any more.
In the family council that they were holding to decide where
they should go for the summer, nobody mentioned Aunt Jane’s.
« It never will do to have it said that the Lollipop family went
anywhere but to Newport or Bar Harbor,†said Mamma Lollipop,
who had been a plump and jolly little woman, but had grown
. wrinkled and anxious-looking since they became fashionable.
“J don’t want to go to Bar Harbor,†said Taffy Lollipop, with
deep feeling, “because the Krauts go Here, and they say they
won't ae ciate with us!â€
“ Well, I sha’ n’t allow my children to associate with them!â€
said Mamma Lollipop, with decision.
“Tf the Krauts go to Bar Harbor, we’ll go to Newport!â€
“There are several confectioners in Newport who bought all
their supplies from me, and I’d rather not go there, anyhow,â€
said Papa Lollipop.
“ We might go to Europe,†said Taffy Lollipop.
THE LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION. 5
“'The ship might go down,†said Sherbet.
Mamma Lollipop turned pale. She was very timid; and
Europe’s fate was sealed.
They looked at each other in dismay. There didn’t seem to
be anywhere to go. .They had never felt any inconvenience
from want of space before; but now the world was not large
enough for the Lollipops.
Papa Lollipop, who was a nervous little man, walked up and
down the room, and mopped his bald head with his handkerchief,
as if he were very warm indeed. But suddenly such a bright
_ idea seemed to strike him, that he cut a little caper to relieve
his excited feelings.
“T have an idea! We'll all go everywhere, and we won’t any
of us go anywhere!†he cried, with the delight of one who has
-made a great discovery.
All the other Lollipops were delighted, too. It was a myste-
rious idea, but it sounded as if it solved all their difficulties, and
the way things sound makes a great difference in this world.
“My idea,†he went on, addressing Mamma. Lollipop, “is to
let ’em all go just where they please, each by himself or herself,
if they like. We’ve got servants enough, so that each one of
the children can take one as a companion. That will make the
servants of some use, and keep me from being all worn out try-
ing to find something for ’em todo! You and I will take the
same privilege. Ill go whereI please, and you can go where
- you please! And as I am in something ict a hurry, I’ll leave
you to lock up the house!â€
_ Out of the room hurried: Papa Lollipop, and in less than ten
minutes they heard the hall door shut with a bang, and, looking
out of the window, they saw Papa Lollipop rushing down the
street, with a huge travelling bag, in too great a hurry to remem-
ber that he now kept a carriage.
Mamma Lollipop looked after him admiringly. ,
“My dears,†she said, “your father has a great mind. I
6 THE LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION.
thought so when his marshmallow caramels took the first
?
prize
«Sh! ’sh!†cried Minty. But Mamma Lollipop went on,
firmly :
“I thought so then, but I know it now. We will do just as
he said.â€
“I do wonder where he has gone, in such a
hurry,†said Taffy, who was the inquisitive one
of the family.
Mamma Lollipop, who was a very
shrewd woman, looked at the news-
paper which Papa Lollipop had just
been reading, and saw a notice of a
h Confectioners’ Convention in Chicago.
It was almost a thousand miles away ;
but what were miles to a mind like
Papa Lollipop’s ?
The door opened, and there stood
Master Cranberry Lollipop, with a bun-
dle of clothes slung over his shoulder
upon a stout walking-stick ; behind him
stood Coffee, the coloured boy who
cleaned the knives and did the ¢ook’s
errands, and he was similarly equipped
for travelling.
_ « We’re goin’ — good-bye!†said Cran-
berry. “Mebbe we shall come back some time, but if you hea,
of orfle piruts on the high seas, it’s us.â€
Mamma Lollipop thought of screaming and fainting at this
dreadful announcement, but she remembered what a mind Papa
Lollipop had, and decided to have perfect faith in his plan.
And Cranberry and Coffee marched off, with fierce determina-
tion in their looks.
The next to go was Miss Minty, who first had her hair dressed
SHERBET.
THE LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION.
7
so it would last all summer, if she didn’t sleep in it, bought
seventeen new bracelets for each arm, and a pair of eye-glasses,
though she was not in the least near-sighted, had seven Saratoga
trunks packed, ordered the carriage, and took her own maid
with her.
Jam and Taffy were the only ones
who told each other where they were
going, and they happened to be going
to the very same place. Jam and Taffy
were twins, and thought just alike about
everything. They seemed very happy
in their plans, Jam occasionally giving
expression to his feelings by uttering
whoops and turning somersaults; but
they evidently felt at the same time
that they were going to do something
rash and dreadful, and it was generally
suspected that they meant to distinguish —
themselves by doing something even
more terrible than turning pirates; and
it severely tested Mamma Lollipop’s
faith in Papa Lollipop’s plan to let them
go. But they took Betty, who had been
their maid-of-all- work in the old days,
when they lived over the shop, and Betty
had brains; she could make jujube paste
and pipe-stem candy that rivalled every-
. body’s except Aunt Jane’s; even if Jam
should decide to be a wild man of Bor-
neo, like one he had read of, and was
JUJUBE.
always longing to imitate, Mamma Lollipop felt that Betty would
be equal to the occasion.
Sherbet took his drum with him, and hinted, darkly, that he
might be heard from on the field of batttle ; so it was generally
8 THE. LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION.
supposed that he had gone to be a soldier, though where and
whom he was to fight remained a mystery. Mamma Lollipop
looked anxious, but did not attempt to influence him; she merely
reminded him that for soldiers and pirates, as well as for less war-
like members of society, school
began on the twenty-ninth of
September.
Raspberry was seen negotiat-
ing with the proprietor of a
hand-organ; it was evident that
CHERRY.
he intended to attain to the great ambition of his life, and enter
the organ-grinding profession.
Jujube, who had just begun to paint in water-colours, bought .
artist’s materials of all kinds, enough to last her a year if she
painted every day from morning till night, and went off with
“ Picturesque America†under one arm and the “ Tourist’s
Guide†under the other, and entirely forgot her trunk.
Caramel wanted to go where there was a Sunday -school pic-
nic every day in the week, and she was supposed to have gone
THE LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION. 9
in search of such a place, as she had all her cambric dresses
freshly done up, and bought two new umbrellas.
Nutmeg had taken her nurse with her and gone, it was
thought from her remarks, in search of a fairy who would tap
her with her wand three times lightly and make diamonds and
pearls fall from her mouth. Nutmeg was the youngest of the
Lollipops, and believed firmly in fairies.
Cherry went off with her ten dolls and
their wardrobes. It was thought prob-
able that she had gone where there was
sea-bathing to be had, and also where it
was cool—as her wax children were
seriously affected by heat.
Molly wanted to find a kitten with
double claws, to be a gypsy, to go up
in a balloon, to dig clams, and to see
Queen Victoria. It was evident that
she was much perplexed by: these va-
ried desires, and her destination was
shrouded in deep mystery, as the only
baggage she took was a book, almost as
big as herself, from the top shelf in
the library, entitled “The Guide to
True Happiness.â€
Last of all, Mamma Lollipop, having
dismissed the coachman and her own
maid, the only servants who were left, locked the doors of the
house, and sauntered off down a little side street.
MOLLY.
Aunt Jane was in trouble. Everybody in Popleyville seemed
to have developed a sweet tooth, since her supplies from Papa
Lollipop’s manufactory had been cut off. Osprey and even
Popleyville itself were full of summer visitors, who thronged her
shop and complained that the acid drops were sweet, and the
10 THE LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION.
barley-sugar sour, that the chocolate creams tasted like flour-
paste, and the caramels were burnt. It was just because they
had been accustomed to Papa Lollipop’s candy that they
thought so; of course, there was no candy to be found like
that. There was nothing that tasted as it used to, they said,
but the corn-balls and the peanut taffy, and Aunt Jane had
to make corn-balls and peanut taffy into the small hours
every night. And the circus was coming, to say nothing of a
menagerie, and two small shows, and a military celebration and
excursion parties and picnics almost every day. The demand for
candy would be stupendous, and already a rival establishment
was set up in the town, prepared to seize Aunt Jane’s trade.
If she had n’t been a Lollipop, she should have gone crazy, she
knew she should, Aunt Jane said. Nobody to help her the least
bit! Her little maid-of-all-work was willing, but she had no
talent for confectionery; it was not to be expected; she didn’t
come from a talented family; her plain molasses candy was
streaked and lumpy. Now, the little Lollipops, down to the .
youngest, had talent to their fingers’ ends. Jam, at the age of
three, had made taffy that was fit to set before the king, Aunt —
Jane proudly told her neighbors; and Cherry’s cayenne lozenges
would draw tears from a stone, so they would.
But alas! just when she wanted them most, the Lollipops had
all written to say they were not coming!
Aunt Jane was standing in front of her door, with a tame
squirrel perched on one shoulder and a kitten on the other. She
was tasting the wares of a wholesale dealer in confectionery, who
drove a pair of prancing steeds, and a huge wagon as gayly
painted as if it belonged to a circus. As soon as she had tasted
_ the candy herself, she gave a bit to the squirrel and offered a. bit
to the kitten, who declined, but rubbed his head against itas a
token of gratitude for the attention.
But Aunt Jane did not find the candies satisfactory, and the
candy dealer was so angry at her disparagement of his wares that
THE LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION. 11
he drove off and left her standing there, candy-less, with several
of her empty jars staring at her from the window.
Aunt:Jane would have tried to call him back; but, at that
moment, her attention was arrested by the driving up of the stage,
and the appearance of three unexpected visitors — Jam and Taffy
and Betty !
She was so overjoyed that she ran forward eagerly and hugged
them all, even Betty, till they were almost purple in the face.
For with Jam and Taffy and Betty to help her, there was no
more fear of the rival shop.
«“ But you mustn’t let Mamma or Papa or any of them know
we are here,†said Taffy, earnestly, “because you know Popley-
ville isn’t fashionable.†She did not want to say that it wasn’t
fashionable to have an aunt who kept a candy-shop, for fear of
wounding Aunt Jane’s feelings, and Aunt Jane didn’t suspect
anything of the kind, for she thought her little shop was some-
thing to be proud of, and would n’t have changed places with a
queen on her throne.
They all made candy for three days, and preat Fa it. was ;
they might not have enjoyed it so much once, but now it was new.
And Aunt Jane’s empty jars were filled, and ‘people were quick
to find out that they were filled with real Lollipop candy. The
shop-bell was kept jingling nearly all the morning, and very few
persons lifted the latch of the rival shop-door.
On the next afternoon, Jam and Taffy thought they would
like a little variety, so they hired adonkey and cart of.the man
next door, took six tin pails and three baskets of luncheon and
the little servant, and started to go a-berrying.
Before they had gone half a mile out of the village, on the
road to the nearest railroad station, they met two very ragged
and forlorn-looking boys. Both looked bruised and torn, as if
they had been fighting, and one was limping painfully. The
other one was a coloured boy, and Taffy remarked that from a
distance he did not look unlike their Coffee, only that. Coffee was
12 THE LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION.
always so spick and span. When they came nearer, they saw
that it was Coffee, and his companion, the poor limping lad with
a blackened face, was Cranberry.
“Hello, pirates!†called Jam, cheerfully. “A short cruise
and a merry one, wasn’t it?†Jam was always provoking.
“ We carried off a boat from a wharf, and the owners didn’t
understand the first principles of piracy; they took us for
thieves!†said Cranberry, in an aggrieved tone. “And Coffee
was seasick, and I had to pay all my money for the boat, and it
wasn’t like a book, anyway. There’s more fun in Popleyville
any day.â€
Jam helped them into the donkey-cart, and drove them to
Aunt Jane’s, where they received such a welcome as is not often
accorded to pirates returned from the high seas.
Jam and Taffy had scarcely started again upon their berrying
excursion, when they met a fine carriage driving through the
main street. A head was thrust out of the carriage window ;
the countenance was a very singular one, though strangely
familiar ; it looked very hot and flurried, and was surrounded by
a mass of disheveled auburn hair, ringlets, braids, and puffs —
all fluttering in the wind.
“T had to come home,†said the piteous voice of Minty.
“There were many more stylish dresses than mine, and a girl
said my bracelets were brass, and I got entangled in the points
of my-parasol and had to be taken to pieces. And I’ll never be
fashionable again!†And off whirled the carriage bearing Minty
to Aunt Jane’s comforting arms.
Before they had gone half a mile farther they met the stage,
and there sat Jujube on the top, making a sketch.
“There are no sunsets anywhere but in Popleyville, so I had to
come,†she explained, calmly working away at her sketch. Inside
the stage sat Caramel lunching off a hard-boiled egg and a pickle.
“Could n’t you find enough picnics?†asked Jam and Taffy,
both together. -
THE LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION. 13
“Tam sure that there are more picnics in Popleyville than
anywhere in the known world,’ replied Caramel, between her’
mouthfuls.
Before Jam and Taffy reached the railr oad station, they met
Raspberry, with a monkey perce on his shoulder and a tam-
bourine in his hand.
“J had an organ, but it was too heavy,†he announced as
soon as they came within hearing. “Monkeys draw better in
Popleyville than they do anywhere else. You’ll just see fun, I
can tell you. I suppose you have n’t a quarter that you could
lend a fellow? The hand-organ business is very expensive.â€
Of course, they had to carry Raspberry to Aunt Jane’s, if they
never got any berries, but it did seem very queer that before they
had gone a mile on their way again, they should meet Sherbet,
with his drum on his back, and his arm in a sling.
«“ Had a good time?†demanded Jam.
“ Splendid! only off on a furlough now, till my country needs
me again,†said Sherbet, and that was all he would say. Sher-
bet wasn’t one to say much, but he looked as if serving his
country had been hard work.
The berrying party went on; they had eraniea Aunt Jane
some berries, and they must be had, however attractive the
family reunion at Aunt Jane’s might seem. When they got as
far as the railroad station, whom should they see alighting from
the. cars but Nutmeg and her nurse.
“ Nobody seems to know anything about fairies except Aunt
Jane, and I don’t believe they live anywhere but in Popleyville.
And ignorant people laugh at one; so I came here,†said Nut-
meg, with dignity.
At the other end of the platform they espied Cherry, who had
evidently come in the same train. She was negotiating with a
man for a baby carriage to transport her ten children in. They
were in a truly pitiable condition, some with sawdust oozing
from every pore, some with broken limbs and noses, and some,
14 THE LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION.
alas! who had evidently been where it was very warm, had
quite lost the shape of humanity and were nothing but lumps
of wax. es
“Travelling didn’t agree with the poor dears,†explained
Cherry. “People with large families never ought to travel.
Popleyville is just the place to bring up children in. I don’t
think I shall ever go anywhere else.â€
The donkey-cart with its load went on, after taking Cherry’s
ten dolls upon the back seat, and making them as comfortable
as circumstances would allow.
Just at sunset, the donkey-cart started for home, with the six
tin pails full to the very top and the luncheon baskets empty to
the very bottom. As they drew near the house Jam and Taffy
saw, walking ahead of them, a very familiar figure. It was a
lady with a richly embroidered shawl over her shoulders.
Yes, it was Mamma Lollipop and the drab. parrot, and a jubi-
lee the Lollipops had, you may be quite sure, when they got
together in Aunt Jane’s house.
“I went back to the old rooms over the shop where we were
so happy before we got rich,†said Mamma Lollipop; “but I was
lonely without any of you, so I thought I would come to see
Aunt Jane. But I should n’t care to have your father know
Just then the door of Aunt Jane’s kitchen, whence came a
delicious odor of cooking candy, was opened, and there stood
Papa Lollipop, looking happier than they had ever seen him look
since he retired from business. *
It seemed that he had come early that morning, and Aunt
Jane had kept him hidden.
“It was a miserable affair — that convention,†said he; “ they
openly favoured using terra alba and poisonous colouring stuff.
The American people will be poisoned if I don’t return to the
business. It is my duty, and I will!†At which announce-
ment all the children clapped their hands with delight.
THE LOLLIPOPS’ VACATION. 15
“ But where is poor little Molasses? She is the only one
missing,†said Mamma Lollipop.
At that very moment a knocking was heard at the door, and,
when it was opened, there stood Molly, panting for breath, and
with her cheeks all stained with dust and tears.. She had a few
torn leaves of the big “ Guide to Happiness †still clutched in her
hand, but she tossed them away as Aunt Jane caught her in her
arms.
“Tt’s a silly old book,†sobbed Molly, “all full of big words
’ that don’t say anything about good times. Aunt Jane knows
ten times as much about ’em, so I came here.â€
Popleyville never was so pleasant in the world as it was that
summer, and I only wish I had space to tell you of all the fun
that the Lollipops got out of their vacation, after all.
THE GENTLEMAN FROM CHINA.
THERE he stood, on the nursery mantel-piece, “ grin’n’ and
grin’n’, as if he’d grin the hairt out iv him,†as Nora, the nurse,
said, and nobody seemed to know how he came there. He
might have walked all the way from China, and set himself up
there of his own accord, for all that Dode or Teddy or Marion
or the baby knew. But he looked so much like a gentleman on
a screen down in the library, that Marion ran down to see if it
were not he. She had thought, before, that he must have a
very stupid time, standing there on the screen, always squinting
with his queer long eyes at nothing in particular, and she did
not think it in the least strange that he had preferred to hop off,
if he could, and come up to the nursery where there was always
something going on.
But no; there he was on the screen, squinting away, just as
usual, and when you came to compare them, the resemblance
was not so very great. Instead of an agreeable smile, the one
on the screen had a scowl, and his petticoats were purple,
instead of red, like the gentleman’s in the nursery, and his tunic
and trousers, instead of being a lovely gold colour like his, wer
a very dull, unpleasant pink. He had no queer, box-like cap
perched on the top of his head and tied under his chin, like the
one upstairs ; but when you came to his pigtail, there was the
greatest difference. The Chinese gentleman in the nursery had
a pigtail of “truly†hair, well combed and glossy, and reaching
almost to his feet; while the one on the screen had only an
embroidered one, that couldn’t have looked like anything but:
sewing silk, if he had come off.
16
THE GENTLEMAN FROM CHINA. 17
Marion decided that they could be only distant relatives.
When she got back to the nursery, she found that an aston-
ishing thing had happened.
Teddy had given the Chinese gentleman’s pigtail a jerk, and
there had suddenly appeared in the front of his queer little box
of a cap the word, SATURDAY.
It was Saturday. They did not need to be told that, for
Saturday was a holiday. But how he knew what day of the
week it was, the children could not understand.
The letters seemed to be rattling about in his head like the
bits of glass in a kaleidoscope, and suddenly to rattle themselves
together into a word.
“It’s a wise ould felly he is,†said Nora, shaking her head,
mysteriously. “It’s meself knew that same be the quare looks
iv him. He’ll be afther watchin’ iverythin’ that’s go’n’ on,
and if there’s mischief done he’ll not kape it til himself. Och,
but he has a shly way wid him.â€
The children looked at each other in dismay; there was cer-
tainly something very queer about him. He ran his tongue out
in a mocking and very unpleasant way when the word appeared
in front of his cap, and there was no denying that he had a
very sly and knowing twinkle in his eye.
He seemed to know altogether more than was proper for a
gentleman who, after all, was only made of wood, if he was
Chinese ; and if he was going to be a spy, and tell who did mis-
Chief, he was not to be tolerated. Teddy gave his pigtail
another jerk, after a rather cross fashion, and out came his
tongue in that very impolite way, and up into his cap popped
the word Sunday.
“Pooh! he is n’t much,†said Dode. “ He is only just fixed
up inside so that he can tell one day after another. Just let him
-alone, and he ’ll say to-morrow is Monday. Nora is only trying
to scare you. I should think she might know that J would
know better.†And Dode drew himself up to look just as tall as
18 THE GENTLEMAN FROM CHINA.
he possibly could, which was not, after all, so tall as he could
wish, and did not seem to impress Nora, although it did impress
Teddy and Marion and the baby.
“He’s only an old, wooden image, is he? and not so very
pretty, either!†said Marion, who almost always believed what
Dode told her.
“He’s a calendar! He’s useful. I know Aunt Esther
bought him,†said Dode, with great contempt.
Aunt Esther was very kind about some things, and she had a
big dog named Ponto, who could dance a polka, though she
valued him only because he kept burglars away. But she had
one failing that almost spoiled her; she would make useful pres-
ents.
It was not of the least avail for Marion to hint, about Christ-
mas time, that her doll, Lady Jane Grey, was suffering for a
Saratoga trunk full of stylish clothes; Aunt Esther was sure to
send her a work-box, or a writing-desk. She gave Teddy a
dozen pocket-handkerchiefs when he wanted a pistol; and Dode
a very dry History of the World, in seven volumes, when he had
hinted for a banjo.
She took Teddy to a lecture on Fossil Remains, when he
wanted to go to the circus, and she made Dode go to the School
of Anatomy to see a lot of skeletons, instead of to the Zodlogical
_ Gardens. She never bought candy, and she thought Mother
Goose was silly. She said dolls were a waste of time, and she
thought drums made a noise.
Aunt Esther had no children of her own. They all died
young. Dode said it was no wonder.
It did not seem, at first thought, as if Aunt Esther could
have bought the Gentleman from China. He was so red-and-
gold, and had such a grin; he looked exactly as if Aunt Esther
would not approve of him.
“If you pulled his pigtail every morning he would tell you
what day of the week it was, and that was useful, certainly ;
THE GENTLEMAN FROM CHINA. 19
but if Aunt Esther had bought a Chinese Gentleman at
all, she would have bought a drab one, who wouldn’t under
any circumstances have run out his tongue,’ the children
thought.
- How he came there was not explained to the satisfaction of
Marion and Teddy and the baby, whatever Dode might think ;
and they did think he was a little “quare,†and feel a little awe
of him, although they pretended not to.
He had such an opportunity to make himself disagreeable if
he really could watch all the mischief that was done, and tell
who was at the bottom of it! For there was no denying that
they were full of mischief — Dode and Marion and the baby.
Teddy did not really belong to the family ; he was a little orphan
cousin. “He is just the same as one of us, only not so bad,â€
Marion always explained.
It was not often Teddy who did the mischief, but it was very:
often Teddy who was blamed for it.
For several days the Gentleman from China conducted himself
as mildly and unobtrusively as a wooden gentleman might be
expected to; he certainly saw plenty of mischief, if he kept his
eyes open, but he never mentioned it, and the children grew so
bold as to laugh to scorn Nora’s warnings that he was a “ foxy
ould felly, that was layin’ up a hape o’ saycrets to let out agin
em, some foine day.â€
His smile became very tiresome, and it was decided that he
was not, after all, very handsome. His pigtail was not pulled,
even once a day, and the children’s big brother, Rob, said he
“smiled and smiled and was a villain,†because he so seldom
told the truth about the day of the week.
One rainy day, Dode did take him down to try to find out
what was inside of him. He was a long time about it; but he
_put him back rather suddenly at last, and went off as if he were
ina hurry. And neither Marion nor Teddy nor the baby cared
enough about the Chinese Gentleman to remember to ask him,
20 THE GENTLEMAN FROM CHINA.
when he came back, if: he found out where the gentleman kept
his letters.
One reason for this may have been that the nursery was enliv-
ened, just then, by three of the most bewitching kittens that
ever frisked. Three fuzzy balls with blue eyes, and the pinkest
of noses and toes ; and they tore and scampered over everything,
like small whirlwinds. They understood so thoroughly the art
of being agreeable, there was such variety in their entertain-
ments, and they enjoyed them so much themselves, it was no
wonder that they put the Chinese Gentleman in the background.
The kittens, to be sure, could not tell you what day of the week
it was, —the baby had pulled each of their tails to see, — but
so long as there was. time enough in it to turn somersaults,
race together pell-mell, and tumble headlong, they did n’t care.
It was a great shame that such lovely kittens should not have
had prettier names; but there had been so many kittens in that
family that the children had exhausted all the pretty names, or
got fairly tired out thinking them up. They had had Gyps, and
Fluffs, and Daisies, and Muffs, and Pinkies, and Fannies, and
Flossies, and Minnies; and dignified names, too, — Lord This
and Lady That; a splendid old patriarch named Moses, and a
wicked little black kitten called Beelzebub; and now there
really did n’t seem to be any names left for these three but Rag,
Tag, and Bob-tail; and Rag, Tag, and Bob-tail they were accord-
ingly named.
Bob-tail did have a funny little bob of a tail; it looked as if
half of it had been bitten off; that was what made them think
of his name, and his name suggested the others. Bob-tail was —
white, without a speck of any other colour upon him; but I am.
sorry to say that he usually looked somewhat dingy. His one
fault was that he would not keep himself clean.
Marion and the baby — who was a three-year-old boy, if he
was still called the baby, and could do as much mischief as an
ordinary ten-year-old one — had become so disgusted with Bob-
A MOST EXTRAORDINARY THING HAPPENED.
THE GENTLEMAN FROM CHINA. 23
tail’s want of cleanliness, that they had resolved to dye him.
He really ought to be of some dark colour that would not show
dirt, they thought.
And they had found, in Mamma’s room, a bottle of indelible
ink, of a bright, beautiful, purple color, which, they decided,
would be just the very thing to dye him with.
The operation was performed that very day, as soon as Dode
had finished examining the interior arrangements of the Chinese
Gentleman, and left the room.
They waited until he had gone, because he always wanted to
superintend things, and thought he ought to, because he was the
oldest. Marion and the baby thought, as it was their own idea,
they ought to have the privilege of dyeing Bob-tail just as they
pleased; so it was just as well not to let Dode know anything
about it until it was done.
Teddy was allowed to look on, and was finally promoted to
the honour of holding Bob-tail, who, being only a kitten, had not
sense enough to understand the advantage of being dyed purple,
and struggled and scratched like a little fury.
The baby thought he would be prettier dyed in spots ; but that
was found to be impossible, because he would not keep still.
The only way was to pour the ink over him, and they had to
take great care to prevent it from getting into his eyes. A
great deal went upon the carpet; but, as Nora was down in the’
kitchen, ironing, and would never know how it came there, Iam
sorry to say that they did not think that was of much conse-
quence. Marion did look up; once, at the Gentleman from
China, to see if he showed any signs of noticing what was going
on, any more than any image would, for she could not rid her-
self of the fancy that, after all, Nora might be right about his
being “quare†and “shly.†But he exhibited only- his usual
pleasant grin, and no more of a twinkle in his queer, long eyes.
Marion concluded that it would be just as absurd to suspect him
of noticing what was going on as it would be to suspect the
24 THE GENTLEMAN FROM CHINA.
little brass Cupid on the chandelier, who always had his arrow
poised, but never let it fly.
It was proposed to hold Bob-tail over the furnace-register
until the ink was thoroughly dry ; but Nora suddenly opened the
‘door, and Bob-tail took advantage of the commotion which her
entrance caused to make his escape. It happened, unfortunately, _
that the street-door had been left ajar, and out Bob-tail slipped.
When Marion and Teddy reached the lower hall there was no
kitten to be seen. They called. until they were hoarse, but no _
Bob-tail came.
“ Perhaps he has gone to see if his mother will. know him,â€
suggested the baby; for Bob-tail’s mother, a sober-minded and
venerable tabby, lived only a few blocks away.
“Tf he should happen to see himself in a looking -glass, he
might think it was n’t he, and never come home,†said Marion ;
“just like the little old woman on the king’s highway who had
her petticoats cut off, and said:
«¢Qh, lauk a mercy on me! This surely can’t be I!’â€
“1 ’m not afraid of that,†said Teddy, after some deliberation,
“ because he ’ll know himself by his bob-tail.â€
Still, they all felt very anxious and uneasy, and would have
rushed out in pursuit of him, only that it was raining very
hard, and they were not allowed to go out.
They thought he would be sure to come home to supper, for
Bob-tail was the greediest of the three, and always cried lustily
for his saucer of warm milk.
But supper-time came, and no Bob-tail.
It was so sad to miss his shrill little “mew!†that they all
three cried, and were quite cross to Rag and Tag, who had not
got lost.
The next morning, they were all up bright and early to see if
Bob-tail had not come home. But, alas! there were Rag and
THE GENTLEMAN FROM CHINA. 25
Tag alone, and so dejected in spirit that they hardly cared to
play, and looking very melancholy with the bits of black ribbon
which Dode, who was rather heartless and would make fun, had
tied around their left forefeet.
Marion and Teddy went up and down the street, and called’
Bob-tail in beseeching tones, but no Bob-tail responded.
When they came home from school, and found that he had not
come back, it was resolved that something must be done.
“T’d rather have him dir-dir-dirty-white and found, than pur-
pur-purple and lost!†sobbed the baby.
"And they all agreed to that sentiment. But that did not help
matters-in the least.
“If the Chinese Gentleman really knew as much as Norah
said, he might tell us where Bob-tail is,†said Teddy. “Let’s
give his pigtail an awful pull! â€
“Pooh! he’ll only say it is Wednesday. I suppose he will
tell the truth, because he was pulled yesterday, but we all know
that already,†said Marion.
Dode cast a somewhat uneasy glance at the Gentleman from
China, but said nothing.
Teddy gave his pigtail “an awful pull.†And a most extra-
ordinary thing happened. Instead of the name of the day of the
week, this was what appeared in the front of the Chinese Gentle-
man’s head-dress :
SEND E W
Some of the letters were tipsily askew, but the message was
plain enough. “Send E. W.†Of course, E. W. stood for
Edward Warren, Teddy’s name. :
Teddy turned pale, and Marion thought that Nora was cer-
tainly right, and wished that she had believed her before.
~ Dode looked a little frightened, but he laughed and went and
gave the Chinese Gentleman’s pigtail another twitch.
“ Well find out whether he really means it,†he said. —
26 THE GENTLEMAN FROM CHINA.
Those letters fell away, and up came: YES.
The letters were even more askew than the others, and there
was a great rattling before they came, as if he had to make a
great effort to get them up into his cap. But here it was, as
plain a “ Yes†as one could wish to see.
“‘ There ’s no doubt about it; he means for you to go, Teddy,â€
said Dode, laughing still, though he did look a little frightened
—and Dode was not easily scared.
«“ And oh, Teddy, perhaps you will find Bob-tail!†cried
Marion, forgetting her fears in joy at this prospect.
Teddy prepared at once to obey the Chinese Gentleman’s
direction. He had not the least idea where to go, but he had
faith that he should find Bob-tail, for the Chinese Gentleman
seemed gifted with miraculous powers.
Dode and Marion and the baby escorted him down to ‘the
door; and Marion, determined to have everything properly done,
tied a handkerchief over his eyes, and made him whirl around
until he could not tell which way he was facing, and then
started him off. When he took the handkerchief off, he found
he was turned in just the opposite direction to the one he had
intended to follow; but, since Marion was sure it was the
proper way to do, he went on, having a queer feeling that the
Chinese Gentleman had had something to do with turning him
around.
On he went, up one street and down. another, peering into
every alleyway, and calling “ Kitty, Kitty,†or “ Bobby, Bobby,â€
continually. Several times he stopped and asked persons whom
he met if they had seen “a purple kitten without very much of
a tail.†They all looked surprised and said “No;†one boy
laughed and said there was no such thing as a purple kitten.
Teddy did not condescend to explain, and, as the other boy was
a big one, Teddy did not tell him what he thought of him.
He grew very weary and discouraged, and had begun to think
that the Gentleman from China was a humbug, when suddenly
_ THE GENTLEMAN FROM CHINA. 27
he espied a crowd collected around a hand-organ. Perhaps
there was a monkey! If there was anything in the world that
Teddy thoroughly delighted in, it was a monkey. He forgot
that he was tired, he almost forgot Bob -tail, for there was a
monkey, and. an uncommonly attractive one, too, with scarlet
trousers and a yellow jacket, ear-rings in his ears, and a funny
little hat, with a feather standing upright in it. He was hold-
ing his hat out for pennies, and, suddenly seeing a lady at an
upper window of a house, he darted nimbly on to the window-
blind, and so made his way up to her.
The lady put some money into his hat, and he turned away;
but something on the roof of the house suddenly caught his eye,
and he darted up the spout to the very top of the house!
There sat a kitten —a most forlorn, and dirty, and draggled-
looking kitten, of a dull, dingy, black colour, with streaks and
spots of dirty white here and there, and not very much of a tail
— Bob-tail’s very self; but oh, how quanees from the happy,
frisky Bob-tail of other days!
The monkey advanced, chattering, and with uplifted paw,
and cuffed poor Bob-tail’s ears.
The kitten made a fierce little spit at the monkey. And then,
seeming to be overcome with fear of a kind of enemy which was
new to his experience, and might be altogether too much for
him, he turned and fled.
Teddy could see an open sky-light, and the tip of the kitten’ s
tail vanishing into it.
Teddy ran up the steps of the house and rang the bell.
“ My kitten is in your house. I saw him go down through
your sky-light,’ he said to the young girl who opened the
door.
“Ts it a queer kitten, that looks as if he’d been through
everything ?†said the girl.
“Yes, perhaps he does. He’s been dyed,†said Teddy, rather
shamefacedly.
28 THE GENTLEMAN FROM CHINA.
“Dyed? What a cruel, wicked boy you must be to dye a
poor little kitten!†said the girl, severely. ‘He has been cry-
ing around here all day. He would n’t eat anything, he was so
frightened. I’m sure I don’t know about letting you have
him.â€
“ We thought he would be prettier purple. But we’ll never
dye him again,†said Teddy, meekly.
The girl seemed to have some difficulty in catching Bob-tail,
but she at last appeared with him, though he was struggling
frantically for freedom.
The moment he saw Teddy he made a leap into his arms.
He was of a forgiving disposition, and willing to overlook the
dyeing, or perhaps he had. found, already, that there is no place
like home. At all events, he curled up snugly in Teddy’s arms,
and Teddy, rejoicing, carried him home.
Great was the joy among the children over the wanderer
restored to the bosom of his family, but Rag and Tag were
somewhat cold and reserved in their manner toward him.
They eyed him askance for awhile, Tag even showing an
inclination to do battle with him, but at last they both drew
near and smelled of him, and seeming reassured by this, they
set to work to restore him to his natural colour. But they
retired from the labour with disgusted faces before long, evi-
dently not finding the taste of the ink agreeable.
It was night then, and Dode and Marion did not think Bob-
tail looked very badly, considering that purple is not expected
to be very pretty by gas-light; but the next morning Marion
thought he did look “ horrible,’ as she said.
“Oh, I wish we had him back as he was!†she exclaimed.
“JT don’t think purple is in good taste for kittens, and he’s
almost black anyway, and so streaked! What shall we do?â€
“ Ask the old chap; maybe he “ll know,†said Dode.
“Oh, the Chinese Gentleman! Do you dare to twitch his
pigtail, Dode?†asked Marion, in a voice of awe.
THE GENTLEMAN FROM CHINA. 29
Dode pulled it, and with a great deal of rattling — more
than he had made just to tell the days of the week — up came
these letters: DURTY.
“Dirty! why, of course Bob-tail is dirty. -That’s true, old
fellow, if you can’t spell!†cried Dode.
“Oh, hush, Dody! Perhaps that’s the way they spell it in
China. How could he know?†cried Marion.
“JT don’t see that we know any more,†said Teddy. “ You’d
better ask him again, Dode, how we can clean him.â€
Dode twitched the Chinese Gentleman’s pigtail again, he
being the only one who had the courage to do it.
STAY came up, the letters askew, as if he were in a great
hurry.
“ Stay? What does he mean by that? We won’t let Bob-tail
stay purple, if that’s what you mean, my ancient chap,†said
Dode, whose bump of reverence was but small.
“T should n’t want to be so rude to a witch like him,†said
Teddy, seriously. “He might turn you into something.â€
“There aren’t any gentleman witches in my book,†said
Marion, doubtfully; “but perhaps they have them in China.
Pull him once more, Dode, and be awfully polite.â€
Dode pulled, and TRY came up, straight and trim.
“Try! So we will. We will wash him like everything,†said
Marion. ;
And into the bath-tub went poor Bob-tail as soon as they
came from school that afternoon, and such a scrubbing as he
had it is probable that no other kitten was ever compelled to
endure since the world began.
They could hardly tell whether he looked any better or not
that night, he was so wet, and dragegled, and unhappy. And the
next morning he was still shivering, and seemed, as Marion
said, “as if he were going to have a fit of sickness.†The
purple had come off a good deal, but that was no comfort if he
were going to die.
30 THE GENTLEMAN FROM CHINA.
“T’d a good deal rather have him pur-pur-purple than not to
have him a ter-ter-tall!†cried the baby.
“ Oh, Dode, ask the Chinese Gentleman what we shall do for
him!†exclaimed Marion.
“ All right,†said Dode. “It’s Friday to-day, isn’t it?†-
“ What has that to do with it?†demanded Teddy.
“Qh, nothing,†said Dode, “only he ll be sure not to say the
same that he did yesterday.â€
“ What do you mean, Dode?†said Marion.
“Oh, nothing, only they never repeat themselves in China,â€
said Dode, who could be very disagreeable about keeping things
to himself. ;
He jerked the pigtail, and IRDF greeted the children’s
astonished eyes.
“ What does it mean ?†exclaimed Marion.
“Tt’s probably Chinese. If you only understood Chinese
_you’d know just how to cure Bob-tail. I’Il pull again and ask
him to speak English.â€
The pigtail being jerked, up came these letters:
DRY.
“That's English, anyway! And I don’t suppose he’s quite
dry, or he wouldn’t shiver so. Let’s wrap him up in warm
blankets.â€
The Chinese Gentleman’s command was accordingly obeyed,
and in twenty-four hours Bob-tail was himself again, and really
more a white kitten than a purple one.
Sunday afternoon, it happened that Dode and Marion were
alone in the nursery. Marion, who had been earnestly looking at
the Gentleman from China, suddenly said, in a very serious tone:
“Dode, do you think he really is a witch?â€
“Oh, you goose! TI should think anybody might see through
that,†said Dode, who was in an unusually good-natured mood.
“T broke him, trying to find out how he was made, and now,
instead of coming up in order, the letters that make the name of
THE GENTLEMAN FROM CHINA, 31
the day come any way ; that’s all. Sometimes it makes a word,
and sometimes it doesn’t. It has happened queerly, sometimes,
and that’s all. Yesterday I pulled him, and he said DUTY;
now we ’ll see what he’ll say.â€
DUNS came up, at which Dode clapped his hands provok-
ingly, and declared that the old Chinee had some sense, after
all; for if that didn’t spell “ dunce,†what did it spell ? and.
didn’t it just describe the girl that thought he was a witch?
It was rather hard to make Marion believe Dode’s simple
explanation, and he told her, grandly, that “half the grown
people in the world could be humbugged by a simple thing like-
that, which any fellow, with a head on his shoulders, could
explain to them in two minutes.â€
Teddy, on being summoned, was inclined to agree with
Marion in thinking that the Chinese Gentleman must have
brains, instead of machinery, in the head which that wonderful
pigtail grew out of.
But they all united in one opinion, that he was “ the splendid-
est fun they ever had; and if Aunt Esther did buy him, he ©
made amends for all the useful presents she had ever given
them.†:
It happened that Aunt Esther came to see them the very next
day. The first thing that she said, when she came into the
nursery, was:
“T am very glad to hear that you liked the present I sent you.
I did n’t suppose you would, because it is not a frivolous, useless
toy. Iam sorry that it is broken, and I will have it repaired.â€
“ Oh, Aunt Esther, please don’t!†cried Marion. “ We hated
him when he went right. We only like him spoiled!â€
Aunt Esther heaved a great sigh.
“Tt is just as I might have expected. You never will care
for anything useful. Hereafter, I -shall give my presents to
deserving children.â€
Just at that moment Dode slyly pulled the Chinese Gentle-
32 THE GENTLEMAN FROM CHINA.
man’s pigtail, and — of course it was very impolite and wrong,
but he didn’t know any better — the Chinese Gentleman, run-
nine out his tongue, and, it seemed to the children, with a
broader grin than he had ever grinned before, rattled these
letters up into his cap: O YY.
And Aunt Esther will not believe, to this day, that the chil-
dren did not mean to make fun of her.
LITTLE MISS MUFFET AND HER SPIDER.
«“ Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet,
Eating of curds and whey :
There came a great spider, and sat down beside her,
And frightened Miss Muffet away.â€
SHE was not Mother Goose’s Miss Muffet; she was not even a
relative.
I may as well tell you that, in the beginning, and then you
won’t be disappointed. For I know that we are all very much
interested in that Miss Muffet. Mother Goose was such a
shrewd old lady! She knew how to tell just enough, and not
too much. Some story-tellers would have informed us whether
curds and whey were little Miss Muffet’s customary diet, or an
unusual treat, and whether they agreed with her ; just what kind
of a bowl and spoon she used, and who gave them to her;
whether she had her hair banged, and whether her little brother
wore copper-toed shoes; to say nothing of the spider’s whole
family history, and whether he was only prowling about in a
general way, or had special designs on Miss Muffet.
And when we knew all that, we should have no further
interest in little Miss Muffet, nor in the spider. I am afraid we
might even forget that they had ever existed.
But now we all have an opportunity to set our imaginations
at work, and, if we are Yankees, we “ guess†who Miss Muffet
was, and where she lived, and, especially, where she went when
the spider frightened her away, and whether she ever came back
to her curds and whey.
Ido not profess to know any more than anybody else about
33
34 LITTLE MISS MUFFET AND HER SPIDER.
that Miss Muffet. As I said before, the little Miss Muffet whose
story I am going to tell was no relation to her, whatever ; and,
as for the spider, he certainly was not even a descendant of
Mother Goose’s spider.
To tell you the truth, my little Miss Muffet’s real name was
not Miss Muffet at all. It was Daffy Crawford. No,—now I
think of it, that was not her real name, neither! She was
called Daffy, because she had the. yellowest hair that ever was
seen; and as her mother had a fancy for dressing her in green,
she did look like a daffodil. The first person who noticed this
called her Daffodil, and Daffy-down-dilly, and by and by it was
shortened to Daffy, and everybody, even her own father and
mother, adopted it. They almost forgot that she possessed such:
a dignified name as Frances Imogen.
How she came to be called “little Miss Muffet†will take me
longer to tell; but I assure you I know all the facts of the case,
for I was well acquainted with her, and I was, as you might say,
on intimate terms with the spider.
It was one summer, down at Dashaway Beach, that Daffy met
the spider.
She had been making mud-pies all the morning with Tuny
Trimmer and Jimmy Short-legs, — that was not his real name,
but they called him so because he still wore knickerbockers,
although he was a very old boy, —and with her own brother,:
Sandy. Sandy and Jimmy Short-legs both felt above mud-
pies, as a general thing, but they were down on the beach, and
the tide was out so far that they could neither wade nor fish,
and they had built an oven of stones to bake the pies in, and ©
made a fire of drift-wood, so it was a more exciting amusement
than the making of mud-pies usually is.
Daffy and Tuny were very proud of the company they were
in. Sandy and Jimmy, besides being boys, were almost eleven,
and they didn’t very often condescend to play with girls. Tuny
Trimmer did everything they told her to, even to taking off her
LITTLE MISS MUFFET AND HER SPIDER. 385
stockings and shoes and wading into the mud up to her knees.
She did not even rebel, when, after the mud-pie making began
to grow monotonous, Jimmy Short-legs proposed to play that her
new Paris doll was a clam, and buried it deep down in the mud.
Daffy took off her shoes and stockings, and got down on all
fours, and pretended that she was a frog, so that Sandy could
swallow her when he was being a crocodile—though she did not
at all enjoy having him a crocodile, he made up such horrid
faces, and squirmed so. But when they wanted to play Indian,
and tie Lady Florabella, her wax doll, to a stake, and burn her
up, while they danced the Ojibbewa war-dance around her, that
was too much even for Daffy’s accommodating disposition. She
- held out against it stoutly, although they called her a baby, and
said that girls never wanted to have any fun. And Jimmy
Short-legs, who read story-papers, said Florabella would be like
“ the Golden-haired Captive of the wild Apaches.†And when
Sandy attempted to seize Lady Florabella, and make a martyr of
her against her mamma’s will, Daffy snatched her away and ran.
“ She’s a homely old thing, anyhow!†Sandy called after her.
“ She isn’t pretty enough’ to be the Golden-haired Captive! And
I’ll burn her up in the kitchen stove when I catch her —old
pink silk dress, and yellow wig, and all!â€
This very disrespectful way of speaking of Lady Florabella
excited Daffy even more than the fearful threat.
“ You are a very worse boy!†she screamed, with tears, “and
I shall tell Susan of you, right off!â€
But as Susan, their nurse, had accepted an invitation to take
a sail with an old sailor admirer, who had appeared at Dasha-
way Beach in the character of a fisherman, it was not easy to
“tell her, right off.†The stones cut her bare feet, but Daffy
ran until she felt sure that Lady Florabella was out of danger.
Then she looked back to see if Tuny were not coming, too. But
alas, no! Tuny showed no sympathy in her friend’s griefs.
And she evidently -preferred the society of those wicked boys.
36 LITTLE MISS MUFFET AND HER SPIDER.
She was even allowing them to dig up her doll, who had been a
clam, and tie her to a stake: Tuny’s doll was going to be the
Golden-haired Captive!
“1 don’t know how she can bear it!†said Daffy, giving Lady
Florabella an extra hug at the thought.
It was clear that Tuny Trimmer had not the feelings. of a
mother. And such a beautiful doll, too, with “ truly†hair, and
turquoise earrings !
“T wonder what her Aunt Kate, who sent it to her from
Paris, would say,†nouent Daffy. “I don’t believe she ll get
another very soon.’
What life would be without a doll, Daffy could not imagine.
She did not believe that she could possibly endure it, so she
determined to go on a little farther, lest Sandy’s desire for burn-
ing golden-haired captives should be increased by that one
experiment.
She walked along until she came to the lobster-boiling estab-
lishment of Old Uncle Jollifer. He had been a fisherman all
his life, and was rough, and jolly, and kind. He called Daffy
up to his door, and gave her a very small boiled lobster, warm
from the pot. And with this undef one arm, and Lady Flora-
bella under the other, Daffy wandered on. It was not altogether
to get out of Sandy’s reach that she went on now. It seemed
like an adventure to have gone so far by herself, and she wanted
to see how it would seem to go still farther. She thought that,
having come so far, she might as well see how the world
looked around the Point where she had never been. So she
travelled on, out of sight of the Ojibbewa war-dance — out of
sight, even, of Uncle Jollifer’s lobster-factory.
At last she grew so tired and warm that she had to sit down
on the big stone to rest. She discovered that she was hungry,
too; so she cracked the shell of her lobster with a stone, and
began to eat it.
She was just remarking to Florabella that she had never in
LITTLE MISS MUFFET AND HER SPIDER. 37
all her. life eaten anything that tasted so good, when, stretched
out from somewhere behind her, came a long, lean, black hand
and arm, and snatched a claw of her lobster.
Daffy screamed and ran, as was no wonder ; but she had gone
only a few steps when she realised that she had left Lady Flora-
bella behind.
Poor Lady Florabella! had she escaped from the Ojibbewa
Indians only to fall into other dangers? Daffy ventured to
MISS MUFFET AND HER SPIDER.
look back, although expecting that long, lean, black hand to
clutch her as she did so.
No; there he sat, quietly devouring her lobster, — the very
longest, thinnest, raggedest, blackest, and woolliest negro that
ever was seen.
Now, Daffy was not at all familiar with coloured people, as
her home was in a New England town, where they were very
rarely seen. But she was very familiar with goblins, and
gnomes, and imps, and demons, because Susan, her nurse, knew
38 LITTLE MISS MUFFET AND HER SPIDER.
an inexhaustible stock of stories in which they figured; indeed,
if you might trust Susan’s account, she herself had enjoyed an
intimate acquaintance with them. And these interesting people
were, according to Susan, invariably black.
This apparition, who was calmly eating her lobster, — with
Lady Florabella lying across his knees! — might be a negro.
Daffy knew, of course, that there were such people. She had
heard all about Topsy and little Eva; she had once seen an old
Dinah, who was cook in a family where she visited. He might
be a negro, but it struck Daffy as much more probable that he
was an imp or a goblin.
It was horrible to run away and leave Lady Florabella in his
clutches; but, if she staid, he would probably turn her into a
white cat. Anybody who had anything to do with imps and
goblins was always turned into a white cat in Susan’s stories.
So Daffy turned again and ran as fast as one might be
expected to run from the possibility of becoming a white
cat.
The negro boy ran after her, holding Lady Florabella above
his head, and shouting :
“ Hyar, missy, aint yer gwine to fotch dis yere?â€
Daffy could not understand a word that he said, but she had
no doubt that he was casting a spell over her. .The witches in
Susan’s stories always repeated a mysterious jargon of words
when they transformed their victims into animals. She was
very much surprised, and drew a long breath of relief, to find
that, after he had repeated that gibberish three times, she was
still Daffy Crawford. There was not the least sign of white fur,
nor claws, nor whiskers, about her. Perhaps the charm would
not work. There might be a good fairy who prevented it.
But he was following her, as fast as his long legs would carry
him, still shouting, and waving Florabella wildly over his head.
Perhaps he wanted to “ grind her bones to make his bread,†like
the giant who was always saying, “ Fee-fi-fo-fum !â€
LITTLE MISS MUFFET AND HER SPIDER. 39
Daffy had come to a long pier, reaching. down to the -water,
and a little row-boat lay at the end of it. Wild with fright, she
‘ran down the pier and jumped into the boat. It was only
loosely fastened by a rope, and Daffy untied it. Just one push
she gave, with all her little might, and away floated the boat on
the receding tide. By the time her pursuer reached the end of
the dock, a wide expanse of water lay between it and Daffy’s
boat. He danced about and gesticulated frantically. Daffy
thought he had gone crazy with rage and disappointment that
she had escaped from his clutches; and it really did look like it.
He had no boat, so he could not follow her, and Daffy felt quite
secure; and, if she had only had Lady Florabella, she would
have been happy. She had not an oar, nor a scrap of sail, and
would not have been able to use either if she had had it; so she
was as completely at the mercy of the winds and waves as were
the Three Wise Men of Gotham, who went to sea in a bowl.
But she was accustomed to going on the water, and was not at
all afraid of it. It was a new sensation to be all alone in a boat,
drifting she did not know where; but I am afraid the truth of
the matter was that Daffy did not know enough to be afraid.
Susan’s stories had filled her mind with fears of imaginary
dangers, but they had had very little to say about real ones.
Suddenly her pursuer turned back, as if a new idea had struck
him. Daffy watched him out of sight, feeling greatly relieved
that he had gone, but with her heart aching at the loss of Flora-
bella. He had gone off, with the doll thrown carelessly over his
shoulder, and, as long as he was in sight, Daffy watched Flora-
bella’s beautiful golden curls dancing in the sunlight. It was
truly a pitiful sight — Florabella carried off by a dreadful goblin,
and her mamma powerless to help her! ,
But, very soon, Daffy began to think that she was not much
better off than Florabella. The sea was very rough, and the
little boat pitched and tossed so that it made her giddy; and now
and then a great wave that looked like a mountain would come
40 LITTLE MISS MUFFET AND HER SPIDER.
rolling along, threatening to swallow her up. She was very
much frightened, although the great wave would only take the
tiny boat up on its broad back, in the most careful and friendly
manner, and, after giving it two or three little shakes, set it
-down uninjured. When a wickeder wave might come along,
there was no telling; and home was farther and farther away
every moment.
At length, Daffy saw a little sail-boat bearing down upon her.
It was such a very tiny sail-boat that, at first, she thought it was
only a white-winged gull.,
A young man was lying at full length in the bottom of the
boat. He had on a velvet jacket, and a red smoking-cap, with a
gilt tassel, and he was playing on a violin and singing as uncon-
cernedly as if boats could be trusted to sail themselves.
His song broke off when he caught sight of Daffy, and he ex-
claimed, in a tone of great surprise:
“ Hello, little girl! How in the world did you get here?â€
“How do you do, sir? I came in the boat,†replied Daffy,
calmly, and looking at him with an expression of great
dignity.
She was very particular about politeness, and she thought
“ Hello, little girl!†was a too familiar greeting for a strange
gentleman. ©
“TI don’t suppose you swam, although I did take you for a
mermaid, at first; but how do you happen to be all alone ?â€
“ Because there is n’t anybody with me,†replied Daffy, coldly.
She did n’t mean to be rude, but she did n’t like to be asked so
many questions.
“Where is your mother? Where is your nurse? Where do
you live? How came you in the boat?â€
Daffy heaved a great sigh. He was such a man to ask questions
that she began to think she might as well tell him all about it.
“T ran away from Ojibbewa Indians and a jet-black goblin,â€
she said.
LITTLE MISS MUFFET AND HER SPIDER. 41
“ Wh-e-w!†he whistled. “That’s about enough to make
anybody run away, I should think.â€
He stared at her, in a perplexed way, for a moment, and then
he began to laugh.
Daffy thought it very rude of him to make light of the dan-
gers she had passed, in that way.
«‘ Where are the Indians and the goblin?†he asked.
“The Indians — well, I think they ’ve gone to get their bath-
ing-dresses on, by this time; and the goblin—he was a truly
goblin, as black as anything, and his lips stuck out, and. he
winked his eyes dreadfully — he ran away when I got into the
boat. But, oh, dear! he took Florabella with him, and I don’t
suppose I shall ever see her again.â€
“Ts Florabella your sister?†asked the young man, looking
more serious.
“No; she is my dearest doll, and he will be sure to shut her
up in an enchanted castle, for a thousand years, if he doesn’t
cut off her head, like Bluebeard’s wives. Don’t you think you
could find his castle and rescue Florabella, and cut off his head ?
If you would, I would marry you, just like the stories, and we
should live happy ever after.â€
“Thank you ; that is very kind of you!†said the young man,
but he threw back his head, and laughed, as if it were something
very funny, instead of a very serious matter, as Daffy thought.
While they had been talking, he had fastened Daffy’s boat
with a rope to the stern of his own. It seemed to Daffy that he
was taking a great liberty; she thought he had better have
asked her permission.
“ What did you do that for?†she asked him, sharply.
“T am going to take you home, if I can find out where you
live. What do you suppose would become of you, if I should
leave you drifting about here ?â€
“T have been thinking that I should come across our nurse,
Susan?
42 LITTLE MISS MUFFET AND HER SPIDER.
“Your nurse Susan gone sailing with a fisherman? Well,
they will never pick you up. He isdrowned. I know a song
about it. I was singing it when I caught sight of you.â€
And this very funny young man began to play on his violin
and sing this song: :
« There was a bold fisherman set sail from off Billingsgate,
To catch the mild bloater and the gay mackereel ;
But when he got off Pimlico,
The raging winds began to blow,
Which caused his boat to wobble so that overboard he went.
‘Twinky doodle dum, twanky doodle dum,’ was the highly interesting
song he sung,
‘ Twinky doodle dum, twanky doodle dum,’ sang the bold fisherman.
« He wibbled and he wobbled in the water so briny,
He yellowed, and he bellowed, for help, but in vain ;
So presently he down did glide,
To the bottom of the silvery tide,
But previously to this he cried, ‘Farewell, Susan Jane!’
¢Twinky doodle dum,’ †etc.
“You see there is no chance of their picking you up,†he said,
when he had finished. “ He is drowned.â€
“Tt doesn’t mean our Susan, nor her fisherman, at all,†said
_ Daffy.
“Her name zs Susan Jane, though!†she added, feeling a
little perplexed.
But the young man laughed so that she knew he was teasing
her, and her pride was deeply wounded.
“It is impolite to laugh at people. I think you behave very
worse indeed,†she said, with great dignity. “I shouldn't
wonder if the goblin should get you.â€
Even as Daffy spoke, an Indian canoe came into sight,
swiftly propelled by the long arms of the goblin!. Daffy
screamed with terror, and begged the young man to take her
into his boat.
LITTLE MISS MUFFET AND HER SPIDER. 48
But this very unsatisfactory young man only laughed.
“Ts that your goblin ?— that innocent-looking little darkey ?
I should have thought you were too brave a girl to be afraid of
him!â€
Daffy thought she was very brave, and she disliked strongly
to have her courage questioned. Nothing disturbed her so much
as to have Sandy and Jimmy Short-legs call her a “ ’fraid-cat.â€
(That is a mysterious epithet, and not to be found in any
dictionary, but Daffy knew only too well what it meant.) So,
now, although she set her teeth tightly together, and breathed
very hard, she kept perfectly quiet while the goblin drew his
boat up beside hers.
He was smiling so very broadly that he looked all teeth ; but
it was certainly a very good-natured smile. Daffy thought he
looked like an amiable goblin, but no such being was mentioned
in Susan’s stories, so it was necessary to account for him in
some other way; and, after long scrutiny, Daffy decided that he
was probably only acoloured boy. And Florabella was sitting in
state in his boat, quite unharmed.
“ Missy skeered ob me,†he explained to the young man.
“She done cl’ar’d out, like a streak ob lightnin’. But I’s
peaceable as a lamb, I is, Missy. I wouldn’t hurt a ha’ ob
your head. I couldn’t luff yer lobster alone, I was so dreffle
hungry. ’Pears like my insides was all holler. But I’s gwine
to get yer anoder lobster, and I’s gwine ter car’ yer home. And
I done fotched yer babby. Don’t yer be skeered ob me, Missy.â€
Daffy could not understand all that he said, his language was
so very peculiar, but she understood that he wanted to row her
home, and although she was not so much afraid of him as she
had been at first, she shook her head, decidedly, at that. Gob-
lins were sometimes very polite for the sake of getting people
into their power!
“ What is your name, and where do you live ?†said the young
man in the boat, to the coloured boy.
&
44 LITTLE MISS MUFFET AND HER SPIDER.
“Name, George Washin’ton ’Poleon Bonaparte Pompey’s Pil-
lar, but dey calls me Spider for short, bekaze my appearance is
kind ob stragglin’ I ’spects. Whar does I lib? As you mought
say, I resides most eberywhar, and I does n’t reside much ob any-
whar! Dat is to say, I trabbels. I worked in a sto’ in New
York, but I was tuk wif misery in my side, and de gemmen at
de hospital dey said I’d die sure ‘nuff if somebody did n’t fotch
me inter de country. So I done cl’ar’d out, in de night, and
fotched myself. As you mought say, I’s residin at de sea-sho’
for my healf. I’s been libin’ out ob do’s, sleepin’ under boats
and sich, but jest at present I’s visitin’ de Ingines, ober to de
Pint. Dey has ’spressed de opinion dat dere never was a tent
big nuff for a Ingine and a nigger, and I ’spect dey’ll be a-hintin’
for me to cl’ar out soon. Dey said niggers ought to stay in deir
own country, whar dey belonged, but I never belonged nowhar,
and nobody never wanted me, since I left my ole mammy. Dey
don’t want to hire no skeletons ober ter de hotel, dey says, but
no nigger can’t fat hisself up on raw clams, pertickerly when he’s
got misery in his side. And dem low down Ingines will be
hintin’ befo’ long, sure ’nuff. But now, Missy, you come long ob
me, and [ll take de bery best ob car’ ob yer!â€
“T think you had better go with him,†said the young man.
“You see he is not a goblin, but a very agreeable coloured boy,
and I am sure he will carry you safely home.â€
“T like you better,’ said Daffy to the young man — a, state-
ment which made Spider look sad.
“That is very flattering,†said the young man; “ but my boat
would have to go against the wind to reach the beach that you
came from, and it might take until night, and your mother
would be dreadfully worried about you.â€
Even that argument failed to convince Daffy. She was satis-
fied that Spider was not a goblin, but she had a great objection
to his complexion.
“To tell you the truth,†said the young man, impressively,
LITTLE MISS MUFFET AND HER SPIDER. 46
“although I may seem very pleasant, I really am an ogre. I
have n’t felt moved to eat you, because I had several little girls
for my breakfast, but if I should once get you into my boat,
I should carry you home to my wife, who is a very lean and
hungry ogress, with a terrible appetite for red-cheeked little
girls!â€
Daffy scrutinised him gravely. She did not believe he was an
ogre. She thought it probable that he was teasing her. He was
so unlike the ogres that Susan knew about. But there was the
awtul possibility that he might be. There might be a variety of
ogre which Susan had never met.
Daffy got into the canoe. She clutched Florabella tightly in
her arms. It was a great comfort to have her again, when she
thought she had lost her forever.
The young man in the boat took off his smoking-cap to her
very politely as the Spider paddled away. Daffy responded only
by a very distant and dignified nod. Whether he was an ogre
or not, she did not at all approve of him. As he sailed away,
she could hear him playing on his violin, and singing about the
fisherman and Susan Jane, and she resolved to ask Susan, if she
should ever see her again, whether ogres were musical.
Spider paddled with a will; but Dashaway Beach was a long
way off. He entertained Daffy by stories of “de Souf,†where
he had lived when he was “a pickaninny,’ before he strayed
away from his “ole mammy,†and Daffy —after she became
accustomed to his dialect — found his stories almost as delightful
as Susan’s. It was almost sunset when Spider drew the canoe up
the beach, at the very spot where the Ojibbewa war-dance had
been performed.
And there was Susan, running frantically up and down the
beach, wringing her hands and shedding floods of tears, because
Daffy was lost! And Sandy came running, and crying, breath-
lessly :
“ You need n’t tell on me, because I didn’t mean to burn up
46 _ LITTLE MISS MUFFET AND HER SPIDER.
your old doll, anyhow! If you won’t I’ll give you my Chinese
lantern; and if you do I’ll drown your kitten as soon as we get
home!†;
Daffy agreed to silence, on the proposed terms. Sandy was
not quite so bad a boy as he pretended to be, and probably would
not have drowned the kitten; but Daffy felt that the risk was
too awful a one to run.
Then came Jimmy Short-legs, also panting and breathless ;
and he said with great emotion: :
“JT thought you had gone and got drowned, with my ‘ bean-
slinger’ in your pocket!â€
His face brightened very much when Daffy took the “ bean-
slinger†out of her pocket and returned it to him uninjured.
Daffy heard that there had been a panic about her, and that her
father had sent men in every direction to search for her. He,
too, came hurrying down to the beach when he heard she had
come; and he hugged and kissed her, as if he realised the dan-
ger she had been in; and when she told him all about it, — ex-
cepting the Ojibbewa Indian episode, — he seemed to ‘think that
Spider was a good boy, and he took him up to the hotel for sup-
per; and on the hotel steps whom should he meet but a coloured
woman, who had come from New York to serve as cook; and
she threw her arms around Spider’s neck and hugged him, and
called him “her own honey,†her “dear pickaninny†and her
“ sweet George Washington ’Poleon Bonaparte Pompey’s Pillar†!
It really was Spider’s “ole mammy,†whom he had not seen
for seven years!
Spider and his “mamimy†were both happy then, you may be
sure, and Daffy danced for joy.
Daffy told her adventures to the people in the hotel, and one
of the ladies drew a picture of Daffy sitting on the rock eating
lobster, with Spider coming along beside her; and underneath
she wrote: “little Miss Muffet and the Spider.’ And people
began to call her “little Miss Muffet.â€
*
LITTLE MISS MUFFET AND HER SPIDER. | AT
The day after her adventure, a queer thing happened.
tiful toy canoe, made of birch bark, like the real ones, and a big
box of candy, were sent to the hotel for Daffy. With them came
a card inscribed, “ With the ogre’s compliments.†How he had
found her out Daffy never knew.
Mr. Crawford hired Spider to take the children to row every
day, because he was so careful and trustworthy ; and Daffy grew
so fond of him that, when the time came for her to go home, she
begged that he might go, too; so her father hired him to work
about the grounds, —for, with sea air and plenty of wholesome
food (which latter item his “ole mammy†attended to), Spider
had entirely recovered from the “ misery in his side.†His “ ole
mammy†could not be separated from him, and Daffy’s mother
discovered that her kitchen was in need of a cook; so Spider’s
“ole mammy†was engaged, also.
And Spider has almost forgotten what it was to “belong no-
whar†and have “nobody want him.†He does all his work
faithfully, but he is especially devoted to Daffy. He hoards the
ripest strawberries and the biggest peaches for her, and brings
her the very first nuts that are to be found.
Now, if you should ever meet Daffy Crawford, and hear her
called “little Miss Muffet,’ you would know how she happened
to get the name.
A QUEER VALENTINE.
Tr did n’t seem as if anybody in the world would be less likely
to receive a valentine than Mrs. Bridget O’Flanigan. It was no
wonder that she laughed when ’Nezer asked her if she expected
under her, and her stand shook so that the apples and oranges
began to roll off, and the peanuts and chestnuts hopped almost
out of their baskets; for Mrs. Bridget O’Flanigan’s laughter had
the effect of a small earthquake.
“Ts it til the loikes av me that anybody would be afther
sindin’ a foine bit av paper, wid flowers on it and shmall little
b’ys widout a stitch til their backs barrin’ wings? Sure, is it a
swateheart ye think I have, an’ me a dacent widdy tin years agin
May? Go ’long wid ye now, ye spalpeen!â€
And the “widdy†was again overcome with mirth at the
thought, and ’Nezer had to go to work again at picking up the
apples and oranges. ’Nezer was sitting at what Ben Mudgett
called the “leeward side†of Mrs. O’Flanigan’s apple-stand, eat-
ing a turnover and drinking a cup of hot coffee.
A thrifty and hard-working woman was Mrs. O’Flanigan,
with a trading-bump equal to any Yankee’s; but for all that she
tolerated some unprofitable customers. “If it wasn’t for the
soft-hairtedness in her she ’d be rowllin’ in gowld be this time,â€
her neighbours said.
It was in vain for her to try to harden her heart against a
cold and hungry child, who looked wistfully at her tempting
stores; and it was very often indeed that an orange or a stick
of striped candy found its way into a penniless little pocket.
But she had to restrain her generous impulses to a considera-
48
A QUEER VALENTINE. 49
ble extent, or her stand would have become so popular, not only
among the children who had no pennies, but among those who
wanted to try the extraordinary and delightful experiment of
getting their candy and keeping their pennies, that the cus-
tomers who filled the money-box would have been crowded off..
Now she had learned from long experience to attend to her
unprofitable customers slyly, exacting from them promises of
secrecy.
’Nezer was one of the unprofitable customers. He was thin
and hungry-looking, and Mrs. O’Flanigan had invited him to
breakfast at her stand whenever he was in town.
In the autumn he came into the city from Scrambleton about
once a week, with Ben Mudgett. Ben worked on a large farm,
and brought wagon-loads of vegetables and poultry and butter
and eggs to market. ’Nezer was an orphan from the poorhouse.
He had been “bound out†to the Widow Scrimpings, who
did n’t live on a farm, but who raised poultry and sent it, with
a few eggs and some very small pats of butter, to market.
She tried to raise the poultry on the same principles by which
she was raising "Nezer—very short commons and very hard
work — but the chickens, and geese, and turkeys were all so lean
and tough that "Nezer could get for them only about half as
much as Ben Mudgett got for his nice plump ones, and they
would n’t lay half as many eggs as Ben’s did. And the Widow
Scrimpings thought ’Nezer was to blame. In fact, she thought
’Nezer was to blame for almost everything.
She blamed him because he had a very good appetite, and
because he grew fast. And he always had to go hungry, and
his legs were almost a quarter of a yard longer than his trou-
sers, and his sleeves came only a little ways below his elbows,
and he had to wear the Widow Scrimpings’s Uncle Plunkett’s old
‘hats, and Uncle Plunkett was the biggest man in Scrambleton,
and ’Nezer had hard work to keep the hats from completely
extinguishing his head. The rest of him grew and grew, but it
50 A QUEER VALENTINE.
did seem to ’Nezer as if his head would never grow to fit Uncle
Plunkett’s hats.
Almost the only good times ’Nezer had were when he went
to market with Ben Mudgett, and those good times came very
seldom now that it was winter. -Ben had saved a few barrels of
apples and squashes, to sell when prices were higher than they
were in autumn, and he had a few fat chickens and turkeys that
had survived the Thanksgiving and Christmas feasting, and the
Widow Scrimpings was glad of an opportunity to send ’Nezer
along with a few meagre fowls that looked as if they must have
died of starvation, some eges that she had saved with care until
prices were as high as they were ever likely to be, and some
cranberries half spoiled by being kept too long.
It was very cold weather, now, and he had been obliged to set
off at four o’clock in the morning, without any breakfast, but
there were snug and warm places in Ben’s big wagon in which
to stow one’s self away, and Ben could spin yarns and sing
songs that would make you forget all about being cold or hun-
gry or sleepy. Such a big voice as Ben had! He waked all the
sleepy farm-houses as they went along. Ben always had his
breakfast before he started, and he didn’t know that ’Nezer
did n’t have his; he would have been sure to have brought a
lunch with him if he had; but ’Nezer was not the kind of a boy
to complain. So it happened that ’Nezer, being very faint with
hunger, had cast wistful glances at Mrs. O’Flanigan’s apple-
stand, and that worthy woman, after trying in vain to harden
her heart according to the advice of her friends and neighbours,
raised her fat and somewhat grimy forefinger and slyly beck-
oned to him. And every time he came to town after that,
"Nezer found awaiting him a snug seat behind the stand, in the
shelter of Mrs. O’Flanigan’s capacious person, a doughnut or a
turnover, and cup of hot coffee.
Mrs. OPlanigan and ’Nezer had become great friends. He
had been so little used to kindness in his life that a little
A QUEER VALENTINE. 51
seemed a great deal to him, and he thought Mrs. O’Flanigan
was like an angel. He was always trying to devise a plan for
making some return for her kindness, but beyond doing an
errand for her occasionally there seemed to be no way. Now
he had been looking admiringly at the valentines with which the
shop windows were filled, and he wanted dreadfully to send her
a valentine. He had fifteen cents which a man had given him
for holding his horse, and he meditated the bold plan of buying a
_ valentine for Mrs. O’Flanigan with it, instead of giving it to
the Widow Scrimpings. But when he delicately sounded Mrs.
O’Flanigan on the subject of valentines, he received the dis-
couraging response recorded at the beginning of this story. Mrs.
O’Flanigan laughed to scorn the idea of her receiving a valentine.
“Sure it’s the purty young girls that has valentines, an’ not
the loikes av me, ye gossoon!†said she.. “An is it Micky
O’Rourke, the peanut man around the corner—and a chatin’
ould rashkil he is, bad ’cess til him!—is it him that ye think
would be afther sindin’ me a valentine? Or is it me first
cousin, Barty Macfarland, the ould widdy man that comes ivery
wake askin’ the loan av a quarther? Och, an’ it’s the foine
swatehearts I has! It’s foolicht enough they are, but not that
foolicht to be sindin’ bit pictures til the loikes av me! If it
was a foine, fat young goose for me dinner-pot, now, or a good
shawl wid rid stripes intil it, thim would be valentines that ud
suit me, jist!â€
’Nezer heaved a deep sigh. That kind of a valentine was
altogether beyond his reach.
If she only would have liked one of those at which he had
been looking, which could be bought for fifteen cents. There
was one that had a’ red-and-gold heart upon it, two doves and
two clasped hands, and some verses, beginning :
«“ Your eyes are bright, your heart is light;
You are my darling dear!â€
52 A QUEER VALENTINE.
’Nezer thought it was beautiful, and he could not see why it
was not very appropriate indeed for Mrs. O’Flanigan. But it
was evident that it would not suit her taste at all. He must try
to think of something else. “ You’d orter have the very nicest
valentine in the world!†he said, gazing at her affectionately,
with his mouth full of mince turnover.
“ Listen til the blarneyin’ tongue av- him! Be aff wid ye,
now, ye rashkil, and pit thim in your pocket agin ye be hongry
go’n’ home!â€
And Mrs. O’Flanigan thrust two doughnuts into his pocket,
and sent him off, with a playful push.
’Nezer was silent and sad all the way home. It was queer,
but the fact was that he was sad for the first half of the way
because he could n’t think of anything to send Mrs. O’Flanigan
for a valentine, and he was sad the last half because he had
thought of something!
It was what she said about a “foine fat goose for her dinner-
pot†that made him think of it.
There are very few people so poor that they have n’t some one
possession that is very precious to them. ’Nezer, although he
was bound out to Widow Scrimpings, had one, and it was a
goose!
Not a “ fine, fat young goose,†but a lean, old, lame goose,
but still, for a dinner-pot, better than no goose at all, and for a
valentine — well, "Nezer had a vague idea that if he should
send the most precious thing he had that would be just what a
valentine ought to be. It would show his real feeling for Mrs.
O’Flanigan.
But he had another feeling that complicated matters and
made him very unhappy. He was so fond of Peg-leg that he
could n’t bear the thought of her being put into a dinner-pot.
You may think it strange that anybody should be fond of a
goose, but ’Nezer was a very affectionate boy, and he had never
had much in his life to be fond of. Nobody had ever petted
A QUEER VALENTINE. 53
him, and he never had anything to pet. And so, though Peg-
leg was n’t, even for a goose, very amiable or interesting, Nezer
had set his affections upon her.
In appearance she was a most unprepossessing goose. She
was not only so lame that she could scarcely waddle, but her
neck and head were almost bare of feathers, and she had but
one good eye. And she had a queer little drooping and ragged
bunch of tail-feathers, that gave her a dejected look. But with-
out the misfortunes that had given her her ungainly appearance
she would never have been ’Nezer’s goose.
At a very tender age she had fallen into the clutches of a big
dog, and been so badly treated that the Widow Scrimpings gave
her up as dead, and ordered ’Nezer to give her to the cat. But
"Nezer discovered that the breath of life was still in her, and by
careful and tender nursing he had brought her up to compara-
tively vigorous goosehood. But he had built a little house for
her on Ben’s farm, and took care to keep her there, and the
Widow Scrimpings never knew that her cat had not made a.
meal off her.
At first, "Nezer had fed her with food saved from his own
scanty meals, and with corn and meal that Ben gave him
occasionally, but for a long time now she had supported herself
by laying eggs.
I am sorry to say that she had never seemed to return
*"Nezer’s affection.
She was a very cross goose; she ran her long neck out, and
hissed fiercely at everybody ; and she hissed only a little less.
fiercely at ’Nezer than at other people. She always came when
he called her, but Ben insisted that it was because he almost.
always gave her something to eat. ’Nezer thought, however,
that it was a proof of affection for him. Ben did n’t appreciate.
her. It was he who had named her Peg-leg. -
"Nezer didn’t mention to Ben his intention of sending Peg-
leg as a valentine to Mrs. O’Flanigan. Ben would be sure to.
54 .. A QUEER VALENTINE.
approve of it heartily, and urge him to do it, and he was not
quite ready to decide upon the matter yet.
But as St. Valentine’s Day drew near, and no stroke of good
fortune had come to him to enable him to buy “a shawl wid rid
stripes,’ which was the only other valentine that Mrs. O’Flani-
gan regarded as desirable, ’Nezer came to the decision that Peg-
leg must be sacrificed.
He made only one concession to his feelings —he would not
mention the dinner-pot, and it was just possible that Mrs.
O’Flanigan might think Peg-leg too attractive to be boiled and
-eaten. There was also a chance that she might think her too
lean and scraggy, as she was fond of good eating.
Moreover, she might guess from whom the valentine came, as
he had told her about Peg-leg, and refrain from boiling her for
the sake of the giver.
So it was not without some hope of again beholding Peg-
leg in life that ’Nezer boxed her up and sent her, by express, to
Mrs. O’Flanigan ; the expressman, who was a friend of Ben’s,
charging but half price, and promising to take the best possible
care of her.
In the box with Peg-leg ’Nezer put a card upon which he
had written the verse which he had seen upon the valentine
that he especially admired :
“Your eyes are bright, your heart is light;
You are my darling dear!â€
He was afraid she might not understand that Peg-lee was
a valentine if there were no verse.
On the outside he wrote: “Take care! it bites!â€
That made it seem very unlike a valentine, but it was absolutely
necessary for Mrs. O’Flanigan’s protection, for Peg-leg’s disposi-
tion would not be improved by six hours’ confinement in a box.
It was a little past noon on the 14th of February, when
MRS. O’FLANIGAN AND HER QUEER VALENTINE.
A QUEER VALENTINE. 57
the expressman set down before Mrs. O’Flanigan’s astonished
eyes the box with its warring sign, “ Take care! it bites.â€
“Take care! Dade, thin, an’ I will. Ye can take it back
wid ye, whativer it do be!†she screamed after the expressman,
who was already a long way down the street, and did not
manifest the slightest intention of turning back.
“ What murtherin’ rashkil is afther sindin’ me a crathur that
bites? An’ mesilf a dacint, paceable widdy woman, that nivir
did no harum till annybody! Sure an’ it do be a livin’ crathur,
for I hears him a-movin’ an’ a-rustlin’ loike!†And Mrs.
O’Flanigan stood at a respectful distance, and gazed with
fascinated curiosity at the box.
There were small holes at each side of the box, — ’Nezer
had taken care that Peg-leg should be able to breathe, — and
Mrs. O’Flanigan felt a keen desire to peep through these, but
she dared not.
“Sure, it might be a crocydile, or a shnake wid rattles til
him, if it don’t be annything worse!†And as a very queer
noise proceeded from the box, Mrs. O’Flanigan stood still
farther off, and crossed herself devoutly.
“The loikes av it! It might be the ould Imp himsilf!†said
she. But just at that moment a loud and angry squawk came
from the box.
A look of relief, and gradually a broad grin, overspread the
face of Mrs. O’Flanigan.
“ Ayther that do be the vice of a goose, or it’s dramin’ I am,
intoirely!†she exclaimed. And in a twinkling she pulled off a
portion of the top of the box. Peg-leg’s long neck was thrust
out with a frightful hissing and snapping.
“Och, the oogly crathur, wid but a handful av feathers til
her! Sure, it’s not a right goose she is at all, at all!â€
By this time a crowd had collected around Mrs. O’Flanigan’s
stand. Trade had been dull to-day ; the children had spent all
their pennies for valentines, and the stand had been almost.
58 A QUEER VALENTINE.
deserted. But Peg-leg was more attractive than even valentines.
The crowd increased until it threatened to blockade the street.
Mrs. O’Flanigan was very much annoyed. She prided herself
upon keeping her “bit place qui’t and respictable.†She stood
waving her apren wildly, and “shooing†the people off, as if
they were so many chickens. “ Kape off, will yees, now, or
the murtherin’ baste will bite yees! Sure, and has n’t a dacint
widdy woman a right to kape a goose if she plazes ?— bad
’cess til the rashkil that sint him til me! But, sure, it’s not
long I’ll be wringin’ the oogly neck av him, if ye kape off an’
give me the chance!â€
The crowd cheered Mrs. O’Flanigan’s speech, but showed
no signs of dispersing.
Peg-leg kept people at a respectful distance by hissing fiercely
and snapping her bill, and now and then uttering a loud and
‘angry squawk ; but Mrs. O’Flanigan, with the courage of despair,
was about to seize her and wring her neck, when she caught
sight of the card. She took it out and looked at it, upside
down and all around.
But Mrs. O’Flanigan’s. education had been hapicoaa She
could not read writing, and the card threw no light upon the
goose. She beckoned from the crowd a small boy, who was one
of her regular customers, and could be trusted, and requested
him to tell her what was written on the card.
As he read the word “ valentine,†and the tender lines that
followed, light burst upon Mrs. O’Flanigan’s mind. “ It’s that
b’y ’Nezer! An’ sure it’s a kind hairt he has, though — the
saints be good til me! — it’s the quarest valentine iver I seen!
An’ now, whativer will I do wid it at all, at all, for he towld
me how fond he was av it, an’ the hairt av him wud be broke
intoirely if I kilt it! An’ me not havin’ the laste accommy-
dashins for a goose!†. :
A man with a good-natured face, looking like a sailor, stood
near and listened to Mrs. O’Flanigan’s lamentation. “ If you
A QUEER VALENTINE. 59
want to get rid of it, Ill take care of it for you,†said he. «I
have just bought me a little place, five miles from the city, and
I am going to keep poultry.â€
“ Sure, it’s an angel ye are to mintion it, but it’s a b’y that
thinks the wurruld av it is afther sindin’ it til-me, an’ I’m not
loikin’ to pairt wid it, though sure I’m notseein’ how I can
kape it, be the same token!â€
“Where is the boy ?†asked the sailor.
“Sure, it’s away off to Scrambleton he lives, wid a lone
widdy, that stingy that she picks the bones av him. A sight
to bring tears to your eyes, he is, wid the hatchet face
av him, and?his legs doon beyant his trousis loike two sticks,
jist !â€
“ Scrambleton?†said the man. “TI used to have a sister who
lived in Scrambleton. But I’ve.been away for years, sailing all
around the world, and she is dead, like everybody else that
belonged to me — she and her husband, and the child, I sup-
pose, for I can’t hear anything of it. You don’t happen to
know this boy’s name, do you?â€
“T don’t, sir. It’s ’Nezer he says they calls him, but sure
that’s no name for a Christian. â€
“ Ebenezer, perhaps,†said the man. “That’s my name.
Perhaps Ill go out to Scrambleton —I might hear something
about my sister there. And I’ll go to see this boy and tell
him what’s become of his goose —that is, if you let me
take it.â€
“ Seein’ it’s only kapin’ it ye ’ll be, in a friendly way, perhaps
I’d betther lave it go,†said Mrs. O’Flanigan. “For it’s kilt
wid it I’ll be, if I kapes it, sure. But if you see ’Nezer ye'll be
afther tellin’ him that I thinks the wurruld av me valentine, but
be rayson av havin’ no accommydashins I’m afther lindin’ it
for a bit, its dispersition not bein’ that raysonable it wud be
continted in a box ! â€
The man nailed the cover of the box once more over Peg-leg’
60 A QUEER VALENTINE.
* and her hissing, and carried her off. Mrs. O’Flanigan heaved a
sigh of relief as she saw her valentine disappearing in the
distance and the crowd ‘dispersing.
But as the days went by and no tidings came of either man
or goose, Mrs. O’Flanigan began to feel a pang at the sight of a
hungry-looking boy, fearing he might prove to be ’Nezer, and
dreading to tell ’Nezer what had become of the goose.
But when, about two weeks after Valentine’s Day, ’Nezer did
appear, she had to take two or three good long looks at him
before she recognised him. For his legs were no longer “ doon
beyant his trousis.†He had on a brand-new suit from top to
toe, and his cheeks were almost fat! He held his*thead up, and
his eyes were bright, and he did not look like the same boy.
And the man who had carried off the goose was with him!
“He is my nephew, my only sister’s son,†said the man to
Mrs. O’Flanigan. “And if I hadn’t stopped to see the goose,
and you hadn’t told me his name was ’Nezer, and he lived -
in Scrambleton, I should, perhaps, never have found him, for
I thought he was dead. And I’ve got him away from the
Widow Scrimpings, and as I have a snug bit of property, and
nobody but him belonging to me, we’re pretty comfortable
together.â€
*Nezer’s face fully confirmed his uncle’s story.
« And I’m hoping to make some return to you for your kind-
ness to my nephew,†said ’Nezer’s uncle. And ’Nezer could with
great difficulty refrain from telling her of the plans they had
formed for supplying her next summer with the finest fruits
from. their garden.
But Mrs. O’Flanigan protested that the “bit and the sup†she
had given him would make her “niver a bit the poorer ;†and
he was “that dacint and perlite †that it more than paid her, to
say nothing of the “foine valentine†he had sent her.
« Peg-leo has lots more feathers growing out on her!†said
’Nezer, proudly.
A QUEER VALENTINE. 61
“It’s a foine fowl she-do be, annyhow!†said Mrs. O’Flan-
igan, politely.
« And I think her temper is improving,†said ’Nezer’s uncle.
“She have but the laste bit in life av a timper,†said Mrs.
O’Flanigan; “and sure what would anny av us be widout
it?†By which you will see that Mrs. O’Flanigan understood
fashionable manners, if she was only an apple-woman.
THE DOLL THAT COULD N’T SPELL HER NAME.
Tom was really at the bottom of it. It very often turned out
that Tom was at the bottom of things.
In the Belknap household, when the pot of jam tumbled off
the top shelf of the pantry, when the cream was all drunk up,
when the Sevres china cups were broken, they never suggested
that it was the cat; they merely groaned, “ Tom!â€
Sometimes there was mischief done for which Tom was not
accountable, but, being proven guilty of so much, of course he
was blamed for it all.
Bess had Tom for a brother. She had no sister and no
other brother, so, of course, she had to make the best of Tom.
And sometimes he was really quite nice ; he had once taken her
out into the park, and let her fly his kite — a beauty, with Jap-
anese pictures all over it, and yards and yards of tail; once in a
while he would draw her on his sled — though I am sorry to say
he generally did n’t want to be bothered with girls; and now
and then, though not often, he had more caramels than he
wanted. _
He put on as many airs with Bess as if he were the Great
Mogul, and, if he had been, Bess could not have had greater
faith in him, or obeyed him more implicitly. When you are a
boy thirteen years old and study Latin, it is easy to be the Great
Mogul to a little body not quite eight, who is only a girl, any
way, never went to school in her life, and can’t go out when it
rains, because she is delicate.
Bess was sure that a boy who studied Latin and eoala ride on
a bicycle, as Tom could, must know everything. So when Tom
told her that, if her doll was going to give a kettledrum, she
62
THE DOLL THAT COULD N’T SPELL HER NAME. 63
(the doll) ought to write the invitations herself, she did not
think to question it. She could n’t quite see how it was to be
done, but it must be the proper way, if Tom said so.
“It’s the fashion now for ladies to write their own invita-
tions,†said Tom. “Have n’t you noticed that Mamma writes
all her cards? Never has them engraved, as she. used to. It
would n’t be at all stylish, or even proper, for your doll to have
a kettledrum, unless she wrote the invitations herself.â€
“ But Lady Marion can’t write,†said Bess, mournfully. “I
was going to ask Mamma to write them.â€
“Oh, you have only to put the pen in her hand and guide it
slowly, and she will write them well enough. I will tell you
what to have her write. And she must draw a kettle at the top
of the sheet and a drum at the bottom, like those that Miss
Percy sent to Mamma, you know.â€
“ It would be beautiful, Tom, but Lady Marion never could do
it in the world!†said Bess.
“ Oh, pooh! Ill show you just how, and you can help her.
It will be just the same as if she did it all herself. There! that
is the way to draw a kettle, and that’s a drum,†and Tom drew,
with just a few strokes of his pencil, a kettle that was just like a
kettle, and a drum that you would have known anywhere, while
Bess looked on in breathless admiration, and thought Tom was
almost a magician.
“ and this is what you ’re to write — to nak the doll write,
I mean.†And he repeated a formula several times, until Bess
had learned it by heart.
“Oh, Tom, it will be perfectly splendid! How good you are
tome!†said Bess, gratefully. “You shall have my new
Roman sash for a tail to your kite!â€
“Mamma would n’t like that, and she would be sure to find it
-out; but Ill tell you how you can pay me; you can lend me
your two dollars and fifteen cents. JI am awfully short, and I
must have a new baseball bat.â€
64 THE DOLL THAT COULD N’T SPELL HER NAME.
Bess’s face fell at this suggestion. She had been hoarding
that two dollars and fifteen cents for a long time, to buy Lady
Marion a new traveling trunk, her old one being very shabby, .
and having no bonnet-box in it, so that her bonnets got fright-
fully jammed whenever she went on a journey; and Nurse ad-
vised her never to lend money to Tom, because his pay-day was
so long in coming ; and when he got to owing too much he often
went into bankruptcy, and paid but very little on a dollar.
But when one has been very kind, and shows you how to get
up beautiful invitations, it is not at all easy to refuse to lend
him your money. And, besides, if Bess should refuse, Tom
would be very likely to tear up the beautiful kettle and drum
that he had drawn, and, without a pattern to copy, Lady Marion
could never draw them.
So Bess produced her purse, and poured its contents into
Tom’s hands. :
“Ill be sure to pay you, Bess, the very first money I get,â€
said Tom, as he always said.
“T hope you will, Tom,†said Bess, with a sigh, “because
Lady Marion is suffering for a new trunk. She ’ll have to stay
at home from Newport if she does n’t get it.â€
“Oh, you ’ll get the money long before summer. And I say,
Bess, I shall expect you to save me some of the goodies from
that kettledrum — though I don’t suppose you can save much,
girls are such greedy things!â€
“T will, Tom,†said Bess, earnestly. “I will save lots of me-
ringues and caramels, because those are what you like. And
I’m very much obliged to you.â€
“ Well, you ought to be! I don’t know how you’d get along
without me.†And Tom went off, singing ae the top of his
voice, about the “ruler of the queen’s navee.’
Left alone, Bess went to work diligently. Lady Marion’ s ket-
tledrum was to come off next week; it was high time that. the
invitations were out.
THE DOLL THAT COULD N’T SPELL HER NAME. 65
Lady Marion had been invited out a great deal, but she had
never yet given a party. She was well fitted to be a leader of
fashion, but hitherto her mamma’s health had prevented her
from assuming that position. Nature had been very bountiful
to her, giving her cheeks just the colour of strawberry ice-cream,
eyes like blueberries, and truly hair the colour of molasses candy
that has been worked a long, long time. She was born in Paris,
and had that distinguished air which is to be found only in dolls
who have that advantage. She had, it is true, been out for a
good many seasons, and looked rather older than several of her
doll associates; her cheeks had lost the faintest tinge of their
strawberry ice-cream bloom, and her beautiful hair had been so
tortured by the fashionable style of hair-dressing— bangs, and
crimps, and frizzes, and Montagues, and water-waves, and puffs —
that.it had grown very thin in front, and she was compelled to
wear either a Saratoga wave or a Marguerite front to cover
it. The Saratoga wave was not a perfect match for her
hair, so she wore that only by gaslight. She had also been in
delicate health, the result of an accident which strewed the
nursery floor with sawdust, and made poor Bess fear that her
beloved Lady Marion would be an invalid for life. The acci-
dent happened at the time when Tom had decided to be a
surgeon, and had bought three new knives and a lancet to
practise with, and the dreadful cut in Lady Marion’s side
looked, Bess thought, very much as if it had been done with
a knife.
Tom, however, affirmed that it was caused by late hours and
too much gayety, and Bess did not take Lady Marion to a party
again for more than two months. The accident destroyed her
beautiful plumpness, but Mamma thought that slenderness added
to her distinguished appearance, so Bess was comforted. This
-kettledrum was intended to celebrate Lady Marion’s return to
society, and Bess was anxious that it should be a very elegant
affair. It was to be held in the drawing-room, and Bess had
66 THE DOLL THAT COULD N’T SPELL HER NAME.
permission to order just what she liked for refreshments. There
was to be more than, tea and cake at that kettledrum.
And the invitations must be in the very latest style. Bess
felt as if she could not be grateful enough to Tom for telling
her just what was the latest style.
She aroused Lady Marion from her afternoon nap and forced
a pen into her unwilling fingers — being such a fashionable doll
Lady Marion had neither time nor taste for literary pursuits,
and I doubt whether she had ever so much as tried to write her
name before. But at last the pen was coaxed to stay between
her thumb and forefinger, and Bess guided her hand. After
much patient effort and many failures, a tolerably legible one
was written, and Bess thought it was a great success for a doll’s
first effort, although the kettle and drum were not by any
means perfect like Tom’s, and, indeed, she felt obliged to write
their names under them, lest they should not be understood.
They did not all look quite so well as the first. After one
has written twenty-five or thirty invitations, one’s hand grows
tired, and one is apt to get a little careless; but, on the whole,
Bess thought they did Lady Marion great credit. Not one was
sent that had a blot on it, and Bess was satisfied that the spell-
ing was all quite correct. Before six o’clock they were all
written and sent, and Bess had a great weight off her mind.
But she was very tired, and Lady Marion was so exhausted that
she didn’t feel equal .to having her hair dressed, and was
not at home to visitors.
Before she slept, however, Bess made out a list of the refresh-
ments she wanted for the kettledrum, and she gave especial
orders that there should be plenty of meringues and caramels,
that Tom need not come short—he was so fond of them, and
he would make such unpleasant remarks about the girls if they
were all eaten.
And having settled all this, Bess felt that there was nothing
more to do but to wait for that slow-coach of a Tuesday to come
LADY MARION AND MARY ANN SEATED SIDE BY SIDE IN STATE.
THE DOLL THAT COULD N’T SPELL HER NAME. 69
around; party days always are such slow-coaches, while the day
on which you are to have the dentist pull your tooth comes like
the chain-lightning express. There was nothing more that she
could do, but there was one thing that didn’t quite suit her;
she wanted to invite the nice little girl who lived around the
corner of Pine Street, and when she had asked leave, Mamma
had said: 8
“Oh, hush, see No, no! you mustn’t ask her. You
mustn’t speak of her! Papa would be very angry.â€
Bess thought that was very strange. She was a very nice
girl. Bess had made her acquaintance in the park; they had
rolled hoops together, and exchanged a great many confidences.
Bess had told her about her parrot that could say “ Mary had a
_ little lamb,†‘and about the funny little mice that Tom had
tamed, and described Lady Marion’s new dresses that Aunt Kate
had sent her from Paris; and the strange little girl told her
that her name was Amy Belknap, — Belknap, just like Bess’s
name, which Bess thought was very strange,— and that she
had three bran-new kittens, as soft and furry as balls of down,
with noses and toes just like pink satin, with dear little peaked
tails, and the most fascinating manners imaginable; and she
had invited Bess to come and see them. But her mamma
would not let her go, and told her that if she ever talked to the
little girl again her papa would be angry. And Mamma looked
very sad about it; there were tears in her eyes. It was all
very strange. Bess did not know what to think about it, but
Papa was very stern when he was angry, so she did not say
anything more about Amy, although she met her two or three
times at parties. But she did so want to have Lady Marion
invite her doll to the kettledrum that she could not help asking;
but it was of no use, and Mamma said “ Hush! hush!†as if it
were something frightful that she had proposed. And last
night she had heard Nurse talking with Norah, the parlour-maid,
when they thought she was asleep, and Nurse had said that
70 THE DOLL THAT COULD N’T SPELL HER NAME.
Amy Belknap’s father was Papa’s own brother, but they had
quarreled years before about a will, and were so angry still that
they would not speak to each other. And Amy’s mother was
Mamma’s cousin, and had been brought up with her, so that
they were just like sisters, and Mamma felt very unhappy about
the quarrel.
It did not seem possible to Bess that her papa would quarrel,
when he always told Tom and her that it was wicked, and when
he got down on his knees and said, “ Forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those who trespass against us,†just as if he
meant it!
Just what a will was, Bess did not know, but she had a vague
idea that it had something to do with money. Surely her
father would not quarrel about money! She had heard him say
that it was very wrong to think too much of it.
There must be a mistake somewhere, Bess thought, and she
wished very much that it might be set right, so that Amy and
she might be friends.
Tuesday came at last, and long before four o’clock Bess and
Lady Marion had their toilets completed, and were perched up
on the window-seat to watch for the coming of their guests. It
was not very dignified, certainly — Mamma never did so when
she expected guests; but then Lady Marion was of a nervous
temperament and could not bear to sit still.
Lady Marion had on a lovely “tea-gown†of Japanese foulard
over blue satin, trimmed with beautiful lace, and carried a new
Japanese fan, with pearl sticks and lace, and her hair was
arranged in a new style that was extremely becoming.
The refreshments and flowers had all come; there was
nothing wanting to make the kettledrum a complete success —
nothing but the guests. Strangely enough, they did not appear!
Four o’clock came, and half-past four, and not one of the dolls
that Lady Marion had invited came, but all the time a stream of
carriages had been going around the corner of Pine Street, and
THE DOLL THAT COULD N’T SPELL HER NAME. 71
stopping at Amy Belknap’s door; and Bess could see gayly
dressed little girls tripping up the steps, every one with her doll
in her arms!
Had Amy Belknap sent out invitations for this afternoon, and
did all the girls prefer to go to her party? It was very strange.
.And a-doll’s party, too, apparently! Amy’s best doll, Flora
McFlimsey, had been left carelessly on the mantelpiece when a
very hot fire was burning in the grate, and there was nothing
left of her when Amy found her but a pool of wax, a pair of
lovely, blue glass eyes, and some locks of golden hair. And Amy
declared that she never would have another doll that looked in
the least like Flora; it would break her heart. But she had
another doll, who, strange as it may seem to you when I tell
you how she looked, was very popular in society. She was a
‘ coloured doll, and her name was Mary Ann. A very black doll
indeed she was, with the kinkiest wool that ever was seen, eyes
that would roll up so that you could see only the whites, and
very big, red lips, that were always smiling and showing her
white teeth. She looked so jolly that it made one laugh just to
see her. She could turn her head from side to side and give you
a friendly little nod, and if you pulled a string she could walk
and dance. It was not a dance suited to polite society. that she *
danced —it was a real negro breakdown; indeed, I do not
think that Nature had intended Mary Ann for polite society, but
for all that she was very -popular in it. No doll’s party was
thought to be complete without her, and her mamma paid
as much attention to her toilet as to the lamented Flora
McFlimsey’s. Was Mary Ann having a party this afternoon?
A. suspicion darted into. Bess’s mind. The names were a good
deal alike — Marion and Mary Ann. Could they have. made a
mistake ? ;
She rushed up to the nursery, and found one of the invitations
which had been discarded by reason of many blots. It seemed
to her that the o was plain enough, but, oh, dear! Mamma
72 THE DOLL THAT COULD N’T SPELL HER NAME.
had told her once that Marion was spelled with an 7 and not
with a y.
“It was Lady Marion’s fault! If I had been writing by my-
self I should have thought. It does look like Mary Ann, and
Amy’s Mary Ann has so many parties,.and goes so much, they
thought it must be, her kettledrum, and they have all gone
there!â€
Bess wrung her hands, and hid her face on Lady Marion’s
sympathising bosom. Only for one moment; in that moment
she decided that she could not bear it. She rushed to the table,
in a little anteroom, where the refreshments were spread, and
taking up her overskirt, apron fashion, she filled it full of
goodies, tossing them all in helter-skelter, never minding that |
the candied fruit was sticky and the grapes juicy. Then she
seized Lady Marion upside down, actually with her head down- ~
ward and feet sticking up in the air, so that she was in immi-
nent danger of apoplexy —not to mention her feelings, which
were terribly wounded by such an indignity —and ran out of
the street door, not waiting for hat or cloak !
Mamma was away and would not be at home until night, but
if Nurse saw her she probably would not allow her to go, so she ©
closed the door very softly behind her. In her eagerness she
quite forgot that there was a mysterious reason why she should
not go to Amy Belknap’s house; she only realised that Lady
Marion’s kettledrum had gone astray, and she was fully deter-
mined not to lose it entirely.
The servant who opened the door had been surprised at the |
appearance of so many little girls and dolls, when none had been
invited, but she was still more surprised when she opened the
door to a little girl without hat or cloak, with her overskirt full
of bonbons, and her doll’s legs waving wildly in the air !
Amy had thought it a surprise party, and there had been no
explanations until Bess and Lady Marion appeared. The girls
were all very much surprised at the mistake, and said they did
THE DOLL THAT COULD N’T SPELL HER NAME. 138
not understand why “ Lady†was prefixed to Mary Ann’s name,
and some of them thought they ought to go at once to Lady
Marion’s house, since the invitations had really come from her ;
but Bess was quite willing to stay where she was, and Lady
Marion made no objection.
The only difference was that there were two hostesses instead
of one, Lady Marion and Mary Ann being seated side by side in
state. Lady Marion was very elegant and polite, and was greatly
admired; and as for Mary Ann, she fairly outdid herself, setting
everybody into roars of laughter with her dancing; and the
refreshments were not so very much mixed up.
Bess and Lady Marion staid after the others were gone.
Bess wanted to see the kittens and the other pretty things that
Amy promised to show her; and, besides, she had begun to
realise by this time that she had done wrong in coming, and she
did n’t want to go home and tell how naughty she had been.
If it were wrong merely to mention Amy’s name, how dread-
fully wrong it must be to have run away, without asking leave
“of anybody, and stay so long in Amy’s house! She must be as
bad as Tom was when he got acquainted with the circus clown,
and went home with him and staid all night. Tom was kept
shut up in his room all day, on bread and water, and Papa said
he would “rather have no boy at all than a boy he couldn’t
trust.†Would he wish that he-had no girl at all? That was
a dreadful thought.
But why should n’t she visit Amy, who was the very nicest
little girl she knew, and never got cross and said she would n’t
play if you did n’t do just as she wanted to, as some of the girls
did ?
Bess turned it over and over in her small mind, and decided
that it was very unjust. But she was very tired, and while she
was puzzling over it her thoughts got queerly mixed up, and be-
fore she knew what she was going to do, she had “taken the
boat for Noddle’s Island.†They were sitting on the warm,
(4 THE DOLE THAT COULD N’T SPELL HER NAME.
fluffy rng, before the fire, in the nursery. Amy’s nurse had
given them some bread and milk, and then she had hinted, very
strongly, that it was growing late, and Bess had better go home.
Bess did n’t choose to pay any attention to the hints. She
dreaded going home, and it was very pleasant where she was.
They had the three kittens, who were twice as furry, frolicsome,
and fascinating as Amy had said; a toy mouse, with a spring
that, when wound up, would make him run and spring so like a
“truly†mouse that it made one’s blood run cold, and nearly
drove the kittens frantic; a music-box that played the loveliest
tunes, and a jack-in-the-box that fired off a tiny pistol when he
popped out; all these delightful things they had on the hearth-
rug, besides Lady Marion and. Mary:-Ann, who were a little
neglected, I am afraid, but. so tired and sleepy that they did n’t
mind.
After such an exciting day as Bess had spent, one can’t keep
awake long, even when there is so much fun to be had, especially
when it is past one’s bedtime.
Nothing but politeness had kept Amy’s eyes open so long, and
when she saw that Bess was asleep she gave a great sigh of
relief, and she, too, got into Noddle’s boat. The three kittens,
finding it very tame to play with a mouse that would n’t go for
the want of winding up, curled up together in a little furry, purr-
ing heap, and went fast asleep, and the jack-in-the-box, losing
all hope of getting another chance to pop out, did the same.
Lady Marion had long ago been lulled to sleep by the soft strains
of the music-box, and, last of all, Mary Ann, who ached in every
joint from so much dancing, and whose eyes were strained and
smarting from continual rolling up, but who never left the post
of duty while there was anybody to be entertained, stretched her-
self comfortably out on the soft rug and, like the others, forgot
her weariness in slumber.’
The nurse stole out to have a chat with a crony. Amy’s
’ mother was out, and there was no one to notice that it was very
THE DOLL THAT COULD N’T SPELL HER NAME, 5
quiet in the nursery, or think that it was time for the strange
little girl to go home. But in the strange little girl’s own house
they were thinking that it was time for her to come home!
They had discovered her absence two or three hours before,
and had been seeking her far and near in the keenest anxiety
and distress. They had visited every house where they thought
she would be at all likely to go; they had given notice of her
loss at several police stations, and secured the aid of two or three
police officers in the search. Last of all, having heard that Amy
Belknap had had a party that afternoon, they came there: Papa
and Mamma almost beside themselves ; Nurse never ceasing to
weep and wring her hands; Tom outwardly stolid, and with his
hands in his pockets, but inwardly wishing heartily that he had
been a great deal better to Bess, and resolving that, if they ever
found her, he would pay her that two dollars and fifteen cents
right away.
“Tam sure she is n’t here,†said Bess’s mamma, as they rang
the door-bell. “ Bess never does what she knows I would not
wish her to.â€
But when the door was opened the servant said she thought
she was up in the nursery. And up-stairs rushed Bess’s father
and mother immediately, scarcely remembering whose house they
were in, but thinking only of their lost little girl who might be
found.
It happened that they opened one door into the nursery just
as Amy’s papa opened another. And when Bess opened her
eyes, almost smothered with her mother’s hugs and kisses, there
stood her papa and Amy’s papa, looking at each other, as Tom,
afterward, rather disrespectfully remarked, “ just as his big New-
foundland Rover and Bobby Sparks’s big Caesar looked at each
other, when they had n’t made up their minds whether to fight
each other or go together to lick Dick Jefferd’s wicked Nero!â€
Bess discovered that she was not going to be scolded, but was
the heroine of the hour ; even Tom, who hated “ making a fuss,â€
76 THE DOLL THAT COULD N’T SPELL HER NAME.
was actually crying and kissing her; and Bess began to feel
very important, and thought she might set things to rights. She
tugged at her father’s coat-tails to gain his entire attention.
“ Papa,†she began, “don’t you know ‘ Birds in their little
nests agree, and ‘ Let dogs delight to bark and bite?’ I'll get
Nurse to say them to you, if you don’t. It isn’t right for you to
quarrel just because you’re big! And he’s your brother, too
— just like Tom and me. And he’s Amy’s father, and Amy ’s
my pertikler friend. You kiss him, now, and say you’re sorr ry
and — and Ill buy you something nice! â€
In her eagerness, Bess had fallen into Nurse’s style of bribery.
There was one very good thing about it —it made everybody
laugh ; and sometimes a laugh will swallow up ‘more bitterness
than tears can drown. They did not kiss each other, to Bess’s
great disappointment; but the very next day Amy came to see
her, and Amy’s mamma, too, and she and Bess’s mamma kissed
and cried over each other, just as if they were schoolgirls; and
they called Bess “a blessed little peacemaker ;†so Bess is quite
sure that it is all coming out right, and that she shall always
have her cousin Amy for her “ pertikler friend.â€
When Bess’s mamma heard that it all came about because
Lady Marion couldn’t spell her own name, she praised Lady
Marion, and said her ignorance was better than all the accom-
plishments that she ever knew a doll to have!
But as for Tom, who was really at the bottom of it, nobody
thought of praising him.
But Bess had saved a great many meringues and caramels for
him —more than anybody but a boy could eat—so he didn’t
mind.
THE MAN IN THE MOON.
“ He might have come from the moon, for all I know,†said
Deborah, rather crossly. She was sprinkling and folding the
clothes for to-morrow’s ironing, and she wanted to get them done
before her “beau†should come, to take her to drive, and the
tramp had hindered her; and now Jack was asking questions.
Deborah often declared that if ever she “ hired out†again, it
would be “with folks that didn’t allow their children to ask so
many questions as the little Mudgetts asked. She was all wore
to skin and bone with them.â€
As Deborah was very buxom and rosy, she evidently intended
that remark to be taken in a figurative sense ; but the children
were trying, with their endless questions, — especially Jack, the
oldest boy, who never believed anything.
- Stella, the youngest girl, believed everything. She never had
the slightest doubt that all the wonderful things related in the
Arabian Nights, Grimm’s Goblins, and Mother Goose, actually
happened. Stella was: Deborah’s favourite. She was her Uncle
John’s favourite, too, and Uncle John was of great conse-
quence, because he was the captain of a vessel, and had been all
around the world. He was expected home in a few days from a
long voyage, and all the children lay awake nights storing up
questions to ask him. He always would tell Stella stories, when
he would not tell them to anybody else, because she never asked
him if they were true. She asked him everything she could
think of, but she never thought of that.
Jack had only asked Deborah who it was that had knocked at
the door; what he wanted; of what country he had seemed to
77
78 THE MAN IN THE MOON.
be a native; if he were well dressed ; what he had on; if he had
been drinking; if he had a bundle with him; if he wanted to
stay all night; if he wanted anything to eat; if he got anything ;
if she asked him in; what she thought his name was; if he had
a red nose; if his hair was curly; and where she thought he
came from. And he didn’t think that Deborah ought to be
so cross, as if he had asked many questions !
THE MAN IN THE MOON.
Jack could ask questions when he tried, but he had aot got
fairly under way then.
Stella came into the kitchen with her doll, Cinderella, under
her arm, just as Deborah said that. The little girl was going
to sprinkle and fold Cinderella’s clothes, which were always -
washed on Monday, and ironed on Tuesday, just like anybody’s.
But she forgot all about the clothes when she heard Deborah say
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 79
there was a possibility that the man came from the moon.
Stella was very much interested in the moon. As she firmly
believed it to be made of green cheese, and also that one man
lived in it, her interest is scarcely to be wondered at.
“Oh, Deborah, was it really the Man in the Moon?†she
cried. ;
“ Well, I should n’t wonder,†said Deborah, and she laughed
a little, though she was cross. “Come to think of it, he did
inquire the way to Norwich. And he seemed terrible hungry,
as if he had come a long journey.â€
“Did you give him anything to eat?†asked Jack.
“IT gave him a piece of bread that he could eat if he was hun-
ery. I ain’t a-goin’ to pamper up tramps with my best victuals
_ that I’ve wore my fingers to the bone a-cookin’ of,’ said
Deborah.
“No cheese? Oh, Deborah!†said Stella, reproachfully.
Of coursé the Man in the Moon was accustomed to eating
cheese, since his dwelling-place was made of it, — and he might
miss it very much. It was Stella’s opinion that Deborah ought
to have thought of that.
And why, oh, why, didn’t Deborah ask him to come in! To
think of coming so near to seeing the Man in the Moon, and
missing it! It was very cruel of Deborah.
“Did he look much like other people, Deborah?†asked
Stella.
« Come to think of it, he favoured a pirate, as much as any-
thing,’ said Deborah. “Though that might ’a’ ben owin’ to
his havin’ but one eye, and that one kind of squinty.â€
«“ Do you think he was a cross man, Deborah ?†asked Stella,
after a moment of deep meditation.
“T don’t know nothin’ about the dispositions of folks in the
‘moon. I’ve got all I can do to contend against the tryin’ dis-
positions of them here below,†said Deborah.
“There ain’t any folks in the moon!†said Jack, diving his
80 THE MAN IN THE MOON.
head into the clothes-basket, and turning a somersault. “If there
was, they’d all be like busted balloons; there isn’t any air
there. Stella believes everything.â€
“It’s boys that don’t believe nothin’ that comes to the gal-
lows,†said Deborah, severely.
Meantime, Stella had slipped into the wood-shed, to see if she
could catch a glimpse of the man’s retreating figure, from the
door.
Oh, joy! there he sat at the end of the wood-pile, only a few
rods away.
Stella went into the pantry, and eat a huge piece of cheese ;
then she ran out, and sat down on a log, opposite him. She
was at quite a distance from the house, it was growing dark,
and the man did look rather cross, but Stella was never afraid
of anything — excepting thunder and curly dogs. Everybody
has his weak points, and those were Stella’s. She did not once
think of being afraid of the Man from the Moon, though she
did hope that he wasn’t cross, because cross people would never
answer all the questions that one wanted to ask.
She sat and stared at him for a minute or two, the big piece
of cheese in one hand, and Cinderella, held by the heels, in the
other. She was casting about in her mind for some suitable way
of addressing him; being entirely ignorant of the etiquette of
the moon, she was afraid of seeming impolite. But at length,
nothing better occurring to her, she said, blandly:
“ How do you do, man?â€
The man responded, civilly, but rather gruffly, that he was
“as well as poor folks could expect to be.â€
“T suppose you don’t have bread at home,†remarked Stella.
“ Not much, that’s a fact,†said the man.
“ But if you live on cheese entirely, won’t you eat the moon
all up some day, and tumble down to the ground?†That was
a problem that had been troubling Stella ever since she had first
heard that the moon was made of cheese.
\
\
~~
UW SS \
“WE ’RE GOIN’ HOME TO THE MOON AS SOON AS WE CAN FIND A CONVEYANCE,†HE SAID.
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 83
The man gave her a rather puzzled look, and laughed a little.
«‘ Kat the moon up? Well, I be hunger-bitten enough to do it,
sometimes, that’s a fact. And I’m pesky fond of cheese. I
like the looks of that ’ere piece in your hand.â€
“J brought it on purpose for you,†said Stella, presenting it,
and making a low bow, to show her respect for so exalted a per-
sonage as the Man from the Moon.
The man devoured the cheese, with such great hungry bites
that she was more than ever convinced that it was his natural
food.
“How did you come down?†was her next question.
“ Well, I come down on a broomstick, but I’m going home
around by the way of Norwich,†he answered.
On a broomstick! Stella wanted to ask him whether he
was any relation to the old woman who went up on one to
sweep the cobwebs from the sky, but she was afraid it would not
be quite polite. She might be only a poor relation, of whom
such a great man would not wish to be reminded. But, surely,
there could not be many people who could ride on broomsticks!
She and Percy, her youngest brother, had tried it, and they
hadn’t gone up a bit.
She was anxious to ask no questions that were not strictly
polite, so she was very slow and deliberate.
«Have you any children?â€
« Four on ’em,†answered the man, between his bites.
“Four? That is very few; there are nine of us. But per-
haps that is just as well; they might fall off.â€
«Fall off?†repeated the man, with a start. “ Fall off of
what? How come you to know —â€
« Why, off the moon, of course; you live in the moon, don’t
you?â€
_ The man gave her a long, puzzled look; then he tapped his
forehead, significantly, with his forefinger. “ etched, as sure
as you’re born!†he said to himself. “Though I never did see
“
84 THE MAN IN THE MOON.
sich a little one tetched. Mebbe the big one, that give me the
dry bread, was loony, too; that might be what made her sich
a spitfire. It might be a lunatic hospital;†and he arose pane
looked back at the house, reflectively.
“ Oh, yes, I live in the Toon he said, seating himself again.
“ Sartingly, I live in the moon.’
A shadow of painful doubt had been creeping into Stella’s
mind; he was so very much like other people; his manners
were not elegant, and he was very badly dressed ; but his own
assertion was satisfactory. She heaved a great sigh of relief.
Only the fear that he would vanish before she could return pre-
vented her from going in search of Jack, the unbelieving, who
certainly would have to believe now, she thought. She resolved
to extract from the man all the information possible, and to use
it to convince Jack.
«“ What kind of cheese is green cheese ?†she inquired.
“Well, it is sage cheese,†answered the man, after some de-
liberation. “ Cheese with so much sage into it that it is kind
of greenish complected, so to speak.â€
“That is what Percy and I thought!†cried Stella. “ But
Uncle John thought it was new cheese.â€
“There’s nobody knows much about the moon, but them as
lives there,†said the man, in a tone and manner full of mystery.
“It must be very funny. But you haven’t burst, have you?
You don’t look very limpsy. Jack says people there must be
just like my balloon after he stuck a pin into it, because there
isn’t air in the moon.â€
“ Air? bless you, there’s air enough! Air and water —
that’s about all there is that’s plenty where I live!†and the
man laughed harshly.
Stella resolved to enlighten Jack on that point, the very first
thing.
Presently, she asked: “Did you see the cow when she jumped
over ?â€
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 85
That was another important point on which Stella wished to
obtain testimony, for Jack boldly declared his opinion that
Mother Goose was not a faithful historian.
“The cow? Cows bein’ such a plentiful animal, I can’t
rightly tell which one you mean.â€
Stella opened her eyes wide with astonishment.
“Don’t you know
««< Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon ?’â€
“ Oh, to be sure! That .’ere event occurred some time ago,
and it had kind of slipped my mind. Yes, I see her. She gin
the moon a clip with her heels when she went over, and knocked
it kind of slantwise. Mebbe you’ve noticed, sometimes, that it
looks kind of slantwise.â€
“ Yes, I have!†cried Stella, eagerly. Surely such proof as
this would convince even Jack, she thought.
“Oh, I wish I could go to the moon! You could n’t possibly
take me, could you? and bring me back again?†she added, with
a sudden thought of home.
“ T expect they think a good deal of you to home, and mebbe
they would n’t want to spare you,†said the man.
“ Yes, they do. Iam the youngest. Papa says he would n’t
take a million dollars for me. But, of course, I could come
back again.â€
“Of course. I might take you along with me now, if you was
a good girl and didn’t make no noise, and I could bring you
back again before they missed you,†said the man.
“ Oh, will you?†cried Stella, hopping on one foot. That
was the way in which all the little Mudgetts expressed their
greatest joy. “And Cinderella, too! It will be such a thing
for Cinderella!â€
Stella had heard her mother say that about Polly, their eldest,
86 THE MAN IN THE MOON.
when she was invited to go on a trip to Europe. “ And perhaps
they don’t have dolls in the moon, and will like to see her.â€
The man examined Cinderella critically. She was large and
heavy, but she was made of wax and had “truly hair,’ and he
said Stella might take her.
He looked cautiously around to see if anybody saw them, as
he slung his worn, old leather bag across his shoulder by means
of a walking-stick, and, taking Stella’s hand in his, started off.
Stella wondered whether they were to go up on broomsticks,
but her new friend was not as talkative as he had been at first.
He seemed to have got tired of answering questions, like Debo-
rah. She could only discover that they were going “by the way
of Norwich,†which was a seaport town about ten miles away.
Stella had been there, often, with her Uncle John; it was from
there that his vessel sailed. But she had never heard that there
was any conveyance from Norwich to the moon. Jack would be
very much surprised to know it. He would be very likely to ~
say, “I don’t believe it.’ That was almost the last distinct
thought that Stella had. She grew so sleepy that she stumbled
along, half-dragged by her companion. It was long past her
bedtime, and sleep conquered even the delight that she felt that
she was on the way to the moon. At length the man, grum-
blingly, lifted her in his arms, sound asleep. Her hold upon
Cinderella had relaxed, and the man stuck Her Dollship, head
first, into his grimy pocket, the legs waving wildly in the air.
And so this strangely assorted company travelled on in the
darkness.
Stella opened her eyes upon the very queerest place they had
ever seen. It was a ship’s cabin—she knew that at a glance,
having often been on board her Uncle John’s ship,— but the
darkest, dingiest, most forlorn one imaginable. She rolled
quickly out of the dirty and stifling bunk in which she was
lying, and took a survey of her surroundings. One side of the
cabin seemed to be a mass of broken timbers, through which
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 87
came little gleams of daylight and a glimpse of waving grass.
The ship was evidently not on the water, and would never be
likely to be again. It was very queer, but it might be the
fashion in the moon to live in a ship, Stella thought.
Three or four of the raggedest and dirtiest children Stella had
ever seen were quarrelling over some object. As Stella drew
near them; she saw that it was—oh, horror !— the headless
body of Cinderella. And the man— her acquaintance of the
night before — was holding up, by its golden locks, poor Cin-
derella’s head, for the inspection of a dirty and dejected-looking
woman.
Stella screamed at that sight; it was too much even for her
stout little heart to bear.
The man shook her roughly and told her to keep still. The
children forgot the doll, and gathered about her, staring at her,
with mouths and eyes wide open.
“Tf you are the Man in the Moon, you have n’t any right to
cut off my Cinderella’s head!†said Stella, boldly. “If there
are any policemen in the moon, I shall have you arrested. And
I want to go home. I don’t think I shall like the moon. at
all.â€
The man and woman both laughed. The man said something
that sounded like “ reg’lar little Bedlamite.†The woman com-
plained that they should find her in the way, and the man
replied that he would “ keep her till there was a reward offered,â€
and that they “might as well humour her notions.†They
offered her some fried fish for breakfast, but, brave as she was,
she was too homesick and frightened to eat. The children were
very social, and invited her to accompany them to the deck.
There was a rickety ladder, up which they scampered like
squirrels, and Stella climbed after them. She looked around
her with great curiosity ; out-of-doors in the moon might be
pleasant if the dwellings were not, she thought.
“ Why, it isn’t the moon, at all! It is Norwich!†she cried.
88 THE MAN IN THE MOON.
« If we have n’t got there, I don’t think I’ll go. I would rather
go home!â€
They were on the wreck of a fishing-schooner, which was
half-imbedded in the mud, in a little retired cove just outside
the harbour of Norwich. Less than a mile away lay the
town. nie
Stella was disappointed, but a feeling of relief that she was
so near home mingled with her disappointment. For the Man
in the Moon had certainly not improved upon acquaintance. He
was no longer agreeable; he had become very unwilling. to
answer questions, and he had cruelly murdered Cinderella.
“ How do you get to the moon?†asked Stella.
The children looked puzzled, and giggled, and said nothing.
An expression came into Stella’s face that made her look like
Jack.
“Do you live here all the time?†she said solemnly.
“Oh, no! We’ve only been here a week. We don’t live
nowhere. We tramp,†said the oldest boy.
This was not very intelligible to Stella. At that moment,
the man came up the ladder, and at once sent his children
below. Then he said:
“ We’ve just put in here for repairs —clothes and victuals,
and sich. We’re a-goin’ home to the moon just as soon as we
can find a conveyance,†he said.
It was.true, then ; and it was very disappointing. It occurred to
Stella that Mother Goose was right in saying that he came down
“too soon.†He might just as well never have come at all!
“TI think I will go home. May be you won’t get a conveyance
for a good while, and they ‘ll be worried about me at home.â€
Stella tried to be polite, but she spoke very decidedly.
“Oh, we couldn’t think of givin’ up the pleasure of a visit
from you at our beautiful home in the moon!†said the man.
“Here you don’t see us at our best; our ship has run aground,
so to speak. My wife and I are goin’ out now, to see if we
THE MAN IN THE MOON.. 89
can’t hire a balloon to take us up to-night, and you had better
wait and go with us.â€
It did sound inviting —to go in a balloon up to the moon!
But Stella was thoroughly homesick. “I’m very much obliged
to you, but I think I’d rather go home. Perhaps, the next
time you come down, I’ll go home with you,†she said.
“ Well, if you ha’n’t changed your mind before night, when
we come back with the balloon, I’ll take you home,†said the
man.
And all Stella’s pleading and tears were unavailing. The
children were sent away, with empty baskets on their arms, in
the direction of Norwich; then the man and his wife went off
in another direction, and they took down the ladder which led
up the vessel’s side, so that Stella could not get down to the
ground.
And as they went, Stella saw Cinderella’s beautiful golden
ringlets hanging out of the man’s pocket, and she heard the
man say to his wife that, as the head was wax and the hair real,
they might perhaps sell them for a few cents! __
Left alone, poor little Stella sobbed and screamed until she
was exhausted. But only the echoes answered. There were
woods on one side, the ocean on the other; not a living being
was within reach of her voice. Now and then a vessel sailed
by, but always too far off to hear her.
Before noon she was hungry enough to eat the few dry crusts
which had been left for her dinner, and then she felt a little
more hopeful, and, curling herself up in a corner, she forgot all
her woes in sleep.
The crashing of thunder awoke her. Her greatest terror had
come in the train of her other troubles.
Thunder and lightning were even worse to Stella than curly
dogs. Cozily cuddled in her mother’s arms a thunder-storm
was bad enough, but to be all alone in this strange and solitary
place, the sky black, excepting when tongues of flame splintered
90 THE MAN IN THE MOON.
the clouds, and with awful crashes coming at intervals, was too
much for the bravest little girl to endure calmly. If it had been
Jack it would have been different, for he was so queer that he
actually liked thunder-showers. He said the banging made it
seem like the Fourth of July.
Stella was tempted to go below, where she would be out of
sight of the lightning, but the cabin was so dark and close that
she felt a horror of it, and it was lonelier, too. Up on deck
she could see an occasional vessel, and there was a chance that
one might came near enough to see her. So she staid there,
and screamed as loud as she could, and waved Cinderella’s
headless body wildly over her head.
And a vessel did come near enough to see her. She could
see a man looking at her through a glass. Stella’s screaming
was no small matter. She was renowned at home for her
ability in that direction. Jack sometimes impolitely called her
the “ Great American Screecher.†And Stella screamed now
as she never had screamed before.
And a boat was lowered from the vessel ; it was rowed rapidly
ashore; a half-dozen sailors climbed to the deck where she was.
And then they asked her questions. Stella wished that Deborah
could hear them; she would never say again there “ never was
nobody like our young ones for asking questions.â€
And the sailors seemed astonishingly ignorant of history,
Stella thought; they had not even heard that there was a Man
in the Moon!
But they took her into the boat and carried her over to the
vessel ; lifted her on board, and put her into her Uncle John’s
arms. .
It sounds too good to be true, yet things do happen just right
sometimes in this world.
Uncle John hugged her, and kissed her, and laughed over
her, and cried over her a little bit, too, big man as he was, for
he seemed to think it was a dreadful thing to be carried off by
THE MAN IN THE MOON. 91
a tramp in that way, and that it was wonderful that he had
found her, all safe and sound. He called it just what Deborah
called it when she wore her old bonnet and it rained, — “ provi-
dential.†:
And Uncle John would not believe, any more than if he
had been Jack, — that the man lived in the moon.
When they reached home, they found Stella’s mother and
father, her eight brothers and sisters, and even Deborah, almost
distracted with grief and anxiety.
The whole town was searching for Stella.
The eight brothers and sisters stood around her in a circle,
while she related her adventures, and the questions they asked
would fill a volume.
Jack said, “I think she dreamed it. It sounds just like a
story. I don’t believe it.â€
An officer was sent to arrest the tramp early the next morn-
ing, but the old fishing-schooner was deserted; there were
scarcely any signs that anybody had ever lived there, excepting
poor Cinderella’s body, which he brought home.
Stella’s father and Uncle John thought that the man had been
frightened by Stella’s escape, and had meyers off as fast as
possible to avoid arrest.
But Stella’s private opinion is that they got the balloon and
went up to the moon that night.
A GREAT FINANCIAL SCHEME.
Ben Scatrercoop felt that his talents were running to waste.
It was discouraging for a boy who intended to be the greatest
financier of the age to have to till the soil on his father’s little
farm in that part of the township which was called “ Pharaoh’s
Heart,†because it was so stony, and to have to pick huckle-
berries and do “chores†for the neighbours, to earn money to
buy his Sunday shoes. #
He did not expect to burst upon the world a full-fledged
Rothschild or Vanderbilt; but driving a plow, and digging tur-
nips, and milking cows were occupations that didn’t seem even
to pave the way to a great financial career, and Ben was very
discontented. There was Tobias, who really loved farming,
and yet he was to be sent to the city to learn business, because
he was lame and left-handed, and his father thought he was n’t
fit for anything else. Ben was sometimes tempted to run away,
but he felt that it would be mean; for his father had rheuma-
tism, which grew worse and worse every year, and there was a
brood of little ones, all younger than Ben, and going down as
evenly as a flight of stairs until one came to the two pairs of
twins, Jed and Jethro, and Mirandyo and Marosybo. Ben felt
. that he was needed at home.
Yet he also felt a daily growing conviction that handling
pumpkins and potatoes was a very tame occupation for a boy
who wished to be handling stocks and bonds; and that keeping
the twins “ straightened out†was but a paltry use for talents
that might make their owner a power in Wall Street.
When the weekly paper found its way to “ Pharaoh’s Heart,â€
92
A GREAT FINANCIAL SCHEME. 93
Ben always retired with it to the nearest available seclusion,
generally the hay-loft, and eagerly scanned the financial column ;
and he thought he understood all about bulls and bears, and puts
and calls, and margins and corners, as well as he understood
when to plant corn, or when the trout in Stony Brook were most
likely to bite.
But, alas! of what avail was such knowledge to a boy who
had to work and spend his time on a stony little farm in
Quebasket, where stocks and bonds were almost unknown ?
Strangely enough, it was Tobias who suggested to Ben a great
idea, — Tobias, who was the proud but embarrassed possessor of
a dollar and nineteen cents, with which the speckled hen had
come off triumphant after the vicissitudes of hatching and rear-
ing a brood of ducklings. It was particularly gratifying, because
the speckled hen had hitherto met with reverses in all her busi-
ness undertakings, and Tobias had cherished gloomy forebodings
- that she would die in debt.
But even now perplexity was casting a shadow over Tobias’s
joy. “It’s queer, but I declare I have n’t anything particular
to do with that dollar ’n’ nineteen cents!†he said, limping into
the barn, where Ben sat on the meal chest, moodily snapping
corn at the cross old gander.
Ben stared at him in astonishment. This was an entirely
new experience for one of the Scattergood family. To have a
ereat many things to do with money, but no money, was their
every-day condition.
Tobias might be slow, but he was not frivolous. “I might
buy some turkeys’ eggs and sell ’em,†he said. “Turkeys are
more excitin’ than hens, but then they ’re more risky, too 1o
“Turkeys! You tried that last year, and only five eggs
hatched, out of a dozen, and the gander kicked one of the young
ones to death, and one was drowned, trying to swim with the
ducks, and one ran its head into the rat-trap, and the horse
stepped on one, and the other just up and died — because it was
94 A GREAT FINANCIAL SCHEME.
lonesome, I suppose. A great investment that was!†said Ben,
contemptuously.
“TI suppose I had better put the money away,†said Tobias.
“Hlakim Tuesley said, the other day, that he had thirteen
dollars and rinety-one cents in an old stocking. There was a
tin bank in our house —it would seem more appropri’t to put
it in a bank than in an old stocking — but some of the twins
hammered it all to pieces trying to get a copper cent out.â€
“That is a great kind of a bank! If I were five years old
I might put my money down the chimney of a little tin house
painted red,†said Ben, with withering scorn.
“T should just like to know what you would do with it!†said
Tobias, hotly. “It’s easy to tell a fellow what isn’t the best
thing — †:
“TI should make it grow, just as I would corn,†said Ben,
with an air of superiority. “If you could put it where it would
double itself in a year, in ten years you’d have — let’s see how
much,†— and Ben began to make calculations.
“T should like to know where I could make it double itself in
a year,†said Tobias.
Ben was in a brown study.
“There ought to be a bank in Quebasket,†he said at length.
“ Tobe, I think I shall set up a bank!â€
Tobias gazed at his brother in astonishment, not unmingled
with admiration.
“It’s a pretty big undertaking, but if any boy can do it, you
can, Ben,†he said. .
“ If I make it go,†said Ben, ‘“ you shall be the first depositor,
and I’ll pay you ten per cent, for your dollar ’n’ nineteen
cents.â€
Tobias was not equal to the task of computing his year’s
interest without time and a pencil; but ten per cent. sounded
well, and dazzling visions of wealth rose before his eyes.
“The old workshop isn’t just what I should choose for a
=
| A GREAT FINANCIAL SCHEME. 95
bank building but it will do,’ said Ben. “It’s lucky that we
happen to live on the main road; it would n’t look well to have
a bank out in the field.†And then remembering that Tobias
could paint letters of astonishing evenness, he said:
“You may paint the sign, Tobe, if you’d like to. I’ve
thought of a name that will sound well,— The Quebasket
Double-Penny Bank. Make the sign big and showy. We must
make everything attractive! I’m going to talk to the fellows ;
and I say, Tobe, if it turns out well you shall be cashier, — no,
you can’t reckon quickly enough for that, but you shall have
some position.†;
That had a very agreeable sound to Tobias’s ears, and his
faith in Ben was great ; but, nevertheless, his prudent mind sug-
gested a painful doubt.
“TI s’pose I am slow, Ben,†he said; “but I can’t see how
you are going to pay the interest, and salaries, and things.
Money won’t grow of itself in the old shop.â€
“ Well, I should think you were slow!†exclaimed Ben.
«What do banks generally do with their money? I shall lend
it.â€
“Lend it!†Tobias actually turned pale at the thought of ‘his
“dollar ’n’ nineteen cents.†“I guess you don’t know Quebasket
boys so well as I do! There was Lem Rollins, —he went off
to Boston with my jack-knife in his pocket; and Zach Halstead
broke. my muskrat-trap all to pieces and never offered to buy
me another; and Tom Jenkins has owed me thirteen cents
these two years; and when I ask him for it, he says times are
very hard! Of course some boys would pay —â€
“You must be clever to think I shall lend money without
security! Of course boys can’t do things just as men do, — the
fellows haven’t real estate,— but I shall take mortgages on
personal property. Tom Jenkins’s gun is worth eight or nine
dollars, and he ll not borrow any money from my bank without
giving a mortgage on the gun; and if he doesn’t pay principal
96 A GREAT FINANCIAL SCHEME,
and interest when it is due, I shall foreclose, — that means take
possession of the gun ! â€
Tobias’s doubts were swallowed up in admiration. His brother
Ben was a wonderful boy, and the Quebasket Double-Penny
Bank was the greatest financial scheme of the age!
Tobias hurried away in search of a smooth board and his
father’s paint pots, while Ben went to “talk to the fellows,â€
paying his first visit to Eliakim Tuesley, the greatest capitalist
of his acquaintance.
Eliakim was strongly impressed with the importance and
responsibility attending the possession of his wealth; but he was
readily convinced that it would never double itself in the toe
of the stocking, and that it might in the Double-Penny Bank.
Ben’s task was much easier from the fact that his mathematical
abilities were so highly regarded. If any boy could make a
bank a success, it was Ben Scattergood; that was the universal
opinion. Ben was “square,†too,— which in Quebasket ver-
nacular meant honest, — it was safe to trust him with money.
Even Dan Vibbert, who worked in the clothes-pin factory, and
supported his mother and Tittle sister, and was as wise and
prudent as if he were sixty instead of sixteen, agreed to save
ten cents a week from his earnings, if possible, and deposit it in
the bank; and he gave Ben, on the spot, fifty cents which he
had saved to buy a blue necktie with red dots.
Dick Malcolm, who was a rich man’s son, but who spent all
his money on caramels and cornballs, sternly resolved to forego
these luxuries, and tried to sell his donkey and cart that he
might deposit the proceeds in Ben’s bank.
Arthur Wingate, who had saved seven dollars toward buying
a bicycle, lent a willing ear to Ben’s argument that money
which was increasing every day was better than a bicycle which
was wearing out; and Tommy Tripp sold his calico colt that he
had meant to raise.
There was a great financial excitement in Quebasket. Ben
A GREAT FINANCIAL SCHEME. 97
came home in the evening and found that the sign, upon which
Tobias had worked zealously all the afternoon, had “ Quebasket
Double-Penny Bank†on it, in dazzling white and yellow letters
on a black ground bordered with red lines. ,
The office equipments were very primitive, and Ben resolved
that the bank’s first earnings should purchase a desk which
wasn’t evolved from a trough, and a safe which should give a
dignity to the establishment that was not to be imparted by
an old tin coffee canister and a cake box.
But the coffee canister and the cake box had money in them,
and so were more businesslike than an empty safe; and with
this reflection Ben consoled himself, even when some of the
boys— who had no money to deposit — said they “could put
their money into tin boxes at home without carryin’ it up to
Scattergood’s ole workshop.â€
Of course Ben knew that no one could expect to carry on so
ambitious an enterprise without having some troubles; so he
was not surprised when his sister Arethusa Ann sold her gold
beads to a peddler for twenty-five cents, to put into the bank,
and his mother sent him after the peddler in hot haste to get
them back at any price, because they had belonged to their
grandmother, and Ben had to give the peddler a dollar for
them. He was not surprised, but he almost wished he had
listened to Tobias, who said girls ought not to be allowed to
deposit, because they would want to take their money out the
very next day to buy candy or ribbons, or would be fussy and
come every day to see if it were safe. But he was glad after-
ward that he had n’t listened to Tobias, for some girl friends
brought money and seemed just as sensible about it as the boys,
from Mary Jane Pemberly, who had earned seventy-five, cents
by knitting stockings, to Kitty Malcolm, who was saving up her
allowance to buy a Shetland pony with a tail that touched the
ground. Kitty had eleven dollars, —she was almost as wealthy
as Eliakim Tuesley ; and Ben, who believed in women’s rights,
98 A GREAT FINANCIAL SCHEME.
had some idea of making her one of the directors. But when
he confided this idea to the boys, it was received with scorn and
derision, and Ben abandoned it with the patient superiority of
one who knows that his opinions are in advance of his age. He
decided, soon after, that he would have no directors, but would
himself be the sole manager of the institution, and this decision
prevented impending hostilities between Hliakim Tuesley and
Win Reeder, who intended to deposit fourteen dollars when his
uncle came home.
Another trouble was that some of the depositors returned
weeping, and demanded their money back, owing to the preju-
dice of their parents or guardians. But it happened that the
larger capitalists had full control of their funds, so this was no
serious. drawback to the success of the bank. Ben’s father
seemed to regard the undertaking as sport, and said Ben had
better be at work. But Ben thought he would soon be able to
show people that his enterprise was something more than play;
and that all the little trials incident to its beginning would be
forgotten in the glory of its success.
But Ben’s strong arguments had aroused such a zeal for sav-
ing money and putting it into the bank, that nobody seemed
to think of borrowing any to spend.
Ben felt himself under the necessity of affixing to his sign
the information that the bank would “loan money on personal
property or any good security.†He didn’t like the looks of that
notice; it detracted very much from the dignity of the bank;
he wished people would understand, without that, how his bank
must be managed; and he felt very much annoyed when Uncle
Amri Treworgy, as he was driving by, stopped and laughed, and |
called out:
“Gone into the pawnbroker business, Ben? Where are
your three gilt balls?â€
Uncle Amri was a queer old fellow who had amassed a con-
siderable fortune by shrewd investments and speculations. He
A GREAT FINANCIAL SCHEME. 99
was called “Uncle†by everybody, and was in reality a great-
uncle to Ben; and Ben had thought about asking his advice
about the bank. He was glad now that. he had n’t.
_ But his wounded feelings were soothed by the immediate
results of the notice. It was novel and exciting to be able to
borrow money! There was a reaction from the severe self-
denial that had made the taste of peanuts and taffy an almost
forgotten delight to Quebasket boys, and some of the depositors
were the first borrowers !
There was so great a demand for very small sums that Ben
feared the labour of keeping the books would be too great, and
he refused to lend any amount smaller than a quarter of a
dollar. This caused great dismay among the smaller boys; and
the village confectioner, who had ordered a double quantity of
peanuts and corn-balls in view of the unusual demand for them -
from young capitalists, was now left with the increased supply
on his hands.
The interest on loans was to be paid weekly, but Ben found it
very difficult indeed to make his collections. The boy who
borrowed a quarter thought three cents a week very little to pay
for the use of it when he borrowed it, but three cents looked
much bigger at the end of the week, and it increased rapidly to
very astonishing proportions! At the end of three weeks it was
nine cents, and it was often very inconvenient to pay it. And
in how much worse condition was the boy who had borrowed a
dollar ! :
Then, too, Ben found it difficult to be sufficiently hard-hearted
to take possession of the mortgaged articles. But Tobias coun-
selled firmness, and Ben at length felt obliged to seize several
pocket-knives, a Guinea hen, a cage of white mice, a silver
watch, a backgammon board, and a squirrel. The owners of
most of these articles very soon appeared with the interest due
and claimed their property, but one of the knives had been
broken after it was mortgaged, and the gray squirrel slipped out
100 A GREAT FINANCIAL SCHEME.
through a hole in the hen-house, and probably rejoined its
family in the woods, —and its opinion undoubtedly was that the
Quebasket Double-Penny Bank had done some good in the
world. But Tobias, with a wrinkled brow and deep misgivings
about his “dollar ’n’ nineteen cents,†charged the knife and the
squirrel to the loss account of the bank. The Guinea hen, too,
caused embarrassment by laying three eggs while imprisoned in
the bank, which John Sylvester, her owner, claimed. And
when he threatened to have a lawsuit if they were not returned
to him, Ben felt obliged to give them up, because he thought an
appeal to law would seriously interfere with the success of the
bank. Poor Tobias spent half a day in calculating the profits
that might have accrued to the bank from those three Guinea
hen’s eggs, and he never became reconciled to their loss.
Ben’s strict measures produced two results! one was that the
interest was paid much more promptly, but the other was that the
boys became more shy of borrowing. The novelty had begun to
wear off, too, and times were undeniably dull at the bank.
But one morning Quebasket awoke to find its fences and
walls, and even its rocks and trees, adorned with flaming
posters, which announced that the “ Gigantic Royal Hippodrome
and Stupendous European and Asiatic Menagerie, applauded by
all the Crowned Heads of Europe, Great and Small, and con-
sidered by the Czar of Russia the Eighth Wonder of the
World,†would exhibit at the Stapleton Mills, a neighbouring
town, the next day. Every Quebasket boy knew very well that
those lofty-sounding names meant simply that the circus had
come! And the blissful news was shouted from one to another.
“ Lively times to-day!†said Ben to Tobias, as they saw the
bank building fairly covered with the beguiling bills. “ Crowds
. of boys will want to borrow money to go to the circus!â€
And Ben was right. Before nine o’clock that morning the
bank had more calls for money than it had had in any previous
day of its existence; and it had queerer things offered for
A GREAT FINANCIAL SCHEME. 101
“security than ever before (which is saying a great deal), from
Billy Plumptre’s recipe for educating rabbits, to the Corson
boys’ discovery of a fox’s den in the woods; and Tobias felt
obliged to nudge Ben’s elbow continually to prevent him from
accepting doubtful securities; for Ben was so elated with the
renewed demands upon the bank as to be a little reckless.
More than a little reckless he thought he had been, when, before
noon, he discovered that there was only a dollar left in the
bank! And just as he made the discovery, Derry Burroughs
appeared, and wished to withdraw his deposit of a dollar and a
half to take his sister and his cousin to the circus! And
although Ben assured him that he would lose his whole quarter’s
interest by withdrawing the money then, Derry stood firm, and
Ben handed him the dollar, making an apology for the half
dollar, though he tried not to reveal that the bank vaults —
that is, the coffee canister and cake box— were empty. But
Derry was shrewd enough to understand the real state of the
case, and it soon became apparent that he had not kept his
discovery to himself. The depositors began to come in hot
haste, by ones and by twos and by threes, all demanding their
money !
Ben turned pale as he realised the awful fact that there was
a run on the bank!
He closed and fastened the door against the angry crowd, and
spoke to them through the window.
“ Your money is all safe; and you shall have it as soon as I
can get it,†he said.
But this did not pacify them. There were angry growls and
hisses, and even a cry of “swindler!†from some of the boys
whom Ben had called his friends; and he was cut to the heart.
“ You knew just how I was going to manage, and it’s all lent
on good security,†he said.
“ You said we could have it back at any time,†cried a voice.
“JT did n’t suppose it would ever be all borrowed, and I did n’t
102 A GREAT FINANCIAL SCHEME.
suppose you would be mean enough to come after it all at once,â€
said Ben.
“Jt’s our money, and we want it!â€
voice.
And there stood Mary Jane Pemberly on the edge of the
crowd, weeping bitterly ; that made Ben feel like a scoundrel.
“T’ll do the best I can,†said he. “ Come here this afternoon
at five,and I’ll see what can be done towards paying every-
body.â€
The crowd slowly and reluctantly dispersed. They thought
this might be only an excuse to get rid of them, but yet their
faith in Ben was not wholly lost.
“TJ should like to know what you can do at five o’clock
more’n you can do now,†said Tobias, whose face was now
fairly tied up into a hard knot with anxiety. “You can’t get
the money.â€
“ But I’m going to try,†said Ben. “I’m going to see Uncle
Amri.â€
“You might as well tap an elm-tree for sap as to try to get
money out of him,†said Tobias, gloomily.
Ben himself had great doubts of his success.. Uncle Amri
was noted for being “ close-fisted,†but he had always been kind
to Ben, and seemed to take an interest in-him, and Ben thought
it was worth while to try.
Just as he was setting out, Kitty Malcolm appeared at the
bank. She looked very bright and smiling and apparently had
heard nothing of the run.
“ Perhaps she had come to deposit more money !.†thought
Ben, with rising hope.
But her first words caused his hope to sink again.
“I have come for my money, — never mind about the
interest,†said Kitty. “Iam going to have my pony. Uncle
Harry is going to add enough to my eleven dollars to buy one
that the circus people have for sale. And Dick wants his
shouted a determined
A GREAT FINANCIAL SCHEME. 103
money, too. I don’t like to hurt your feelings, Ben, but papa
thinks banking is hardly a business for boys; he is surprised
ae that you should be in it, and he does n’t
GS care to have us have anything to do
ee with it.â€
“KET DOUBLE
ry
|
THE BANK-PRESIDENT AND THE CHIEF DEPOSITOR.
“I T’VE COME FOR MY MONEY.â€
Ben thought that was the very worst moment he ever could
have in his life.
Kitty’s bright face clouded sadly when Ben had to tell her
that he could not return her money, but she was very good
about it. She said if he could get it that afternoon, it would be
104 A GREAT FINANCIAL SCHEME.
just as well as then, and if he could n’t — well, some other time
would do; “ perhaps, after all, the pony might not be as pretty
as they said it was.â€
Ben -did n’t let any grass grow under his feet on the way to
Uncle Amri’s.
He found the old man sitting on the fence of his backyard,
observing with satisfaction the growth of his mammoth pump-
kins, and Ben poured forth the story of his troubles the more
impetuously because it was so unpleasant to tell.
“ Bank’s bu’sted, has it?†said Uncle Amri, with a grim
chuckle.
Ben felt’ that the word was very objectionable, and the
chuckle could scarcely be understood to express sympathy ; but
there was an expression in the keen blue eyes that looked out
of Uncle Amri’s weather-beaten, baked-apple-like face which
emboldened Ben to proffer his request. Uncle Amri’s first
remarks were not encouraging. He told Ben that if he expected
to get his money back in any way-from all those borrowers, he
was a simpleton; and he entered upon quite a long conversation,
in which Ben, leaning shamefacedly against the post of the
kitchen steps, had to endure a great many uncomplimentary
remarks. But at the close of his “leetle lecture,†as Uncle
Amri called it, he did lend to his downcast nephew the money
he sought, with the agreement that Ben was to work for all
that he could not repay in cash. Ben hated farm work, and he
knew that Uncle Amri would exact full measure; but he was
so relieved to have the money in his pocket that he thought he
should not find it a hardship to work it all out if he had to.
“You'd better settle up your business and quit it,’ said
Uncle Amri, as Ben left him. “Tradin’ in money is risky
business, and not fit for boys; and, anyhow, folks that gets or
gives more ’n a fair price for anything are apt to come to grief
in the long run!â€
Ben meditated very seriously over Uncle Amri’s advice, and
A GREAT FINANCIAL SCHEME. 105
Kitty Malcolm’s remark, that her father thought “ banking was
hardly a. business for boys,†rankled in his mind; but he be-
lieved that he should get most, if not all, of the money back,
and he did want to show people that the bank could go on.
He had not decided what to do when he came in sight of home.
Tobias came limping to meet him.
«« What do you think father’s been doing?†he cried. “He’s
had Si Gilmore up to fix the new henhouse over into a granary,
and he’s moved the hens into the old workshop! He didn’t
seem to think the bank was of any consequence,—said he
could n’t let us have the place for a playhouse any longer!â€
In silence Ben pushed open the door of the late bink. From
a corner the cross gander hissed defiance at him, and, perched
upon the desk, the pert little bantam rooster crowed shrilly, as
if in triumph over the downfall of the great financial scheme.
But, after all, Ben felt a little relief. This was a good reason
why the bank should close, and everybody, would know it.
“Uncle Amri has lent me enough money to pay every one,
Tobias!†he said, exultantly, drawing from the desk the books
of the firm — an old copy-book and a double slate—and reading
the names of the depositors. Tobias drew himself up very erect,
and looked very pale.
“ Where ’s my dollar ’n’ nineteen cents?†he said, in an awful
voice.
_“T declare, Tobe, I forgot you!†exclaimed Ben. “ You
seemed like one of the firm, you know. But you shall have
your money. If it doesn’t come in all right, I’ll work for
Uncle Amri and earn it for you.â€
Tobias reflected.
“T’ll tell you what, Ben,†he said at length. “You get mea
dozen of Uncle Amri’s white turkey’s eggs, and I’’ll call it square.
I’ve made up my mind to go into the turkey business ; it may
be risky, but it’s safer than banking, and not so worrying.â€
The depositors all came and got their money that afternoon,
1
106 A GREAT FINANCIAL SCHEME.
and went away feeling somewhat ashamed of the hard things
they had said about Ben.
In the course of time most of the borrowers paid their money;
and there was enough interest paid to almost cover the losses
occasioned by the few who never paid at all; so Ben had to
work only two days and a half for Uncle Amri.
On one of those days, Uncle Amri told Ben that he had still
some confidence in his business abilities, and thought of setting
him up in business when he was twenty-one. Ben was gratified
by this proof of confidence, but he told Uncle Amri that he felt
now as if he should prefer “to stick to farming.â€
THE COW THAT CONSIDERED.
Tue farm was perched up on the very top of Crow Hill, and
everybody in the town called it the Crow’s-nest, and before long
they began to call the Jones family, that moved there, “ the
Crows,†to distinguish them from another family of Joneses in.
the town.
They began by calling them the “Crow- hill Joneses,†but
they were economical people in Damsonfield, and could not —
spend time to say all that. None of the Jones family minded
having it shortened, excepting Jim; he did not like to be called
Jim Crow.
They had moved to the Crow’s-nest from a. manufacturing
city, where the father, until his health failed, had been an over-
seer in one of the mills. When he became unable to work, the
three older children — Enoch, and Abijah, and Priscilla — went
into the mill, and earned just enough to keep the wolf from the
door. There were so many mouths to feed and feet to shoe,
so many sharp little elbows to stick through jacket sleeves, so
many restless knees to wear out trousers, that the father’s hoard
of savings melted rapidly away, and if a distant relative had
not died and bequeathed this old farm to them, I am afraid they
would have suffered for shelter and food. Even now they had
almost forgotten how gingerbread tasted, and as for a good,
crisp, rosy-cheeked apple, they knew they might as well wish for
the moon. :
They moved to the Crow’s-nest early in April, and in the
sweet, fresh, country air which he had longed for their father
breathed his last. Their mother had died three years before,
and they were all alone in the world.
107
108 THE COW THAT CONSIDERED.
They held a family council to consider what they had better
do. It was held in the barn, on the haymow. They had had
so much of being shut up within four walls in their lives, that
they didn’t mean to have any more of it than they could help.
Barns were new to their experience, and very fascinating; with
the great door open, and the balmy May wind blowing through,
it was even better than out-of-doors, especially to Jim and
Nehemiah, because there was an opportunity to create a diver-
sion by performing circus feats on the great beams, if the
proceedings should prove uninteresting.
Enoch, as the head of the family, was the chief spokesman.
He was almost sixteen, and they all thought that, if there was
anybody in the world who was wise and venerable, it was their
Enoch. When he had worked hard all day in the mill, he
went to evening school, and spent all his spare time in study.
And all the other Crows boasted that the minister could n’t ask
Enoch a question that he could n’t answer ; and they declared
that if he did n’t get to be President some day, it would only be
because the people did n’t know who was fit for President. He
was strong, too, if he was slender, and he had never failed to
“get the better of any fellow who pitched into him.†JI am
afraid that all his wisdom and learning would have gone for
put little with Jim and Nehemiah if he could not have done
that.
Enogh said there were two alternatives: They could sell
the farm, and buy a little house in the city which they had
‘come from. The older ones could work in the mill, and support
the family comfortably, since they would no longer have rent to
pay, and the others could go to school. Or they could stay
where they were, and try to get a living off the farm. Some
people said the land was poor, and “ run down,†and they were
young, and inexperienced in farming, and had no money to
begin with, but they might try what stout hearts and willing
hands could do; and there was the district school where they
THE COW THAT CONSIDERED. 109
could all go in the winter, and a high school over in the village.
(Enoch was always looking out for an education. )
Priscilla tied her
forehead up na
knot, as Abijah said,
while she thought
about it. She was
only fourteen, but she
had been the “ house-’
mother†for a long
time, and she knew
they would need a
thousand little things
the others didn’t
think of, and it did
not seem possible to
her that all those
things could grow out
of that dry, stubbly-
looking ground—
Sunday hats, and cop-
per toed shoes, and
all. But when she
thought of going back
to the mills she gave
a great sigh, as if her
heart would break,
especially for little
Absalom’s sake; he
was delicate, and
needed country air.
“JIM CROW.â€
When the question was put to vote, it came out that they
were all of one mind.
With the grass growing greener every day, and the buds
110 THE COW THAT CONSIDERED.
swelling on the fruit-trees ; with Methuselah, the old gray horse,
rolling and kicking up his heels like a colt on the grass; with
Towzer, the great Newfoundland dog, basking in the sunshine ;
with the white turkey promenading through the barn, followed
by her newly fledged brood—the procession headed by the
bristling, strutting gobbler, whose airs and whose scolding were
a never-failing delight; with a dozen chicks— downy, chirping
balls, which had that very morning pecked their way into the
world from the most ordinary looking egg-shells ; with ducks
that set out in a waddling procession for the brook as regularly
as if they had watches in their pockets ; with seven tiny, brand-
new pigs in the pen, every one with a most fascinating quirk in
his tail ; with Buttercup the cow, and her fawn-coloured calf, to
be fed and petted; with a hive full of bees, that made honey
which was the pride of the whole neighbourhood ; with a straw-
berry-bed, two long rows of currant-bushes, and an orchard,
with cherry, and pear, as well as apple trees; with wild straw-
berry vines in abundance in their south meadow, and chestnut-
trees in the grove behind the house,— with all these present
and prospective delights, more enchanting to these poor little
Crows than any country child can possibly imagine, could
they think of going back to the narrow, stifling, brick-walled
streets — to the dirt and din of the mills ?
Jim, who was the belligerent one of the family, doubled up
his fists and took the floor, in fighting attitude, to show his
opinion of such a proposal, and little Absalom, who had discoy-
ered the advantage of making a noise in the world in order to
carry his point, set up an ear-splitting howl.
“We'll hunt bears and wolves, and dress ourselves in
their skins, like Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday,†said
Nehemiah, solving the problem of clothes, which Enoch had
suggested.
And Nancy echoed this brilliant idea. Nehemiah and Nancy
were twins, and Nehemiah furnished ideas for both. Nehe-
THE COW THAT CONSIDERED. 111
miah’s ideas were not always regarded as strictly practical by
other people, but they suited Nancy.
Jim said the woods were full of rabbits and partridges, and
he was going to tame a gray squirrel and carry him about in
his pocket; and the coasting down Crow Hill in the winter
must be “immense;†he should think anybody was crazy to
talk about going back to the city !
But Jim was not quite eleven, and he was not looked upon,
by the older Crows, as much more of a business man than
Nehemiah. .
Abijah was only two years older than Jim, but they called
him Solomon, he was so wise and prudent. He looked like a
little old man, with his shrewd, shriveled face and stooping
shoulders. In fact, Abijah was a little too prudent; he did not
dare attempt much of anything lest it should not turn out well,
and he borrowed trouble whenever there was any to lend.
“Tf Absalom should get lost in the woods, and a bear should
eat him, I guess we should feel bad! We should wish we had
gone back to the city.†This was Abijah’s remark.
Little Absalom set up a dismal screaming at the prospect of
this untimely end, and his mind was only diverted from it by
his being allowed to take a peeping little chicken in his hand —
a proceeding not countenanced by the mother hen.
“Tf the house should burn down, on a winter’s night, we
should freeze before we could get to the nearest neighbour's;
and if we can’t get money to pay the taxes, they Il put us all in
jail; and it would be just exactly like Nancy to get choked to
death with a cherry stone!†continued Abijah, cheerfully.
But with all these catastrophes before his mental vision,
Abijah still preferred staying at the Crow’s-nest to going back
to the city. He knew of even more perils there, because he had
been thinking them up all his life. 2
«Then it is decided that we shall stay,†said Enoch, at last;
and just as he said it, the biggest rooster, who was all purple
112 THE COW THAT CONSIDERED.
and green and gold, and walked as if the ground were not good
enough for him to step on, mounted the saw-horse, and crowed
—a, triumphant cock-a-doodle-do, as if he had some especial
cause for rejoicing.
“It really seems as if that were a good sign,†said Pris-
cilla, and all the wrinkles were suddenly smoothed out of her
forehead.
But Jim, who didn’t believe in ‘signs, said that the rooster
probably got up late, and had n’t yet had time to get his crow-
ing all done that morning.
Nehemiah and Nancy thought there was something very queer
about that rooster, and that he might prove to be as wonderful
and useful as Puss-in-Boots, or the Goose that laid the Golden
Egg. They took to the marvelous as naturally as a duck takes
to water, and they were deeply learned in giant and fairy lore.
To be sure, they had never met any of those wonderful beings
outside of story-books, but then such folk were not supposed to
live in cities. Here, in the country, they expected to meet a
fairy at every turn.
They all went to work with a will to prove that, although
they had everything to learn, they could be good farmers.
There was one thing that frightened and discouraged them,
and that was the tax-bill, which was due when the farm came
into their possession, and which they were being pressed for,
and had no means of paying.
If they could only be allowed to wait until their crops were
harvested, they felt sure of being able to pay it, but the old
farmers in the neighbourhood had very little faith in their abil-
ity to raise crops, and the tax-collector was impatient. They
must sell something off the farm to pay the bill, that was clear,
but the question was, what had they that anybody would pay so
much money for? They could not spare Methuselah, and, if
they could, he was so old that nobody wanted to buy him. But
they had two cows, and Buttercup was part Alderney, and very
THE COW THAT CONSIDERED. 113
handsome, and they thought her milk was better than the other
cow’s, though it was all so different from city milk that they
could not quite decide.
Enoch walked down to the village, one night, to try to find a
purchaser for Buttercup. He came back in high spirits, saying
that Doctor Douglas had seen and admired her, and offered a
good price for her; it was enough to pay the tax-bill, and some-
thing over. Tony, the doctor’s coloured boy, would come for
the cow the next morning.
_ There was great rejoicing at this news, although a little sor-
row would mingle with it at the thought of parting with Butter-
cup. She had a saucy way of tossing her head, and some of the
neighbours had hinted that she was not always good-tempered ;
- but with the Crows she had always seemed a most amicable cow,
and they would have parted with Daisy, the other cow, much
less sadly. Buttercup’s calf would have to go, too; that was
the worst of it, the children thought; it was so pretty —fawn-
coloured, with white spots and with beautiful, soft, brown eyes.
They all assembled to take leave of Buttercup and the calf
when Tony appeared, early the next morning. Absalom, to
whose mind tax-bills were unimportant, howled piteously, and
Abijah prophesied that they should never have another such cow
and calf as long as they lived. But the others were so happy in
the thought of having the bill paid that they thought little about
Buttercup.
Buttercup’s opinion, however, seemed to agree with Abijah’s
and little Absalom’s. The moment she saw Tony, she gave
her head one of those saucy tosses, and when le approached
her, rope in hand, with a sudden, vicious jerk she brought her
horns into very unpleasant proximity to his jacket.
Tony retreated, but manfully returned to the charge, this time
. offering Buttercup a turnip as a bribe. But Buttercup used not
only her horns, but her heels now, and with such effect that
over went the milking-stool, sticks flew off the wood-pile, the
114 THE COW THAT CONSIDERED.
wheelbarrow was broken into pieces, the saw-horse and the
pitchfork were whisked into the air, the hens and ducks flew
about, cackling and quacking; and when Tony and all the
Crows had retired to a respectful distance, and left Buttercup
mistress of the situation, what did that knowing rooster do but
get up on the fence and crow with all his might.
Absalom clapped his hands with delight, and Abijah recalled
several instances which he had heard of persons being killed by
vicious cows. And Nehemiah and Nancy decided that it was
probable, judging by the height to which Buttercup kicked up
her heels, that she was the very cow that jumped over the moon.
Tony’s wool fairly stood upright with terror; and he rolled his
eyes so wildly that but little more than the whites was visible.
“Dat am a cur’us cow, no mistake,†he remarked, survey-
ing Buttercup critically — from a distance. ‘’Pears like dere’s
an uncommon libeliness about her. See hyar! You’d better
cotch her ; she mought hab a dislike toa gemman ob colour.â€
And he handed the rope to Enoch.
Abijah and Priscilla and Jim all clung to Enoch, and begged
him not to go near the cow, and even Nehemiah and Nancy
clung to his coat tails.
* Do you suppose I am going to let that little darkey think I
am afraid?†said Enoch, in a low but awful voice.
And he shook them all off, put the rope in his pocket, so that
it need not offend Buttercup’s eyes, and walked boldly up to her,
addressing her in persuasive and complimentary terms, such as:
" “« Quiet now, Buttercup! Good old Buttercup! Nice cow!â€
But Buttercup was not to be deceived by flattery. She cocked
her head on one side, and.gave Enoch a knowing and wicked
look, that was as much as to say: “ You can’t put a rope around
my neck, sir, even if you have kissed the blarney stone! If you
think you can, you had better try it!â€
Enoch stopped, irresolute, even with the “little darkey †look-
ing on. Buttercup cast down her eyes, and chewed her cud with
“DAT AM A CUR’US COW, NO MISTAKE!†REMARKED TONY.
THE COW THAT CONSIDERED. 117
a mild and virtuous expression of countenance, and Enoch went
toward her ; he was near enough to put his hand upon her, when,
with a dive of her horns and a fling of her heels, off she started
on arun. Enoch started in pursuit, and so did Towzer, barking
furiously ; so did the calf, frisking and prancing, as if it were
great fun; so did the gobbler, bristling all over with wrath, and
evidently feeling like the knight of old who declared it
« Eternal shame if at the front
Lord Ronald grace not battle’s brunt.â€
The gobbler was always ready to take sides in a combat; you
never found him sitting on the fence, when a fight was going on.
The white turkey gathered her brood around her, and surveyed
the contest from afar, with a dignified and matronly air.
Jim followed the procession, turning a somersault now and
then, as he went, to relieve his excited feelings, and Tony sat on
the fence and cheered on Buttercup and her pursuers, first one,
and then the other, with strict impartiality, self-interest evi-
dently being lost sight of in the excitement of the contest.
Buttercup, becoming tired, and perceiving that her pursuers
were gaining upon her, suddenly backed up against a stone wall,
and stood at bay.
Towzer barked madly at her heels, and the gobbler, standing
provokingly just under her nose, gobbled out a long tirade
against her evil behaviour, but Buttercup had a mind above such
petty annoyances ; she calmly disregarded her inferior pursuers,
and fixed her eyes, with a “ touch-me-if-you-dare †expression,
upon Enoch.
Enoch walked up to her, with stern determination, and —
threw the rope over her head— almost, but not quite. It
caught upon one of her horns, and, with a playful gesture, But-
tercup tossed it over the stone wall, into the field.
Enoch climbed over after it, urged on by a derisive shout
118 THE COW THAT CONSIDERED.
from Tony, and the somewhat irritating announcement that
‘dis niggar was ready to bet on de cow!â€
Having got Enoch out of the way, Buttercup flung out her
heels at Towzer and sent him off, limping and yelling with pain ;
then she made a swoop upon the gobbler with her horns, and
that valiant warrior retired in great confusion; and then she
took to the road again, at an easy, swinging gait, as if it were
really not worth the while to hurry. But when Enoch
approached her again, she turned suddenly, and, taking him by
surprise, tossed him over the fence with her horns, almost as
lightly and airily as she had tossed the rope.
She looked over the fence after him with a deprecating air
that.was as much as to say, “I didn’t want to, but you forced
me to it!†and then she walked quietly along, feeding on the
roadside grass.
Enoch was stunned for a moment, but when he recovered, he
was astonished to find that his bones were all whole; he had
suffered only a few slight bruises.
The whole family rushed to the spot; even Tony descended
from his secure perch.
“It’s no use to cotch her!†said Tony, when they had
all assured themselves that Enoch was unharmed. “De doctor
won’t hab a animile dat ’s possessed ob de debble!â€
This brought back the thought of the tax-bill, at which
Enoch’s heart sank.
“She never behaved like this before†he said. “Iam sure
if she could once be got into the doctor’s barn she would be
peaceable enough.â€
“? Pears like it ain’t so dreffle easy to done fotch her dar.
But I’ll send Patsy up. Patsy can cotch a streak ob chain
lightnin’.â€â€™
So it was decided that Patsy, the doctor’s man servant, should
come up the next morning, giving Buttercup time to sober
down.
THE COW THAT CONSIDERED. 119
They all went their several ways to the day’s work, leaving
Buttercup to her own devices.
Enoch and Priscilla looked discouraged and anxious, and
Abijah cheerfully reminded them that he had foretold that they
should all be put in jail.
Nehemiah and Nancy were deputed to shell corn for planting,
and they perched themselves on the meal chest in the barn, with
a bushel basket containing the corn between them. As the
basket overtopped their heads, it was inconvenient and a barrier
to sociability, but no better way occurred to them, and as
Nehemiah was buried in thought, and Nancy always respected
his silence, it did not matter as far as sociability was concerned.
But, after a while, Nancy heard a voice on the other side of
the basket say :
“Do you remember whether it says that the cow did consider,
Nancy ? Don’t you know, —
« «There was a piper and he had a cow,
And he had no hay to give her,
So he took out his pipes, and played her a tune —
Consider, old cow, consider!’ â€
“I don’t think it says any more,†said Nancy. “But of
course she considered; she knew he was poor, and picked up
anything she could find to- eat.â€
“Well, I’ve been thinking that we had better play Buttercup
a tune, and ask her to consider and go with the doctor’s man, so
that we can pay the tax-bill.â€
“That’s a beautiful plan! Let’s do it, right off!†said
Nancy, dropping her apron, and letting the torn in it roll all
over the floor in her excitement. “Only, don’t you think,
Nehemiah, that truly cows are different, some way, from the
cows that Mother Goose knew about? They don’t seem to have
so much sense. They don’t understand what you say to them.â€
“They do! They only pretend not to. They are deep,†said
120 THE COW THAT CONSIDERED.
Nehemiah. “And people don’t know how to manage them. If
they would have let me manage Buttercup, I could have made
her go with Tony, just as easy.â€
“ Could you, really ?†said Nancy, looking at him admiringly.
«“ But you’ll let me help, when you play her the tune, won’t
you?†;
“Yes, if you don’t make a noise, and let everybody know
beforehand, just like a girl. You get down and pick up the corn
you spilled, and all that 1’ve dropped, too, and then 1’Il tell you
how I’m going to do it.â€
Nancy got down immediately, and picked up every kernel
faithfully, never minding that she got splinters into her fat little
hands, and made her chubby little knees ache.
“We can’t do it when anybody’s near,†said Nehemiah, after
Nancy had climbed up on to the meal chest again, “ because they
will make fun of us, and say it isn’t of any use. They don’t
know that cows can understand. But we’ll get up early in the
morning, before Jim goes to milking, even, and I’ll take the old
accordion, and you take a comb, and we’ll go right into Butter-
cup’s stall, and we ’ll play a ‘Pinafore’ tune to her —‘ Little
Buttercup’ will be just the thing, because it’s her name, you
know. And then we’ll tell her all about the bill. And, after
that, we’ll play a psalm tune —‘ Old Hundred,’ or ‘ Lord, dis-
miss us with Thy blessing’ That will kind of. make her feel
solemn, and think about being good. And then you see if she
don’t go with Patsy, when he comes! And then the tax-bill
will be paid, and we ’ll have new shoes awful often, and we won’t
eat anything but jam and pound-cake, and we’ll have a bicycle,
and a balloon as big as this barn!â€
The prospect of such happiness was too much for Nancy’s
composure, and again the corn was spilt, and this time they both
had to get down and pick it up, for Abijah came and scolded
them for being so slow, because Enoch already wanted the corn
to plant.
THE COW THAT CONSIDERED. 121
The next morning, before it was light, Nancy heard a low
whistle just outside her door. She slipped out of bed without
waiting to get her eyes open, and very softly, so as not to wake
Priscilla, and dressed herself hurriedly. Nehemiah was waiting
for her at the back door, with a lantern. It seemed very queer
to be up and out-of-doors while it was still dark, but there was
something delightfully exciting about it.
Towzer, suddenly roused from sleep, took them for burglars,
‘and barked like mad. He seemed to recognise them after care-
fully smelling at their heels, but it struck him as such an un-
usual proceeding for them to go into the barn at that hour, that
he insisted upon accompanying them.
That irrepressible rooster got up and crowed, but otherwise
it was perfectly still in the barn. Buttercup was awake, chew-
ing her cud and looking rather sad and grave, as if she were
meditating upon her bad behaviour.
Nehemiah hung the lantern on a nail, and then walked boldly
into the stall, followed by Nancy, who was a little afraid of But-
tercup, but would not hesitate to follow Nehemiah anywhere.
Nehemiah struck up “ Little Buttercup †on the accordion, and
Nancy chimed in on the comb. The accordion was old and
wheezy, and Nehemiah was not a skilful performer, and a comb
is not a pleasing musical instrument at the best; the echoes in
the old barn must have been astonished when they were called
upon to respond to such sounds as those! Towzer and the
rooster both assisted, to the utmost extent of their powers.
Buttercup looked over her shoulder at them, with a puzzled
expression, and she whisked her tail a little, but gave no other
sign of emotion.
“ Now, you go on, and ne easy, while I tell her all about it,â€
said Nehemiah, at length.
He put his lips very near Buttercup’s ear.
“« We have played you a tune, Buttercup,†he said, “ and now
we want you to consider. You were a very bad cow, yesterday,
122 THE COW THAT CONSIDERED.
and made your friends very unhappy, but perhaps you didn’t
- stop to think, and didn’t know how much difference it made.
Before we got the farm, we were awful poor, and we shall be
awful poor if we lose it, besides having to go to jail, Abijah
says; and we can’t pay the tax-bill unless you let yourself be
sold to Doctor Douglas. Cows can be very good and smart if
they try. And perhaps, when we are rich, we ’ll buy you back.â€
Buttercup kept very quiet, and.looked as if she were listening
to every word.
‘Now you consider and go with Patsy, without making a
fuss,†said Nehemiah, in conclusion.
“ We'll have ‘Old Hundred’ and the ‘ Doxology,’ and then
well go,†he said to Nancy. “And you see if she isn’t a
different cow from what she was yesterday.â€
They got into the house and hung the lantern in its place,
just as Jim came stumbling sleepily downstairs to milking.
Nancy went back to bed, and dreamed that Buttercup, in a
long trained dress and with hair done up behind, was dancing
a polka with the tax-collector, while the big gobbler played for
them on a comb.
It was quite disappointing to find that it was only a dream.
Nehemiah and Nancy were on hand when Patsy arrived.’ He
was a big, good-natured Irishman, who announced himself as a
remarkable cow compeller, and declared that there was “ not a
baste in the wurruld that contrairy that she could get the betther
iv him!â€
He had provided himself with a stout stick, and with this in
one hand and a rope in the other, he approached Buttercup in
the boldest manner, while Nehemiah and Nancy held their
breaths and watched.
But, alas for the remarkable cow compeller! Buttercup made
such a furious lunge at him that he was fain to take to his heels.
And alas for Nehemiah and Nancy, whose tunes and appeals
now seemed to have been thrown away! Yesterday’s pranks
THE COW THAT CONSIDERED. 123
were but mild and tame compared with those that Buttercup
played to-day. She kicked and she pranced, she capered and
she danced, until everything that had legs was glad to run
away, and leave her in possession of the field. And Patsy was
forced to go home, acknowledging that one “baste had got the
betther iv him.â€
Nehemiah and Nancy looked at each other in silent surprise
and disappointment. Then Nehemiah approached as near
Buttercup as he dared, in the excited state of her feelings, and
reproached her in strong terms for failing to consider, after the
“beautiful music†with which they had favoured her. _Butter-
cup turned her head, and looked steadily at him, and uttered a
long-drawn-out low. It was very different from her ordinary
“‘moo-oo-o0.†It seemed to consist of two syllables, and she
looked as if it meant a great deal.
“ Nehemiah, it sounds just as if she were trying to say some-
thing,†said Nancy. “ What does she mean ?â€
“ She says, ‘ But-ter!’ ‘but-ter!’†said Nehemiah. “But
-I don’t think she means anything. Cows are silly things, any-
way !â€
“ Perhaps she means for us to make butter out of her milk, so
that she can do us some good, even if she won’t be sold.â€
“We might,†said Nehemiah. “There’s a churn in the pan-
try, and you only have to turn a crank. Priscilla said we
might as well sell the milk, but I guess she’ll let us try just for
the fun.â€
Nancy skipped into the house, delighted that she had thought
of something that Nehemiah said it would be fun to do —though,
to be sure, it really was Buttercup’s suggestion. She was so
excited about it that before she stopped to think she had told
Priscilla and Enoch all about their playing Buttercup a tune;
and asking her to “consider,†and that Buttercup had kept
saying, “ But-ter! but-ter!†And though they laughed, and
made a great deal of fun of it, Priscilla gave them some cream
124 THE COW: THAT CONSIDERED.
that she had saved from Buttercup’s milk, and told them they
might churn it, if they liked.
She had never thought of doing such a thing. Butter was a
luxury to them, and they could very well do without it, and she
had not thought of making it to sell, for they had only two
cows.
Nehemiah and Nancy worked with a will. It wasn’t alto-
gether fun; the butter was so long in coming, and their arms
ached, and Nancy would open the churn every three minutes, to
see if there was some butter. At last, little thick, yellowish
specks appeared in the cream, and, not long after that, the
crank became very hard to turn, and lo and behold! there was
a mass of yellow butter inside. It was the sweetest, and the
richest, and the goldenest butter that ever was tasted or seen !
Priscilla made it into balls, and Enoch bought a stamp,—a
beautiful pattern, with strawberry leaves and fruit, — and, when
Priscilla had stamped it, they sent some balls down to Doctor
Douglas. He had been very kind to their father when he was
ill, and they were delighted to. have something to send him.
The doctor came up to the Crow’s-nest the very next day, to
say that he had never tasted such delicious butter, and that if
they would keep him supplied with it, he would be willing to pay
a very high price for it. And he said if that was the kind of
butter they could make, he thought they had better keep a dairy
farm, and nothing else; very few of the farmers in the neighbour-
hood made butter, and there was a great demand for it in the
town; and he thought their land was better adapted for dairy-
farming than for anything else.
He lent them the money to pay their tax-bill, and said they
need not pay him until they began to get some profit from their
farm, and then what did he do but buy them another cow, which
they need not pay for until they were able.
And Priscilla and Nehemiah and Nancy made butter — and
I might say that little Absalom helped, for he drank the butter-
THE COW THAT CONSIDERED. 125
- milk!— while the others worked on the farm. The butter
brought very good prices, but they made the butter from Butter-
cup’s milk by itself, and that butter had such a reputation that
it found its way into the city market; it was what the dealers
called “ gilt-edgedâ€â€™ butter, and commanded a fabulous price.
And now that Buttercup’s calf has grown into cowhood, and
gives milk, too, you may see in the window of a large city store
this sign —“ Butter from Crow’s-nest Dairy.â€
And the Crows would not begin to change places with any
Rothschild of them all.
And whenever they talk about the wonderful good fortune
that their dairy has brought them, and say, “ What should we
have done if we had sold Buttercup?†Nehemiah and Nancy
look at each other. They don’t like to say anything, because
they have been laughed at so much, and, besides, they are older
now, and would not think of getting up at four o’clock in the
morning to play tunes to a cow; but sometimes Nancy does
whisper :
«They may laugh as much as they please, but I shall always
believe that dear old Buttercup did consider.
A MOVING STORY.
Tury were a very moving family. It seemed, as Grandma
Standwell said, to be a family trait, like a quick temper, or
a Roman nose. It began with the very first Standwells they
knew anything about, who came over from England in the
third ship after the Mayflower. Grandma said she never could
understand how they escaped coming in the very first, — but
orandma was not of Standwell blood. They made up for any
time lost in not doing so by moving all over the colony in the
first two years, in spite of (or, perhaps, generally on account of)
poverty, and bears, and Indians. They went like inch-worms,
a little way at a time; so, although the successive generations
had kept on moving, the family had reached only Connecticut
when Grandma and Grandpa were married and settled down to
—moving. Grandpa had a book that told all about the prowess
of his ancestors in those early days, and they really were very
valiant people; but Grandma never seemed to be impressed
with anything but the number of times they had moved. Once
she had been heard to say that if she had read that book before
she married Grandpa,— but that was when the moving men
dropped a frying-pan upon a piece of Sévres china that was an
heirloom from her French ancestors.
Grandma had moved twenty-nine times. She counted them
up one day after she and Grandpa gave up housekeeping and
went to live with their son Arad. Maria, Arad’s wife, groaned ;
but the children, Peter and Polly, and Dave and Nan, and little
Lysander, thought it must have been rather good fun.
Grandpa said he couldn’t see how they had happened. to
move so many times; for he was sure he was never one that
126
A MOVING STORY. 127
liked to move; but there was the time that Nancy (that was
Grandma) said the roof of the old house at Hammersfield never
could be repaired so that it would n’t leak; and the time she
said she could n’t live any longer in the house with her cousin
Jane, because there was always the smell of frying doughnuts,
and Jane would argue against “’piscopalians ;†and the time
she said they ought to move to Hartford on account of the
schooling privileges —“certingly she did.†Grandpa always
said “ certingly †when he wished to be very impressive.
Grandma laughed; she was very good-natured and could
laugh even about such trials, and said she believed the “ mov-
ing-disease †was contagious, as well as hereditary. Arad’s wife
said she did hope Arad never would have it, and Grandma said
she didn’t know but she should die, if he did. Arad said,
somewhat to the disappointment of the children, that there
wasn’t the least danger. He had almost paid for the house
they lived in, and he wasn’t going to move until he could buy a
brownstone front on Fifth Avenue. Grandma said, with a sigh
of relief, that would not be in her time.
The children immediately went into the back yard and played
“moving ;†and Nan, who was “ realistic,†sacrificed her second
best tea-set to imitate the fate of Grandma’s Sévres china.
They lived uptown in New York, and they had — only think
of it!— an apple-tree in their back yard. A great, gnarled,
wide-spreading apple-tree that looked as if it had strayed from
a country orchard, but which made the best of the bit of sun
and sky and air that it could get, and blossomed and bore fruit
as industriously as if it realised that its responsibilities were
greater even though its privileges were less than those of a
country apple-tree. .
Tt was the family calendar; everything dated from “ the
year when the graft first bore,†or from “the year when they
had seven barrels of apples,†or the year of “the May frost that
killed half the blossoms.†The trunk was covered with notches
128 A MOVING STORY.
where the children measured their growth; they said it was
quite wonderful how the tree came down to them; even little
Lysander found that it was not half so tall as it was when he
was small. Each had his own seat among the crotches of the
great boughs. Peter’s was away up, almost out of sight; but
it was not little Lysander, but Polly, whose seat was on the
lowest bough, for the tree never came down to Polly.
I don’t quite know how to say it— they were all so sensitive
about hearing her called a dwarf — but the truth is that Polly
had never grown at all since she was six years old; which was
the result of a spinal deformity. She was now almost thirteen,
and although she was comparatively well she would never grow
any taller. But Polly was not unpleasant to look at, although
her shoulders were far too broad for her height, and were a
little, only a very little, rounded. She had a pretty, yellow,
eurly-thatched head, and a pair of cheerful, brown eyes through
which a merry and loving heart sent its bright beams. “Oh,
play something else, children, and don’t talk about moving.
Only think, we should have to leave the apple-tree!†cried
Polly, sitting down on the broad doorstep where the sunlight
sifted through the apple-tree boughs upon her yellow head.
“Tf you were to die and go to heaven, you would have to
leave the apple-tree,†remarked practical Nan, to whom, in truth,
an apple-tree more or less in the world did not seem of great
account — except when the apples were ripe.
“Do they have them there, Polly ?†asked little Lysander,
anxiously.
“J don’t know, dear,†answered Polly, a little wistfully.
It seemed strange, but only just a month after Grandpa and
' Grandma came to live with them Papa Standwell came home one
night and said they were compelled to move. And old friend,
whose note he had indorsed, had failed to pay, and he was
obliged to sell the house to meet the indebtedness ; otherwise, he
should fail in business. That misfortune would be so much
A MOVING STORY. 129
the greater that, after the first shock, his wife began to feel quite
reconciled. She had suspected that Arad was troubled about
something, she said, and it had worried her so much that now
she was really thankful that it was nothing worse. After a
while she quite brightened up over the prospect of another
house; it would be a hired house and smaller even than this,
for they must be very economical now, but some things she
would be sure of: the door of the dining-room closet should n’t
open the wrong way’, so that one was obliged to shut’ another
door to get into it; and there should n’t be a dark bedroom ;
nor a ridiculous old-fashioned paper, all over lambs and shep-
herdesses, on the walls of the spare chamber. It would be a
comfort to have a more modern house, altogether; she had
never wished Arad to buy this one, which began to look quite
ridiculous among the handsome new blocks of brick houses.
Grandpa — well, he had been accused of looking longingly at
the laden furniture wagons that went rushing about on the first
of May, so he said very little, but he certainly was surprisingly
cheerful.
The children were hilarious, all except Polly. It seemed to
her too bewildering, too dreadful, to be true. She stole away by
herself up into her apple-tree seat to think it over. How could
they live in another place? It was almost too much for Polly’s
imagination to grasp. The closet door was troublesome, espe-
cially when one was in a hurry; and the dark bedroom was
certainly pokerish —little Lysander entertained the opinion that
a Huggermugger giant had a permanent residence there — but
what a triumph it was when one first dared to go in there
alone! It was used as a storeroom for goodies, which was the
reason, perhaps, that little Lysander’s belief was not more
sternly discouraged, and there was a mysterious fascination
even about its faded chintz portiére, with a pattern of blue pea-
cocks. In one corner was kept the great bag of chestnuts which
Uncle Amos sent them every autumn; Polly had not ceased yet
130 _ A MOVING STORY.
to be proud that she dared to go, all in the dark, and get them
to roast in the evening. As for the “shepherdess†paper in
the spare chamber, Polly thought that perfectly beautiful ; it had
beguiled many a weary hour of illness for her, and the shep-
herdesses and their sheep seemed almost like old friends. It
had never troubled her mother seriously until Aunt Caroline,
who was rich and had had her house “ decorated†by an artist,
said it was “ impossible.â€
Good or bad, every inch of the house, every nook and cranny,
was home. Polly could n’t possibly see how they could ever
have another one.
And their apple-tree! Would it live on just the same,
shooting out its tiny, woolly buds, which appeared so miracu-
lously in the spring, after old Boreas and Jack Frost had bent
and beaten and snapped its bare branches, until it seemed
impossible that the tree could have any life in it? Would it put
forth its blossoms, making a pink and white glory of itself, and
perfuming the whole neighbourhood, getting up the loveliest of
mimic snow-storms, and then setting its firm, round, little
apples, that would grow plump, and spicy, and red-cheeked, —
and they not there? Polly felt as though her heart were
breaking.
Grandma missed her, and came in search of her. She
laughed at her and scolded her, and insisted that she, being
young, ought to enjoy the prospect of a change; and all the
time tears were trickling down her own soft, wrinkled, white
cheeks.
“ Bless the child, I’m afraid she’s like me,†said Grandma to
herself as she went into the house. “But she’ll get over it.
Moving is a toughening process.â€
One day Papa Standwell came home and said that, after all,
they need n’t move unless they chose, as the man who had
bought the house wished to let it. But that was after they had
almost decided upon a house, further down-town, and in quits ».
A MOVING STORY. 131
fashionable street; and Mamma Standwell said that, since they
would be obliged to pay rent anyway, they might as well pay for
a house that suited them; and since the change had been de-
cided upon she had been discovering, every day, other defects in
the house beside the closet-door, and the dark bedroom, and the
“shepherdess†paper,—until she quite wondered how she could
have been contented to live there.
No one observed how Polly’s face brightened, then darkened
again pitifully, unless, indeed, Grandma may have done so.
The children did n’t know what to make of Polly, who usually
had been first and foremost when “ good times†were in pros-
pect. She couldn’t be made to understand that moving was
a “good time.†It could n’t be because she was so old; for
Grandpa, who was nearly eighty, was as pleased as any of
them.
Little Lysander was one day overcome by a pang at the
thought of leaving the apple-tree, but he was speedily consoled
by Nan’s reported discovery of a candy shop just around the
corner from the new house, where chocolate “ Jim Crows†were
sold two fora penny. Little Lysander felt that such a neigh-
bour could assuage even a deeper grief.
When the day of the “ flitting†came, they all felt a trifle sad.
When they saw the rooms looking so forlorn and desolate, they
remembered all the good times they had had there, but there
was no time to indulge such emotions, for the children had to
run here and there at every one’s bidding. Peter was obliged to
mount guard over his collection of butterflies and birds’ eggs,
to see that they were safely loaded; and Nan had all she could
do to protect her dolls’ house, which already had one of its
chimneys broken by being packed carelessly upon the load.
Mary Ann, their one servant, gave immediate warning because
“moving made a respictable gyurrl too remairkable ;†and
Dandy, their precious pug, whose peace of mind had been
destroyed by the arrival of Grandpa’s dog, Ranger, decided that
132 A MOVING STORY:
the old order was now changing quite too much for his endur-
ance, and ran away. They never saw him again.
Sarah, the cat, securely fastened into a stout basket, was car-
ried to the new home by Peter; but objected so vociferously
all the way that a crowd gathered, and Peter was seriously
embarrassed.
They thought their trials would be over when they were fairly
in their new home; but Mamma Standwell declared that she
found them only just begun. For nothing would fit; the new-
est furniture looked shabby; the chimney would n’t draw, and
the plumbing was out of order so that the floors had to be taken
up, —and there was n’t a bit of a back yard! Peter mourned a
broken gun, and Nan’s Paris doll had been crushed in its box
and transfixed by the poker, so that its sawdust strewed the
street.
Grandma consoled them by saying they would know better
how to pack, when they had moved as many times as she had.
The homesick ones, Grandma and Polly, tried to make the
very best of it, but little Lysander roared mightily because he
“felt as if he were somebody else,†and the cat disappeared and
was found, after a long search, in the apple-tree at the old house,
a mile away, meowing piteously. «
After all, they lived in that house only six months and a half,
for Papa Standwell failed in business in spite of his effort to
prevent it. He tried to secure some work in the same business,
because he knew nothing of any other, and, after much waiting
and worry, work was offered him — in Chicago.
Mamma Standwell was not happy about this moving. She
said one moving had taught her a lesson, and she was sure she:
should never find a house so charming as their old one.
Grandma openly wept this time, but she said it was some
comfort that no one could say they were “going like inch-
worms,†now.
Grandpa was joyful, although in a subdued way. He said he
A MOVING STORY. 133
had always meant to move out West, when he was a young man,
and he talked about it to Peter and Dave until they felt that
their lives so far had been wasted, because they had n’t lived in
~ Chicago.
Polly did n’t seem to mind it very much, anyway. She had
grown quiet and listless ; she was no longer first and foremost in
good times. Her mother said the child must take cod-liver oil.
The house in Chicago had a back yard; and, although there
was no apple-tree in it, there was a great heap of ancient and
dilapidated theatrical properties — masks, tin swords, gilded
crowns, and tinsel ornaments, which went far to mitigate the
children’s pangs of homesickness. They were all a little home-
sick this time, for there was no familiar face or scene. And
Peter would n’t be a king; he said he did not feel equal to play-
ing any part but “The Man Without a Country.â€
Before they had lived there three months, Papa Standwell
discovered that they were on the wrong side of the city. He
wished he “had known more about Chicago†before he came,
and declared the location “positively unhealthy.†So they
moved.
Grandma said that was apt to be the way when people once
began.
Mamma Standwell did n’t care so much, now, whether things
fitted or not. She said they had all lost the “home feeling,’
and it.didn’t seem worth while to try to make the house
pleasant.
Papa Standwell was becoming discouraged ; he said his work
was like a treadmill; that it did not agree with his health; that
the physicians told him that an outdoor life was the only thing
for him; and he had heard of an opportunity to buy, “for a
song,†a prairie farm, away out at Big Bear Creek. The chil-
dren thought the name very promising; they could n’t find it on
the map, but they discovered that it was in the region of In-
dians, and cowboys, and buffaloes, and Dave thought that now
134 A MOVING STORY.
life was to be “like a story-paper,’—in which particular he had
hitherto been disappointed. Peter, with spirits quite restored,
tried, in the privacy of his own bosom, to decide whether he
should be a “cattle king†or a “silver millionaire.†Mamma
Standwell shed a few tears, but said she supposed she ought to
be reconciled if it would be better for Arad’s health; and per-
haps the change might do Polly good, too.
Grandpa, in the best of spirits, helped little Lysander to knot
up the new clothes-line to make a lasso for buffaloes. Grandma
said, trying her best to be cheerful, that there was one good
thing about it—they should have a home of their own again,
and not be likely to move. |
Papa Standwell laughed, and said they could n’t, for there
was nowhere to move to; and they could not come back be-
cause he should have spent all the money on the farm.
It was a long, long journey; railroads and stages, and even
houses and people, gave out before they reached the end; and
around them there were only great prairies, rolling and rolling
like the waves of the ocean, and away off, as far as the eye
could reach, they rolled into the sky. There was only now and
then a tree,—a forlorn, scrubby little tree, which, Peter said,
looked as if it had moved from somewhere.
It was somewhat disappointing that there were no bears; it
appeared that little Lysander had expected to see them in great
numbers, along the road and up in the trees, all quite amicable
and waiting to be taught to dance, like the bear which for -
him represented the entire species—one he had seen in the
circus.
Polly confided privately to Grandma that she had hoped for
an apple-tree.
But it was some compensation that the creek was almost a
river ; and that there were Indians, peaceful and friendly (which
was disenchanting to Dave), but quite attractive in appearance ;
for, although one wore a commonplace tall silk hat, he had stuck
A MOVING STORY. 135
a feather into the band, and draped a gay blanket over his suit
of shiny broadcloth.
It was spring, and there were great fields of grain already
green, and promising abundant harvests. The house was com-
fortable ; and in the barn, beside cows, and oxen, and horses,
was a charming little Texan pony for Polly, and, when he went
scampering over the prairies with her on his back, really. a
faint, rosy colour came to Polly’s cheeks.
The boys were somewhat cast down because there were no
‘enemies to conquer, “save winter and rough weather.â€
“ There ain’t no b’ars round here, nor no fightin’ Injins this
side of Liberty Gulch,†said Uncle Peter Ramsdell, their nearest
neighbour, who lived five miles away, but who hastened to pay
a neighbourly visit upon their arrival. “ But Nater, she gets on
the rampage once in a while and makes things lively. I’ve fit
b’ars and I’ve fit Injins, and they ain’t nothin’ more’n trifles
compared to Nater when she gets a-goin’! I expect you’ve
heard tell of cyclones? Jake Cam/’ell, that lived here before
you did, he made that kind of a dug-out, back in the field, and
he scrambled into it, with his whole family and his stock, about
every time he see a cloud. But these few years back the.
cretur’s gone tearin’ off to the south’ard, without so much as
givin’ us a touch of its hoofs, and I hope to mercy it will keep
a-goin’ that way. It laid Carter City level with the ground,
except the meet’n’-house, — and it ketched that up and tossed it
into the river.â€
“So that’s what that great square hole is for,†said Dave.
«We supposed some one had dug a cellar, meaning to build a
house. I wonder if we shall ever scramble ants it?â€
Privately Dave was -of opinion that it might be fun, for
indeed he understood what a cyclone was but little better than
did Lysander, who had gathered from Uncle Peter Ramsdell’s
discourse a vivid impression that it was a wild beast with four
horns and a fiery tail.
136 A MOVING STORY.
They were on the lookout for one, for several weeks; and
then they gradually forgot about it. They ceased to take any
notice of passing clouds, and the dug-out was used as a play-
house. Nature sent them long, golden days, and just enough
soft, warm rains, as if she were thinking of nothing but their
harvests ; and seemed altogether so lovely and gracious that they
could not believe she would ever “get on the rampage,†as
Uncle Peter Ramsdell had expressed it.
In the late summer Grandpa had a stroke of paralysis, and
that drove everything else from their minds. Poor Grandpa !—
he could still speak, and retained his senses perfectly, but his
limbs upon one side were useless. He was very patient and °
cheerful; but he said he had begun to think that perhaps the
land was better in the next county, on the other side of the
creek, and if Arad should ever wish to move there, he hoped he
should n’t be any hindrance. Grandma laughed and cried, and
said she hoped she had n’t complained too much, and declared
she would be willing to move to the ends of the earth with him
if he could.
One day in September, Papa and Mamma Standwell and Grand-
ma went to Young America, shopping. It was a twenty-mile
drive, and they started at daylight. Their maid-of-all-work, .
Uncle Peter Ramsdell’s niece, had been summoned home be-
cause her mother had erysipelas, and Polly was left in charge of
the children and of Grandpa.
Peter and Dave were in the pumpkin field, when Dave, looking
up suddenly, said:
“Ig n’t that a queer looking little cloud just above the hori-
zon? It’s like a cannon-ball, — so round and black.â€
Peter turned pale as he glanced at it, and dropped the pump-
kin he held, and started at a run for the house.
“It’s rushing toward us! See how it grows! It’s a cyclone,
Dave!†he cried, while he ran.
“Polly! Polly!†they shouted as they came near the house.
A MOVING STORY. 137
“ Get into the dug-out, you and little Lysander, quick! We’re
going to get the cattle in. There’s a cyclone coming!â€
Polly caught up little Lysander, who had been building a
Tower of Babel and had his hands full of blocks, and ran to the
dug-out, as well as she could with such a burden. Nan was
already there, with her best doll and her pet rabbit, and the tin
_cooky-box. Little Lysander cried for his kitten, and Polly ran
and brought it. The cattle and horses were frightened, and
Polly’s pony would have broken away if she had not soothed and
caressed him.
The sky was growing dark, and there was a stillness that
seemed frightful.
“ Now I am going back to stay with Grandpa. I’ve tried to
think of some way to get him here, but we can’t; he is too
heavy. Take care of them all, Peter!â€
They tried to dissuade her.
“ You can’t do any good! You are foolish,†cried Peter.
* He’s old and ill, and he is frightened,†said Polly, as calmly
as if she herself were not trembling in every limb. She heard
a distant rushing and roaring as she closed and barred the house.
«“ Polly! Polly! don’t leave me alone!†cried Grandpa Stand-.
well, half rising from his couch, as no one supposed he could.
“ But — you ’d better go, child! You’d better go!†he mur-
mured the next moment, falling back, helplessly. “ What does it
matter about an old man like me?†|
“T shall stay, Grandpa. Don’t be afraid,†said Polly, stoutly.
She threw her arms around his neck, and waited.
In the dug-out Peter and Dave found it a hard task to quiet
the frightened animals. Old Mac, the strong farm horse, trem-
bled, and the oxen lowed pitifully.
Little Lysander’s kitten escaped from his arms, scrambled out
of the dug-out and ran away.
“T’m going after it!†said Nan. “There’ll be time —â€
‘“‘ Stay where you are!†said Peter, sternly. Hardly were the
138 A MOVING STORY.
words out of his mouth, when there was a great blackness, a
rushing, a roaring, and a crash! Little Lysander said afterward
that he felt the sky come down and hit him. Breathless they
crouched in the bottom of the dug-out.
As the noise was stilled the atmosphere cleared, and gradually
the sky brightened. :
TOUTE yi
coil
“SHE THREW HER ARMS AROUND HIS NECK, AND WAITED.†—
Peter was the first to look out.
Was it the same place, or had they been blown away ?
There were no cornfields, no fences. Where were the house
and the barn ? ,
“The house has moved away !†cried little Lysander.
Papa and Mamma Standwell and Grandma, driving home from
Young America, were only a few miles out of the course of the
cyclone, and their hearts were almost bursting with suspense and
fear when they met Uncle Peter Ramsdell.
A MOVING STORY. 139
“There’s a house that looks to be your’n clapped down, all
stan’n’, t? other side of the creek; and your barn was goin’ down
river, till it got driv’ ashore down by the bend. I wouldn’t
take on, if I was you, for the cretur has often hove things
’yound like that without hurtin’ a hair of the folks’s heads that
was in them!†said Uncle Peter.
They found that Uncle Peter understood “the cretur,†for
Grandpa and Polly were safe and sound. Grandpa was cheer-
ful, even jocose, and said he had moved again in spite of them!
The shock to Polly’s nerves caused a long fainting fit, and at
-one time they feared that Polly, as little Lysander remarked,
innocently, would “find out, now, whether there were apple-
trees in heaven.†;
But Polly has lived to own a great apple orchard in this
world. It is planted on the spot to which the cyclone carried
them, for it was Government land, where any one could take up
aclaim. It was more fertile than that from which they had
been taken, nearer to neighbours, close to a-church and school.
Uncle Peter Ramsdell insisted upon buying their old farm on
the other side of the creek. He said he wanted it because a
cyclone, like lightning, was not apt to strike twice in the same
place.
Their barn, which had sailed down the creek, was moved back
to its place beside the house; and although the barn had to be
entirely rebuilt, part of the hay was unhurt, and there, in the
hay loft, was little Lysander’s kitten, sound in body, though dis-
turbed in mind.
Grandpa maintained that the cyclone had done them a good
turn, the new location was so much more desirable than the old.
To the best of my knowledge and belief, and according to the
latest advices, they are living there still, and I hope they always
will; but I think, with Grandma Standwell, that when people
once begin to move —
NORA’S OIL-WELL.
«Ir ye’d only consint to sell the place to Patsy Flannigan,
an’ buy a share in the big oil-well, we’d be like the king an’
queen on their thrones; you wid a trailin’ silk gown an’ a raale
gold chain, an’ me wid a gold watch an’ a fine span o’ horses.
For there’s niver an end o’ the oil is in that well, so they all.
says.â€
“OQ Teddy, there may be niver a drop of oil there at all, at
all! Just look at the three derricks forninst the river, all in a
row, a-towerin’ up so grand in the air, an’ it’s pumpin’ an’
pumpin’ away they was, an’ niver so much as a drap! What
if this one would be the same, an’ our-money would all be gone,
an’ the place that faither an’ mother worked so hard for, an’
that’s so snug an’ comfortable for Patsy, and the baby, and the
pigs, and hins, and us all! Jist look how plisant it do be,
Teddy, wid the baby makin’ dirt-pies in the sunshine, and the
chicks fightin’ so quare over the worms, an’ the dear little pigs
squealin’ so musical! O Teddy, I couldn’t niver do it,—
niver!â€
And Nora shook her red head so decidedly that Teddy 9 was
almost convinced that it was of no use to tease her.
Teddy, and Nora, and Patsy, and the baby, and the pigs, and
chickens, lived in a little town on the Alleghany River, away
out in Western Pennsylvania. You might find the town on the
map,—if I should tell you its name. It lies in a little hollow
that seems to have been scooped out of the high hills, and the
hills shut out the sun rays, so that it seems almost always
dreary, and gray, and cloudy, there; and then there is the
smoke from the ereat iron mills to make the air thick.
140
NORA'S OIL-WELL. 141
The hills are full of treasures; vast stores of iron and coal
which they kept, fast locked up, for nobody knows how many
years, before man’s curious skill burrowed in, and found them.
Now, queer little avenues — just tall enough for a man to stand
upright in, and wide enough for drays, drawn by patient
donkeys, to travel in—lead into, and sometimes through—
the hills. And men with pickaxes and spades dig away there,
in the hearts of the hills, in darkness and grime, sometimes all
their lives long; and, with the little lamps which they wear in
their caps casting a faint, weird light over their blackened faces
and figures, they make one think of gnomes, in a fairy-tale, who
wait upon some Prince of Darkness. The mines have drawn
together a little colony of people from the old countries,—Eng-
lish and. Welsh and Irish they are, principally, though there is
a sprinkling of Germans and Belgians. They live, for the most
part, in little houses of log and plaster, provided by the iron
company, or the coal company; but, now and then, one, with
more means or more enterprise than the others, has bought a
little lot of land and built himself a frame house. Terence
Connelly had been one of the enterprising ones. He had bought
two acres of land on the hillside, above Sugar Creek, and built
a comfortable little house, and a pig-sty and a hen-house as well,
and had a garden, with “ praties†and cabbages. The land was
very sterile, and the vegetables never amounted to much; but
still it was a pleasure to Terence, when he came out of the dark-
ness and gloom of the mine, to see “ green things growing.â€
But there came a day when poor Terence did not come out
of the mine. A mass of rock and ore had fallen in and killed
him. His wife was heart-broken, and went into a rapid decline,
living less than a year after her husband’s death.
Teddy, Nora, Patsy, and the baby were all alone, on the little
place, which their father and mother had worked so hard for,
and taken such pleasure and pride in. Teddy was fourteen, and
Nora little more than a year younger; Patsy was ten, and the
142 NORA’S OIL- WELL.
baby three. The Connelly children were regarded as especially
intelligent by their neighbours, and Nora, in particular, was
always said to be “far wiser than her years.†They had always
been sent carefully to school, and though neither of them “ took
to books,†particularly, — unless Teddy’s great liking for pirate
stories might be regarded as indicative of a literary turn, —and
had never “ got the burr out from under their tongues,†their
native shrewdness had probably been somewhat sharpened.
At all events, they had shouldered their responsibilities, and
managed their affairs, without aid from anybody.. Small affairs
they were, to be sure. When the expenses of their mother’s
illness and burial were paid, the last cent of Terence Connelly’s
little hoard of savings was gone; and as they had been obliged
to scrimp and save, for a long time, to buy the little comforts
necessary for their mother in her illness, the children were
almost entirely destitute of clothing; the home was their own;
but in some way they must be fed and clothed. Teddy found
a situation in the mill, but the pay was small, and there were
intervals when he had no work. Nora took in washing and
ironing, and, now and then, she found a day’s work at cleaning
and sweeping. It was too hard for her, of course, but she never
complained. At first, people gave them something, but when it
began to be seen how self-helpful they were, the aid was grad-
ually transferred to the more destitute, — and they were plenty.
Moreover, the Connellys tried to hide their want, as much
as others displayed theirs. Nora had a sturdy little pride about
it, inherited from both father and mother. And they had been
taught to be scrupulously neat; so there was never the look of
poverty about their house which filth and squalor give. They
did not keep the pig under the bed, nor the hens in the sitting-
room, like many of their countrymen. And people said: “ How
well those Connelly children do take care of themselves! They
don’t seem to want for anything.â€
But many a time Nora went to bed hungry, after her hard
NORA’S OIL- WELL. 1438
day’s work, and she patched the children’s clothes and her own
until it was hard to tell which was the original fabric and which
the patch; but patches did not matter much if they were only
comfortable, and were not obliged to ask charity of anybody ;
so Nora thought.
Neither did she mind the hard work, nor the hunger, if she
could only keep the little home, and the little flock together,
and be independent, —just as her father and mother would have
wished. Nora’s only fear was that her strength would fail her ;
she had a sharp pain in her side, sometimes, and her face, that
had always been chubby and rosy before her mother died, grew
so wan and pinched that, but for the little snub nose, which
turned up just as decidedly as ever, her friends would scarcely
have known her. But she was not in the least discouraged.
They had lived through the long, cold winter, and now spring
had come; the days would be warm and long, now; they could
raise a few vegetables, which would help along, and Teddy could
catch fish in the river, — which, though they did taste of
petroleum, were, still, not bad eating. But Teddy was getting
into a way that grieved Nora sorely. One of the millmen had
lent him papers and books full of stories that seemed to have
turned his head completely. He was no longer contented to
plod along at his daily labour. He wanted to become rich, all
at once, and have wonderful adventures.
The oil excitement was strong in the town just then. In all
the region around, oil had been found for several years, but
within the borders of this little town the first oil had been
struck a year before, and the people had gone wild over it. In
the cold winter nights, Teddy had often been employed to keep
fires burning, along the pipe lines, which ran over the hills,—
conveying oil from the wells to the great tanks near the railroad,
where it was kept ready for transportation. These fires were
to keep the oil from freezing, and several men were employed
together. And then stories of wonderful oil-wells were told
144 NORA’S OIL- WELL.
which aroused Teddy’s imagination to the highest pitch. All
the oil which had been struck was near the northern border of
the town, miles away from their home, and it cost from two to
three thousand dollars for the necessary apparatus to “bore for
oil.†All Teddy’s story-papers did not give him the faintest idea -
how he was to become the proprietor of an oil-well.
Now, an enterprising Irishman, thinking he had discovered
indications in his barren pasture, was raising money to “ bore,â€
by selling shares in the prospective well. And, as if luck did
mean to befriend them, Teddy thought, Patsy Flannigan was
seized, just at this juncture, with a desire to buy their place.
To be sure, he offered less than it cost, but what was any place
worth, now, that had no signs of oil about it, Teddy would like
to know. And he gave Nora no peace, coaxing and arguing,
getting angry and shedding tears, by turns, and refusing to
listen for a moment to poor Nora’s suggestion that “ there
might be not a drap at all, at all, in Danny Cregan’s well, and
then, with the bit place gone, and no money, what would be-
come of them?â€
On this particular evening, Teddy was very much vexed and
disturbed in his mind. After he had pictured the prospective
good fortune in such an attractive way, for Nora to be entirely
unmoved, and throw cold water on all his hopes and plans, was
too much for Teddy’s temper. He arose from the door-step,
where they were sitting, and strode off, knocking over the baby,
kicking at the cat, and throwing a stone at the chickens. Poor
Nora’s heart was full almost to bursting; she did so hate to go
against Teddy! She was naturally yielding, and “she loved
Teddy so much.â€
Besides, as he said, she was younger and only a girl! “May
be he do be right,†she said to herself, faltering in her resolu-
tion. “It’s afther gettin’? worun out both of us is, wid the
harud woruk, an’ the little till ate, an’ may be sickness before
us — an’ the poor bye’s heart so set on the oil-well! But then it
NORA'S OIL-WELL. 145
do be so much like gamblin’! An’ Danny Cregan not quite
right in his head, they all says, an’ the last woruds the mother
said bein’, ‘ Howld fast to the bit place, Nora. Don’t be afther
lettin’ anybody take it away from yez.’ It don’t be for the
likes of us to make forchins. We must be contint wid kapin
the roof over our heads, and the bit an’ sup in our mouths.
The saints be good till us! —but Teddy ’ll niver be contint till
he sells the place and buys a pairt of the oil-well that Danny
Cregan has n’t at all, at all!â€
And with this melancholy conclusion Nora’s tears fell thick
and fast. But a voice at the gate made her wipe them away
quickly. Teddy had come back. Nora was afraid he had gone
“across the river.†They had a “ first cousin†living on the
other side, and once, lately, when Teddy had got angry with her,
he had gone over there, and stayed two or three days, neglecting
his work; and there were wild boys there who led him into
mischief. Nora was happy to find that he had not gone. Per-
haps he had come back to tell. her that he was sorry for getting
angry with her. “ Niver a bye had a better heart inside iv him
than Teddy had—before the oil faver tuk him,†Nora was
always saying.
But Teddy had n’t come back to say that he was sorry.
“It’s now or niver, — will ye sell the place to Patsy Flanni-
gan an’ make yer forchin ?†he called. “ Misther McDonald is
afther givin’ his consint an’ the papers is all ready for signin’.â€
Mr. McDonald was their guardian, but he was a hard working
man, with a large family, and troubled himself very little about
his wards.
“Deed, thin, he would consint till annythin’!†said Nora.
“ Teddy, well niver make our forchin in Danny Cregan’s oil-
well. Don’t you belave it, dear. Don’t let him desave you,
wid his blarneyin’ tongue. Don’t ask me to sell the roof over
our heads, an’ be afther turnin’ the childer and all intill the
street. An’ where would we go ag’in we got the fine forchin, if
146 NORA’S OIL- WELL.
ye are sure of it? O Teddy, ye used to think a dale of me an’
the childer, an’ now ye won’t be afther breakin’ our hearuts ?â€
“It’s you that has the blarneyin’ tongue! Lave off, now, an’
tell me, for good an’ all, will ye give yer consint?â€
«‘ No, niver!†said Nora, firmly, though sadly.
Teddy went off, calling out angry words that almost broke
Nora’s heart. But the recollection of her mother’s words sone
her resolution strong.
“T will ‘howld fast to the home, and take good care of thim
all,†as the mother said; and may be Teddy ’ll be afther forgivin’
me, some day,†she said over and over again to herself. “ But
if Danny Cregan do be afther strikin’ oil, Teddy ’Il never forgive
me, sure!â€
And poor little Nora’s tears fell fast and her heart was torn
by doubts whether after all it might not have been better to
consent, She was suddenly aroused from her sad reflections by
the sound of footsteps: Two men were coming around the
corner of the house; they must have come across the fields, as
there was no road in that direction; but strangers were not un-
common in the town, now that the oil excitement was raging ; they
came from Petrolia, and Oil City, and even from Pittsburg,
almost every day. So Nora was not surprised. One of these
men was very flashily dressed, with a gold chain like a cable,
and a very large diamond pin. Men who had struck oil usually
dressed like that. Nora recognised them as “ oil men,†at once.
They looked rather curiously about the little place. Then one
of them advanced toward her.
“ Good evening, little girl,†he said, affably. “We were told
that we should find a washerwoman here.â€
“T do be the washerwoman, sir!†And Nora arose and made
a little courtesy, as her mother had taught her to do.
“ You look rather small for a washerwoman. Isn’t it pretty
hard for you?â€
“T gets money for it, sir,†said Nora, simply.
NORA’S OIL- WELL. 147
“And this is a lonesome, out-of-the-way place. Don’t you
ever wish that you lived down by the river, where the other
Irish people live ?â€
“The bit place do be our own— we likes it, sir,†said Nora. |
“ Never think of selling it, do you? I know a man who
would give you a good price for it; then you would n’t have to
work so hard.â€
LIA NOL,
Ab
“I DO BE THE WASHERWOMAN, SIR.â€
“& Patsy Flannigan, sir? He offered to give us three hundred
dollars for it.â€
“Three hundred dollars! I—that is, this gentleman who
wants it will give you a thousand dollars!â€
A thousand dollars! If they had all that money, Teddy
might have his share in Danny Cregan’s well, and there would
still be enough left to buy them a house to live in — though
148 NORA’S OIL- WELL.
it would n’t be the dear old place. And while she was thinking,
Nora’s shrewd little wits gathered themselves together. Why
did these unknown men want so much to buy the little place,
that was so far from the river and the railroad? And _ this oil
man seemed so eager and interested! .He examined the soil, he
picked up stones and looked at them. Could it be—od? It
was very unlikely; no oil had been found near, that she knew
of ; but still it was strange. el
“JT don’t think we do be wantin’ to sell, sir.â€
«“ Who looks after you ?— who is your guardian?†asked the
man; and Nora told him. ‘Then he wanted to know where Mr.
McDonald lived, and they went away, hurriedly. But they
seemed to remember themselves, and came back to say that
Nora would find some clothes which they wanted washed, at the
hotel. After they had gone, Nora felt restless and uneasy. At
one moment she was afraid that she ought to have taken the
thousand dollars; the next moment she would feel afraid that
they would see Mr. McDonald, and bind him to a bargain which
she could not break. Very soon she decided that, as there was
yet an hour before dark, she would go down to the hotel, and
get the washing, and then go to see Mr. Staynes, who lived
near the hotel, and tell him her difficulties. Mr. Staynes was
the superintendent of the iron company. Her father had been in
his employ when he was killed, and he had always taken an
interest in them. He was a man full of business cares, but Nora
was sure of a kindly hearing. He had the reputation of being a
shrewd but perfectly honest man; she knew that his counsel
would be wise and safe.
She met him as he was going in at his gate.
“ Oh, little Nora Connelly! Well, what is it?†he said, good-
naturedly.
“Two men do be afther wantin’ to buy the place for a
thousand dollars. Will we take it, sir?â€
“ So they’ve been after you already, have they? I’ve just
NORA’S OIL-WELL. 149
been, to see McDonald about you, and I was going up to your
place, the first thing in the morning. They’ve struck oil on
the Ramsdell place, — got a great flow; only about an hour ago.â€
“It do be a good ways from us, sir, an’ the hill between,†said
Nora. :
“ Yes, but the oil seems to follow a certain track ; it runs due
east ; and you are directly on the track. And there are other ~-
signs in your direction. You will probably be offered a good
deal more than a thousand dollars for the place to - morrow.
But there have been so many failures lately where oil had been
expected that nobody will be likely to offer you a great price.
I made McDonald an offer which he is disposed to accept, but
says he will leave the decision to you, who are wise enough to
manage your own affairs. I will put down a well on your place
at my own expense. If there is oil you shall pay me for my
outlay, and give me one-tenth of the profits. If there is no oil,
the loss will be entirely my own.â€
“Oh, an’ the bit place ud still be our own whativer way it
happened!†cried Nora, joyfully.
Poor little Nora had known the realities of hunger and cold,
and had become very practical. The possibility of becoming
rich was too vague and unreal for her imagination to grasp; it
seemed like one of Teddy’s wonderful stories ; while the possi-
bility of being without a shelter, — if they lost their little place,
—and colder and hungrier than they had ever been, seemed
a natural one. She felt overwhelmed with gratitude to Mr.
Staynes, although with that gentleman it was only a business
transaction, by which he hoped to make money ; the only things
for which she had reason to feel grateful to. him were that he
was not taking an unfair advantage, as he might have done, and
that he did feel honestly anxious that they might be benefited at
the same time with himself.
Teddy ought to be consulted, but there was no time to lose,
and Nora said “ Yes †for both of them; then she felt sure that.
150 NORA’S OIL- WELL.
Teddy would be delighted with the project, and she earnestly
hoped that he would come home that night that she might tell
him of it.
But nine — ten — eleven o’clock came, and no Teddy. Before
noon the next day the boring operations had commenced, and
still no Teddy!
The Connelly place was thronged by a curious crowd. Right
in the midst of Teddy’s potato-patch they were sinking the well.
They seemed to think no more of “ praties†than of so many
weeds, though the heart of little Patsy — who had weeded them
faithfully — burned within him at the sight.
It was a sad time for the pigs and chickens. The pig-pen
and the hen-coop were almost buried under the timbers, and
pipes, and screws, and wheels, and all the wonderful ‘apparatus
that was to force her treasure from the unwilling earth; the
pigs squealed their remonstrances unceasingly, and the chicks
scattered in every direction, pursued by their mammas, with
unavailing clucks. The big rooster alone seemed to take a
cheerful view of the proceedings. He cocked his head, first on
one side and then on the other, and inspected the operations,
while they bored, and bored, until it seemed to Nora that they
must have bored nearly through the earth. And, when the
great, tall derrick was set up, the rooster flew upon it, to an
astonishing height, and uttered an exultant cock-a-doodle-doo!
that was re-echoed from all the hills around. And the result
proved that he was a knowing rooster. For, a few minutes
after that, there was a “spurt,†into the air, of a dark-green
liquid, from which proceeded an odour like the concentrated
essence of all the bad kerosene lamps that you ever smelled!
This was one of the wonderful wells. The oil did not wait to
be pumped it burst up into the air like a fountain, to the height .
of seven or eight feet. There was a great excitement. It
seemed as if two-thirds of the people in the country assembled
there in‘less than half an hour.
NORA'S OIL- WELL. 151
Nora’s delight had a great drawback. Teddy was not there.
In all this time she had not heard from him. He had gone, at
first, to their cousin, but had become angry with him for saying,
when he told the story of his grievance, that Nora was right;
and he had gone away from there, nobody knew where. And
Nora was anxious about him. She could not look at the won-
derful fountain of oil for watching for him. Surely, when
everybody was rushing there, he would hear what had happened
if he were anywhere near. And at- last, toward nightfall,
when the excitement was subsiding a little, she espied, on the
edge of the crowd, a wayworn and tattered pilerim who looked
like Teddy.
Nora rushed to meet him, and gave him a prodigal son’s
greeting ; she put both arms around his neck and cried for
joy.
“OQ Teddy, where were ye?â€
“T’ve been after seekin’ my forchin,’ said Teddy, shame-
facedly.
“And it’s our own place is the forchin, after all!†cried
Nora.
Why they did n’t all go wild with excitement and joy, I don’t
know. Teddy had tramped almost to Pittsburg, finding small
jobs by the way, but had, at length, been seized by homesickness
— or a return of common sense —and taken up his homeward
way.
The oil did not flow for avery great while; the wonderful
wells seldom do. But before the flow ceased there was a. snug
little fortune invested for Teddy, and Nora, and Patsy, and the
baby, that would keep them from poverty all their days. And
Nora is no longer a washerwoman; she goes to school, and so
does Teddy, who, I am glad to say, has given up reading pirate
stories and longing for adventures, and is trying to learn how to
be a good and useful man.
But Nora is still known as the “wisest†of the Connelly chil-
152 NORA'S OIL- WELL.
dren. And she is so generous and forbearing that she has never
once said:
“QO Teddy, what if I’d consinted to sell our home!†— not
even when Teddy came home one day and told her that Danny
Cregan’s well “had not a drap of oil intil it, at all, at all!â€
A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT.
WuiLe the other boys in Bloomboro’ were saving up their
pennies to buy whistles and pop-guns and caramels, or baseball
bats and bicycles, according to their various ages and tastes, or
to the seasons, Tom Pickernell was always saving up to buy
tools. Sometimes they were of one kind, sometimes of another.
He had bought even farming tools, although he had the lowest
possible opinion of farming. His grandfather seemed to think
that farming was the chief end of man; he was determined. that
Tom should be a farmer whether he liked or not; but he
believed in good old-fashioned ways, and refused to buy any
new -fangled†machinery. Tom argued and argued, but his
grandfather would not listen. He was scornful of all Tom’s
great undertakings in the mechanical line, and even Grandma,
who usually had some sympathy with a boy, laughed until she
cried at his idea of inventing a machine which should “instantly
separate milk into its component parts.†No tedious waiting for
cream to rise, no slow and back-aching churning process. (Tom
had reason to feel deeply on this point.) Almost in the twink-
ling of an eye the milk, as it came from the cow, was to be
changed into butter and buttermilk. Cynthy, the hired. girl,
said it was “ flyin’ in the face of Proverdunce to talk like that,â€
and was sure that a boy who didn’t believe in churnin’ would
“surely turn out an infiddle.â€
Tom knew that the great creameries had improved upon the
old-fashioned churns, but their improvements were only child’s
play compared to what he meant to do. He kept on thinking
over his plans, and experimenting as far as he could, in spite of
every one’s jeers, although he became so exasperated sometimes,
153
154 A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT.
when people would n’t understand him, that he would lie down
on his face in the pine grove, and dig his fingers into the soil,
and kick. But that was when he was younger. He was four-
teen now, and had discovered that it was better to fight man-
fully against obstacles than to kick the empty air. He had also
begun to learn that he didn’t know so much as he thought he
did; and this was a very hopeful sien for Tom, for it isn’t
.taught in the grammar-school books, and seems to be a neg-
lected branch even at the universities.
He had begun to ‘understand, also, why he was “a trial,â€
as Grandma and Cynthy said. He could n’t see but that a boy
had a right to take things to pieces, if he put them together
again; but sometimes, quite unexpectedly, they failed to go to-
gether as they were before. This (as in the case of the alarm-
clock, and Grandma’s long-cherished music-box) was annoying,
Tom candidly acknowledged. He felt so unhappy about those
failures that he forebore to remind them, when they scolded
him, that he had made Grandma's worn-out egg beater better
than when it was new, and repaired Cynthy’s long broken ac-
cordion, so that now she could enjoy herself, playing and singing .
“‘ Hark, from the tombs,†on rainy Sunday evenings.
It was a discouraging world, in Tom’s opinion, but he was,
nevertheless, still determined to invent, some day, The Instan-
taneous Butter-maker. Many, many times, in imagination, he
had gone over all the details of a wonderful success with that
invention, even to Grandpa’s noble and candid confession (gen-
erally accompanied by tears) that he had misunderstood and
wronged him; but the details were becoming modified as he
erew older; he had begun to strongly doubt whether any such
thing could ever be expected of Grandpa. There had been a
schoolmaster at Bloomhboro’ for one winter, who held the consol-
ing belief that a boy might not be altogether a dunce although
he was so “ mixed up†in geography as to declare that Constan-
tinople was the capital of Indiana, and was unable to regard
A: SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT. 155
English grammar as anything but a hopeless conundrum. Out
of school he taught Tom geometry, and was astonished at his
quickness. He even confided to Grandpa that he should not be
surprised if Tom turned out a genius.
But this had anything but the desired effect upon Grandpa;
for to his mind a genius was an out-at-elbows fellow who played
on the fiddle, and eventually came to the poorhouse. Grand-
ma’s idea was even worse; she said that if Tom’s father had
lived he would know how to bring Tom up so that he would n’t
turn out a genius, but she was afraid they should n’t, — she
thought it had all come of his mother being a Brown.
But Grandma was too kind and sympathetic to be hard upon
a boy, as Grandpa was. She laughed at him, and sometimes
sighed dreadfully — that was almost the hardest thing for Tom
to bear — and occasionally confided privately to Grandpa that
she “wasn’t going to believe but that Tom would turn out
as well as any boy, he was so kind-hearted and affectionate ;
and as for smartness, what other boy could make a fox-trap
out of his own head?†Sly Grandma knew that Grandpa valued
that fox-trap because it was useful on the farm, and so she
kept it in remembrance. Tom had no sympathisers among
the boys. He liked Joe Whipple best of any, but Joe was a
famous scholar; he could recite whole pages of history with-
out missing a word; in dates you could seldom catch him
tripping; he could see sense in grammar, and he was going
to study Greek with the minister. And Tom shrewdly sus-
pected that Joe secretly thought him a fool. Jed Appleby
was the only boy in Bloomboro’ who had any interest in Tom’s
favourite pursuits, and Tom had painful doubts of his honesty
and thought Jed meant to steal his inventions. So it happened
that when Tom wished for that sympathy which is a necessity
to most of us he was forced to seek it from Caddy Jane.
Caddy Jane was his cousin, and she was an orphan, too, and
was being brought up by Grandpa and Grandma. It was Tom’s .
156 A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT.
opinion that that process was less hard upon a girl than upon a
boy — and perhaps he was right; nevertheless, Caddy Jane had
her private griefs. Grandma dressed her as little girls were
dressed when she was young, and the other girls jeered at her
pantalettes. Then, too, Grandma didn’t approve of banged
hair; she said Nature had given Caddy Jane “a beautiful high:
forehead,†and she wasn’t going to have it spoiled; so she
parted Caddy’s hair in the middle and strained it back as
tightly as possible into the tightest of little braids at the back.
Tom wondered, sometimes, with a sense of the hollowness of
life, if it were not that straining back of her hair which gave
Caddy Jane’s eyes the round, wide-open look which he took for
wonder and admiration, when he showed her his machinery or
told her his plans. It was certainly quite doubtful whether
Caddy Jane understood, at all. Tom, in his heart, suspected
her of being a very stupid little thing, but she had this agreeable
way of looking with round-eyed, open-mouthed wonder at one’s
productions, and would listen silently, and with apparent interest,
to the longest outpouring of one’s interests and plans; and if
this is not sympathy it is certainly not a bad substitute for it.
And if Caddy Jane was a little stupid, well, — it would be uncom-
fortable not to be able to feel superior to a girl, Tom thought ;
and if she had been quick at her lessons he knew he should not
have liked her half so much. Caddy Jane not only found
geography hard, but she was struggling with unbeliefs as well.
She did not believe that the earth was round, because, if it were,
why did not the Chinamen fall off? Once, when Grandpa had
taken her with him to market, at Newtown, she had slipped, all
by herself, into a Chinamen’s laundry and asked him if he could
walk head downward, like a fly, and the Chinaman had positively
disclaimed any such ability. This (to Caddy Jane’s mind the
only possible solution of the mystery) having failed, she felt
that there was nothing for a rational mind to do but to resign
itself to a bold and dreadful doubt of the geography. This
A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT. 157
seemed so reckless, and her trouble was so great, that she con-
fided in Tom; although she was,as her grandmother said, “a
dreadful close-mouthed little thing.†The doubt grew still more
painful when she discovered, through Tom’s jests and evasions,
that he knew no more about it than she. He said he could n’t
stop to explain it, and a girl needn’t bother herself about such
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THE INVENTOR UNBENDS TO CADDY JANE.
things, but she might ask Joe Whipple. Joe Whipple! —who
made most unpleasant faces at her through a hole in the fence,
and whooped dismally in the dusk while she ran across the field
to carry the Scammons’s milk! Caddy Jane felt that it would be
quite impossible to ask him, and, moreover, she did n’t believe
that he knew any more than Tom, and said so, which was very
158 A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT.
gratifying to Tom. When one is conscious of being generally
regarded as a dunce, it is agreeable to have even a silly little
thing like Caddy Jane believe in one. So Caddy Jane was
a real consolation to Tom, and there was no drawback to the
pleasure of their meetings, except the fact that Caddy Jane’s
boots were almost always squeaky ( Grandma believed in good,
stout, economical ones), and Tom’s enterprises were so strongly
disapproved of that he was obliged to carry them on in the
privacy of the old granary, which had been abandoned to rats,
and mice, and weather.
It made a great stir at the farm when, one day, a letter came
from Cousin David Creighton, asking if his wife and daughter
might spend the summer there. He was going to Europe, and
his wife wanted to be where she could have perfect rest from
excitement and gayety, and he wanted Dulcie (“that is the
little girl, I suppose,†Grandma said, adjusting her glasses for
the twentieth time in her excitement as she read -the letter,
“though of add the names I ever heard of —!â€) he wanted
Dulcie to have cows’ milk and country fare generally, and to
get acquainted with Bloomboro’, where he had been a boy.
Cousin David Creighton had been a very poor boy in Bloom-
boro’. He had been fatherless, and motherless, and homeless,
sheltered here and there, where any one would have him, and
“bound out†to the miller; he had picked berries to pay for
his winter shoes, and known the physical and mental trials of
outgrown jackets and trousers. And then, suddenly, he had
taken his fortunes into his own hands, and slipped away from
Bloomboro’; and scarcely any one cared to inquire where he had
gone, and for years no one knew. ‘The miller’s wife had a
theory that he had died of overeating, for she never knew a
boy to have such an appetite. When his name began to appear
often in the New York papers that found their way to Bloom-
boro’, the old men would look at each other and wonder if it
could be the one. .The doubt was ended when a commercial
A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT. 159
traveller, who knew all about David Creighton, appeared at the
Bloomboro’ hotel. It was their David, and, according to the
commercial traveller, he could.buy a gold mine every morning
before breakfast, if he cared to, and carried two or three of the
great railroads in his pocket. Grandpa said he ’most wished he
had given David a dollar when he went away. He had thought
of it, when he saw him tying up his bundle, but he was only a
kind of second cousin, and he had been afraid, too, that he
would n’t make a good use of it. And Grandma said David’s
story was “like a made-up one in a picture-paper, and it seemed
kind o’ light-minded to listen to it.†But the Bloomboro’ boys
listened, and the heart of many a one burned within him. |
David’s wife was a fine city lady; the commercial traveller
had heard wonderful reports of her diamonds and her turn-
outs. Grandma was afraid she would put on airs, and not
be satisfied with anything; but Grandpa said he did n’t “see
how they could refuse, bein’ ’twas relations†— besides, crops
had been poor for two years and the bank-account was running
low. Grandpa thought much about that.
So the letter was sent, saying that David’s wife and daughter
might come; and Caddy Jane scarcely slept a wink three-
nights, for thinking and wondering about Dulcie, who was
‘just nine, as she was; but Tom didn’t trouble himself in the
least about the expected guests, having weightier maters on
his mind.
He had been at work for months, in “hig spare time, on a
miniature threshing-machine of his own invention. Grandpa
was so discouragingly old-fashioned as to believe in a boy
and a flail as a threshing-machine. In Tom’s opinion the
horse-power threshing - machines, which some of the Bloomboroâ€
farmers boasted, were not much better. His machinery was
somewhat complicated, and he had not yet quite decided
whether the motive power should be steam or electricity,
though he had leanings toward the latter. He had kept:
160 A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT.
many midnight vigils in the old granary, with no company
except now and then a bright-eyed, inquisitive mouse, and he
thought in about a week or two he should finish the machine
to his satisfaction. It was disheartening to find that Caddy
Jane had transferred her interest almost entirely to the ex- °
pected guests. And Joe Whipple was continually urging him
to go fishing. A boy who thought great thoughts must think
them alone, Tom reflected, bitterly.
Cousin David Creighton came to Bloomboro’ with his wife and
daughter. They brought a French maid, their pug dog, and a
ereat amount of luggage; but, nevertheless, Caddy Jane and
even Grandma herself were somewhat disappointed at the ap-
pearance of the party, for they did n’t look in the least as if they
came out of a fairy-book, as Caddy Jane expected, or even a
picture-paper, they were so plainly dressed; and Grandma felt
sure they had on their best clothes, because no one in Bloom-
boro’ would think of wearing anything else on a journey. And
Grandma thought Dulcie such a queer, “ outlandish-lookingâ€
little girl, with her hair down into her eyes, and her dresses
down to her shoes and far too short-waisted. Grandma hoped
she could have the Bloomboro’ dressmaker “ fix her up a littleâ€
before the minister’s wife called.
Although they were both nine, Dulcie and Caddy Jane looked
askance at each other. It was only when, the day after the
arrival, Dulcie needed sympathy in a great trouble that the ice
was broken between them, and they immediately became great
friends. Dulcie’s dearest doll, Jacquetta, had been carelessly
packed, and a heavy box pressing upon her had maimed and
disfigured her for life.
Caddy Jane went flying through the wood-shed that afternoon,
with Jacquetta under her arm, to meet Tom. “O Tom, you
never saw anything like her! Such a beauty! and she feels
orfley! She cried and cried, and— you don’t think you could
mend her, do you, Tom? And anyway I want you to hear her
A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT. 161
talk; that wasn’t broken, and it’s almost enough to frighten
you, and oh! Tom, what is the matter ?â€
Caddy Jane’s tone suddenly changed, for she discovered, as
Tom came nearer, that his face was pale and his eyes so dark
that they looked unlike Tom’s soft, blue ones, and his teeth were
set tightly together ; altogether he looked almost as if he were not
=:
Ln
DR
-
“DULCIE AND CADDY JANE LOOKED ASKANCE AT EACH OTHER.â€
Tom at all, as Caddy Jane said to herself. She had never seen
him look so but once before, and that was when Samp’ Peters
set his fierce dog upon Tom’s white kitten, and the kitten’s back
was broken.
“ Do tell me what itis, Tom,†said Caddy Jane.
Tom set his teeth more tightly together, and then, suddenly,
it came over him that it would be a relief to tell Caddy Jane.
It always was,— perhaps because she was such a foolish little
162 A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT.
thing ; she never gave any advice. Tom did n’t like advice when
he felt miserable.
“They were going over the farm, Grandpa and Cousin David
Creighton,†began Tom, in a strained, high-keyed voice, which
he tried very hard to keep calm and steady. “Cousin David
wanted to see the places that he remembered. I did n’t think
they would go into the old granary, it’s such a tumble-down old
place, but they did, and Grandpa rummaged around. He saw
some of my tools—I’ve got careless since nobody ever goes
there — and that made him suspect. I was away down on the
edge of the swamp when I saw them in there; you’d better
believe Iran! When I got to the door Grandpa had my model
in his hand. I screamed out. I don’t know what I said, but I
tried to tell him what it was. I thought if I could make him
understand that it would do more in five minutes than two men
in a week !— but it*was of no use; he had that smile on his
face that just maddens a fellow. He threw my model down on
the floor and set his foot on it.â€
“Qh, Tom!†Caddy Jane stepped upon some wood to make
her tall enough, and put her arm around Tom’s neck. Tom
shook her off, after a moment; he thought the fellows would
call him “a softy†if they should see her. But Caddy Jane
knew that he was not displeased, for he went on to say, not with-
out a little choking in his throat:
« And that is n’t the worst, Caddy Jane.â€
“Oh, Tom, what could be worse ?†cried Caddy Jane.
« That man — Cousin David Creighton — acted as if he meant
to be kind; he picked up the pieces and looked them over; he
stayed after Grandpa had gone out; and he asked me about the
machine. And he said I had made a mistake. I did n’t believe
him at first, but he showed it to me. Caddy, it would n’t have
gone, anyway!â€
“ But you could have made it right, Tom! You can make it
over and make it go!†cried Caddy Jane, with intense conviction.
A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT. 163
“He said I didn’t know enough ; that I was too ambitious;
that I must learn things first. And it’s true! That’s the very
worst of it! I don’t believe that I shall ever make anything
that will go. I may as well dig potatoes all my life, as Grandpa
wants me to.â€
“Oh, Tom, you will make things that will go! I know you
will,†cried Caddy Jane. “ You would n’t think such wonderful
things unless you could do them. “Things will go wrong just at
first. I thought I should never learn to heel and toe off, and
now you can’t tell my stockings from Grandma’s. And you are
so smart,†she added, quickly, feeling it presumptuous to com-
pare herself, in any way, to Tom. “And oh, Tom, there are so
many troubles! Dulcie has cried and cried. Just look here!
Her beautiful nose all flattened, her eye dropped out, her cheek
crushed in, and her dear arm broken off!â€
Caddy Jane held up the melancholy wreck of a golden-haired
wax doll.
“Pooh! girls’ rubbish,†growled Tom, thinking that Caddy
Jane was going to be much less satisfactory, now that this new
girl had come.
« But listen, Tom!â€
“ Pa-pa!†“Mam-ma!†said the golden-haired doll, not in a
faint voice, as one might expect from her condition, but quite
distinctly.
Tom fairly jumped; talking dolls were quite unknown to
Bloomboro’. Then he seized the doll eagerly from Caddy Jane’s
hands, and squeezed it again and again.
“J wonder how they do it! I wonder what the machinery is
like!†he exclaimed. “She’s all smashed up, anyway. That
girl would n’t mind if I should take her to pieces, would she ?â€
Tom had quite forgotten his troubles for the moment; his
face svas all aglow.
“Oh, Tom!†Caddy Jane’s accent was full of horror. “TI don’t
know what she would say. She says she thinks just as much as
bP)
164 A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT.
ever of her. And she feels orfley because, she says, she has
neglected her lately for a coloured doll that was given her in Bos-
ton. She’s only made of kid, and she’s got ravelled yarn for
wool, and bead eyes, and she’s not so very much better-looking
‘than my old Dinah; but she never saw a coloured doll before,
and she thinks she is perfectly fascinating ; that’s what she says,
‘perfectly fascinating’; and her name is Nancy Ray, and she
says, if she could only talk, like Jacquetta —â€
Tom was gazing at Jacquetta with speculative and longing
eyes.
“You might leave her here. I will mend her arm some-
time,†he said, with an assumption of indifference.
“Oh, I could n’t do that. You might take her to pieces — of
course you would n’t mean to, but you might without thinking
and perhaps she wouldn’t go together again!†said Caddy
Jane, with a vivid recollection of some of Tom’s enterprises.
“ You’d better take her away just as quick as you can. She
might get a scratch —such a handsome new doll!†sneered
Tom.
Caddy hesitated. She could never bear to have Tom cross,
and he was looking dejected again.
“IT might ask Dulcie if she would like to have you mend her
arm,†she said.
“ Well, go along, and don’t keep talking about it. It isn’t
worth while,†said Tom, crossly.
Caddy Jane was back in a minute.
“She says she doesn’t care. They’re making a new red
dress for Nancy Ray, Dulcie and the French woman are, and I
think Dulcie is almost forgetting about Jacquetta.â€
“Leave old Jacket here, then,†said Tom, quite restored to
good nature. “ And, I say, Caddy Jane, you might get up a
little picnic for that girl. It would be nice to go down to
Plunkett’s Pond and stay all day.â€
Caddy Jane caught readily at the idea. She said she would
A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT. 165
go, this very minute, and see what Grandma thought about it.
She looked back wistfully at Jacquetta. Although she was nine,
Caddy Jane still had the feelings of a mother toward dolls, and
she strongly suspected that Jacquetta was about to be sacrificed
to Tom’s spirit of investigation. And there was the dreadful
doubt whether she would go together again. But Caddy Jane
struggled against her feelings, for Tom’s sake —poor Tom,
whose precious model had been crushed under Grandpa’s heel.
Tom, the moment he was alone, thrust Jacquetta under his
jacket, as far as she would go, and set out for the old granary.
A half-hour before, he had said to himself that he could never
bear to enter that place again; but now he pushed aside the
ruins of his model with only a dull pang of remembrance, so
absorbing was his curiosity about this wonderful new machinery.
He mended the arm first. It seemed a great waste of time;
but that girl might take it into her head to want the doll sud-
denly, and she might make a fuss and cry. She was evidently
not a girl like Caddy Jane, whom a fellow could put in her
proper place. It is to be feared that the mending of that arm
did small credit to Tom’s mechanical skill; it certainly was a
very hurried performance. And when it was done he carefully:
locked the granary door, and proceeded to discover what made
Jacquetta say “ Papa†and “ Mamma.â€
He worked for a long time, and sometimes his forehead was
puckered up into a very hard frown, and several times he uttered
a little exclamation of satisfaction. Once he longed so much
for Caddy Jane that he was tempted to go in search of her. He
had made a discovery which he wished so much to tell some one.
He had taken the machinery all apart, and he could put it
together again; he would have liked to have Grandma and ever v
one know that; but it did seem a great pity to fasten it up again
in that old ruin of a doll.
Suddenly so bright an idea struck Tom that he threw his cap
up among the cobwebby beams of the granary. “I’ll go and
166 A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT.
stir Caddy Jane up about that picnic. Ill make her have it
to-morrow. I can’t wait,†he said to himself. “ Nobody could
blame a fellow for trying such a scientific experiment as that.â€
He quite surprised Grandma by his zeal in making preparations
for the picnic, as he was not at all in the habit of being attentive
to guests, and had shown a strong inclination to run away from
“that girl.†When the morning of the picnic came, Grandma
thought he seemed more like himself, for he steadfastly refused
to go.
«That boy is up to something; ’t isn’t any use to tell me!â€
Cynthy sagely remarked, as Tom prowled restlessly about the
house, evidently in search of something.
At length, in a secluded corner of the piazza, he geeined to
find what he sought and ran off with it to the old granary ; and
nothing more was seen of him for that day.
The picnic party returned late, and although it was plain to
Caddy Jane’s experienced eye that Tom had something on his
mind, he did not confide in her. She observed that he continu-
ally cast anxious glances at a certain corner of the piazza; and
when Grandma had sent him out to find a stray chicken which
was peeping disconsolately in the tall grass, she went to see
what there could be in that corner. But she found nothing ex-
cept Nancy Ray, sitting in the carriage which had been poor
Jacquetta’s, just as her mistress had left her. She did not think
it possible that Tom could have any interest in Nancy Ray ; it
was not long ago that he had terribly wounded her feelings by
letting all the sawdust run out of her first doll, in an investiga-
ting spirit, and since then he had shown only a scorn of dolls.
She would have liked to ask him about Jacquetta, but he gave
her no opportunity.
Early the next morning Dulcie went across the field with
Caddy Jane, on an errand to Mrs. Scammon. As they passed
the old granary, Dulcie caught sight of a bit of striped ribbon
fluttering from the top of a tall thistle near the door. “It is
A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT. 167
Jacquetta’s belt!†she exclaimed. “I should know it anywhere.
Oh, my poor, dear Jacquetta! I wonder if he has mended her
arm. ‘This is the little house where you said he works, isn’t it?
Let us go in and see if we can find her.â€
Caddy Jane objected, but Dulcie had already pushed open the
door. And it was quite useless, as Caddy Jane had found
already, to object to anything that Dulcie wished to do. She
opened drawers and peered into boxes and barrels, while Caddy
Jane, filled with anxious forebodings, begged her to come away ;
and at last, at the same time, they both caught sight of some
golden locks, a waxen cheek, a collapsed, dismembered body!
These fragments lay on a table, in a heap of rubbish partially
covered with shavings. -
“Oh, oh, that cruel, wicked boy! he has broken her all to
pieces! And she was the very dearest doll I ever had! And
you said he would mend her! Oh, how could I trust you! Oh,
my poor, dear Jacquetta ! â€
Dulcie’s grief waxed louder upon reflection. She heaped re-
proaches upon Caddy Jane. She ran toward the house, in spite
of all Caddy’s entreaties, crying with grief and rage. Caddy
saw, with a sinking heart, that Grandpa and Dulcie’s father were
standing together upon the piazza. Grandpa would be very
angry. Tom’s passion for taking things to pieces was the one
thing with which he had no patience. And he had especially
enjoined upon both Tom and Caddy to be very polite and atten-
tive to the guests. Oh, what would happen to Tom ?
There he was now, coming around the corner of the house,
just in time to see the doll’s mangled remains in Dulcie’s hands,
and to hear her woful complaint, poured out with tears and sobs.
Grandpa’s face was like a thunder cloud, and when he asked
Tom, in a dreadful voice, what he had to say for himself, Tom
would not answer a word. He was in one of his sullen moods,
and, indeed, it was not of much use to try to answer Grandpa
when he was in that state of mind. And Dulcie’s father looked
168 A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT.
as if he were very sorry — for his little girl, of course, Caddy
Jane thought.
« And I never knew a doll that could talk before, and he’s
broken it right out of her!†sobbed Dulcie.
And then a sudden inspiration seized Caddy Jane; she had
them sometimes, though she was such a foolish little thing.
She flew along the piazza and seized Nancy Ray out of the
carriage, pressed her to her bosom, and uttered a cry of joy.
She thrust her into Dulcie’s arms, while Dulcie ceased her sobs
in astonishment.
“Papa! Mamma!†said Nancy Ray.
“Oh, oh, she can talk!†cried Dulcie, becoming a rainbow.
“ What does it mean? She always was the nicest doll I ever
had, before,’ — (Oh, false and fickle Dulcie! ) “and now she’s
perfect! Oh, did you do it?†(To Tom, who tried to look in-
different.) “It’s too bad that I called you an orfle boy when
you are such a nice one, and can do such wonderful things.
And Jacquetta was only a broken old thing.â€
Tom was beginning to talk to Dulcie’s father; Grandpa had
walked away, with something like an amused look upon his face.
Tom was excited and talked eagerly. It was a comfort to ex-
plain that machinery to some one who seemed to understand and .
be interested. And there was one little point where he thought
an improvement might be made—it might be less complicated.
He hesitated before saying this, because he thought Cousin
David might find some mistake again, or perhaps laugh at him.
But he did n’t; he seemed to consider the matter seriously, and
asked a great many questions, and at last said that he should n’t
wonder if Tom were right, and if Tom would work up his idea
so that it could be seen he might possibly secure a patent for it!
He thought those talking dolls were not made in this country,
but he would see what could be done with it abroad; sometimes
a little thing like that amounted to a great deal. And, anyway,
he had become so convinced of Tom’s mechanical ability, that
A SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT. 169
he was going to ask Grandpa’s consent to Tom’s going to
New York in the fall where he would give the boy a technical
education. :
Tom was so overcome that he only coloured and gasped, and
looked at Caddy Jane. And Caddy Jane, being only a foolish
little girl, cried. But I think Cousin David felt that he was
receiving gratitude enough.
«‘T never expected anybody would believe in me till I’d made
an Instantaneous Buttermaker or an improved phonograph, or
something great,†said Tom; “and to think it’s come about
through a silly old doll!â€
MRS. McGINTY’S PIGS.
“I TELL ye, Micky, a shtroke 0’ good luck is afther comin’ til
us, and all through the freshet, that’s dalin’ destruction to
others. Ye know Danny Casey that’s livin’ in the shanty, on
the very edge of the river, on the other side? It’s the freshet
is carryin’ him away, entirely, and he not havin’ time to get
anythin’ but the childer and the bit o’ furniture to a safe place,
an’ he havin’ as beautiful a litter o’ pigs as iver was, siven 0’
them, and not a week old, and the wather, and the big blocks of
ice floatin’ up, and washin’ over the pen! An’ says he to me,
says Danny, says he, ‘Mrs. McGinty, I know you’re a poor,
lone, widdy woman, and the bit and the sup for the childer is
hard to get, and you’re welcome to three o’ my pigs, as foine
pigs as iver you seen, an’ me movin’ into the loft over the
Company’s store, where the wife and the childer ’l] be warrm and
safe, but the pigs is not allowed.’ An’ the ould one, and four
of the little ones he’s afther sellin’ to a man from Oil City, for
a good price, so Danny ’Il not be losin’, an’ it’s rich they “ll be,
afther givin’ us three foine young pigs, an’ it’s beautiful an’ fat,
an’ worth a dale they’ll be agin fall! But my tongue runs
away wid me, and it’s drownding the foine little pigs is by this
time as like as not! Run, Micky, darlin’, wid the big basket,
an’ put sthraw in it an’ the bit of an’ ould shawl to cover them,
for it’s tinder plants young pigs is!â€
The few last remarks of Mrs. McGinty were screamed from
the open door, for Micky, no less delighted than his mother at
the prospect of possessing “three foine pigs,†had already
started, on the run. And before he reached the bridge he had
seen, in his mind’s eye, the tails of those pigs gradually
170
MRS. MCGINTY’S PIGS. 171
straighten out of their quirks, as they advanced to mature
pighood; had seen them weighted with flesh beyond any pigs
that ever lifted up their squeals in Clarion County; had seen
them sold, and had seen his mother’s broad face aglow with
delight over a heap of money that would buy them all warm
clothes and plenty to eat for the winter. For Micky, though
he was only eleven, was the man of the family and had taken
a great deal of care and responsibility upon his shoulders, ever
since the death of his father, more than a year before.
Micky found a crowd of people lining the banks of the river.
It had rained, steadily, for five days, and the river was rising .
rapidly. It was full of ice,—huge blocks, that leaped and
slid over ‘each other, almost as if they were living things. It
had been the most severe winter for many years, and the ice
was of wonderful thickness. A great many logs and timbers
were floating among the blocks of ice, with the roof of a shanty,
a hen-coop, and a broken chair,and portions of a light wooden
bridge.
The iron mills were near the bank of the river, and the men
had left their work to look at the rising river. Micky heard
one of them prophesy that the bridge would go. He paused in
his run for one moment. What if he should be swept away
with the bridge, and drowned? His mother would be worse off
without bim than without the pigs; the wages that he earned in
the mills were all that she had to depend upon, except the wash-
ing which she found to do now and then. Mr. Ludlow, the
superintendent of the mills, was standing at the entrance of the
bridge.
“ Will the bridge go, sir?†said Micky, out of breath, his
red hair standing out straight, under his rimless cap, and his
freckled face fiery with excitement.
“Pooh! have they been trying to scare you, my boy?†said
Mr. Ludlow, a red-faced, jolly man, who was always very kind
to Micky. “ There isn’t a stauncher bridge on the Alleghany!â€
172 MRS. MCGINTY’S PIGS.
Mr. Ludlow was authority for Micky. He never thought of
questioning his opinion. With one bound he was on the bridge,
running, not for life, —he had not a shadow of fear since Mr.
Ludlow had pronounced the bridge safe,— but for the pigs,
almost as dear as life. Danny Casey’s shanty looked as if it
were almost submerged; what if the pigs had already found a
watery grave? That thought lent redoubled swiftness to Micky’s
fect. In almost as short a time as it takes to tell it, he reached
Danny Casey’s deserted shanty. He only cast one glance at the
shanty, and rushed to the pig-pen. It was completely under
water! The blow was too much for Micky to bear calmly; he
thrust his fists into his eyes, and uttered a prolonged Irish howl.
“Ts it the Widdy McGinty’s bye ye are?†called a voice from
a neighbouring house, higher and drier than Danny Casey’s, and
an old Irishwoman approached with her capacious apron filled
with a squealing mass, which proved to be the three little pigs.
“ Danny left ’em wid me, and well he did, wid the murtherin’
wather covering the place intirely!†;
Micky’s mourning was suddenly turned to joy. He placed his
treasures tenderly in his basket, amidst the straw, and covered
them with the piece of a warm shawl which he had brought,
and their squealings gave place to piggish grunts of satisfaction.
The crowd on both sides of the river had increased, Micky
noticed, as he took his way homeward, but everybody had left
the bridge.
“Look here, boy, I don’t know as you had better go across
there. I ain’t sure that it’s safe!†called a man.
“Pooh!†said Micky, imitating Mr. Ludlow. “There don’t
be a standisher bridge on the Alleghany !â€
And he ran along, without a thought of fear. It had never
occurred to Micky, in all his life, that Mr. Ludlow could be
mistaken.
He ran very fast, and looked neither to the right nor the left,
he was in such haste for his mother to see the pigs ; there never
MRS. MCGINTY’S PIGS. 173
were quite such pigs, Micky thought, — so white, so plump, and
with such bewitching quirks in their tails!
Suddenly there was a great shouting on the banks ; everybody
was looking and pointing up the river. A great mass of ice-
blocks, piled high, one above another, wedged together into a
solid, glittering iceberg, was sweeping down toward the bridge.
Micky was only a little more than half way over. In spite
of Mr. Ludlow, his knees shook. That great massive thing,
sweeping along so swiftly, must carry everything before it.
There was a great shock. It seemed to Micky, as he said
afterward, “as if the woruld and the sky had come together
wid a bang!†A heaving and creaking of timbers, a crashing
of masonry! The bridge divided into three parts; the great
mass of ice went crashing through, driving the middle portion
of the bridge almost entirely under water. The icy pile seemed
almost like a living thing, powerful and relentless, treading a-
defenceless object under its feet.
Where was Micky? He had just stepped off the middle
portion, which the iceberg crushed beneath it; he was floating
down the river on that part of the bridge which was near
his own shore. But he was too far from the shore ever to
reach it, thought Micky. There was a great commotion on the
bank; hurrying to and fro, and shouting, but there seemed to
be no way to release him from his dangerous position. Just
here the water was comparatively free from ice. The great
mass in its onward rush had swept it almost clear. But there
were signs that this mass had been weakened by its collision
with the bridge, and was about to break up into blocks; and
when the trembling, creaking, wooden raft upon which Micky
was afloat got into the midst of great blocks of ice, it would
almost inevitably be broken in pieces, or submerged. Some
men were running as fast as possible down along the shore,
probably hoping that Micky’s frail craft would float near
enough to the shore for them to rescue him, before it got
174 MRS. MCGINTY’S PIGS.
among the dangerous ice blocks. It did drift nearer the shore,
but the next moment the relentless ice blocks were around it,
pushing it farther out toward the middle of the river. It
pitched and tossed, now riding over the blocks and sheets of
ice, now pushed almost entirely under them ; great planks and
timbers were torn from it.
“The saints preserve us!†cried Micky. “The pigs an’
me’ll niver get home!â€
The raft was drifting nearer the shore, but alas! it was going
to pieces surely and swiftly.
« Jump! jump on to the ice cake
shore.
He could see Mr. Ludlow pointing frantically to a large cake
of ice which was floating past him. But the space between
him and the cake was so wide that Micky was afraid he could
not leap it, encumbered, as he was, by the basket.
“Never mind the basket! leave the basket!.†cried voices
from the shore. .
“Ts it lave the pigs, ye say? Niver!†shouted Micky,
angrily.
But the boards were giving way under his feet, and he
jumped, basket and all—and reached the ice cake. “ Hur-
rah!†went up from the shore, whither anxiety with regard
to Micky’s fate had led the crowd which had witnessed the
giving way of the bridge, nearly half a mile farther up the
river.
But Micky’s feet went out from under him as he came down,
in his flying leap, on the slippery cake. of ice. The shock sent
the basket, with its precious contents, flying. It rolled over
and over, and into the water, before Micky could catch it! But -
two of the “foine little pigs†were sprawling on the ice,
squealing as if they fully realised the dangers through which
they were passing — the other had uttered his last squeal, as
he went overboard with the basket.
!� eried voices from the
MRS. MCGINTY’S PIGS. 175
Micky’s perils were not yet over, and he knew it, but yet the
first cry he had uttered was for the loss of the pig. The cake
of ice on which he stood was drifting toward the shore, but soon
it might be steered out toward the middle of the river by other
blocks. But some kind influence seemed to guide it; now it
was very near the shore. The men had tried to launch a little
“MICKY CLUTCHED HIS PIGS TIGHTLY, ... AND PREPARED TO JUMP.â€
boat, but near the shore the blocks of ice were so close together
that it was impossible. Mr. Ludlow and one or two others
walked out, stepping from block to block, to within a few yards
of Micky’s ice-raft.
“ Now is your time, Micky!†called Mr. Ludlow, as the cake
floated near. “ Jump, and if you go into the water we’ll catch
you!â€
Micky clutched his pigs tightly, one under each arm, and
prepared to jump.
“ Let the pigs go!†called Mr. Ludlow, angrily.
But even Mr. Ludlow’s command was not sufficient to make
Micky desert the pigs.
176 MRS. MCGINTY’S PIGS.
“T couldn’t go home to the mother, sirr, widout the pigs, an’
her depindin’ on ’em!†said Micky.
But alas! one of the squirming, squealing creatures dropped
as he jumped, and Micky went up the river bank amid the
shouts and congratulations of the crowd, happy that he was safe
on land, of course, but with a great pang at his heart because he
had only one pig left.
“How can I go home wid but the won pig, an’ she depindin’ —
on ’em to buy the warrm clothes next winter?†he cried.
“ Oh, that’s it, is it?†said Mr. Ludlow. “ Well, I’ll make
that loss up to you—I ought to do it, because I told you the
bridge was safe.â€
« Pass round the hat — let ’s pay for the two pigs
of the bystanders.
The hat was passed round. Two members of the iron com-
pany, rich men from New York, were there, and two or three
oil princes. Every man gave something. I would n’t dare to
tell you how well those two pigs were paid for, lest you should
doubt my veracity. Micky thought it was too good to be true.
Mrs. McGinty had just heard of Micky’s peril, and met him
on his way home. She was too happy to see him safe and
sound, to think of the pies. But when Micky poured his pile of
money into her lap, she shed tears of joy.
“The saints be praised! The foine little pigs was a sthroke
of luck, after all!†she cried.
And the little pig who survived such perils lived to be a great
comfort to Mrs. McGinty.
1?
said one
WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE.
_ Keruran was in the kitchen making a chicken pie of the
Plymouth Rock rooster, whose domineering disposition had be-
come unendurable.
She had been making pop-overs, which would soon come out
of the oven, in all the crispness, and flakiness, and general
toothsomeness which made Keturah’s pop-overs famous; so
the kitchen was not a bad place to be in, just now. But Ke-
turah had her apron on her head, and that was a sign that she
was in the doleful dumps, and small boys and girls would better
keep out of the way. That apron of Keturah’s cast a shadow
over the whole house, especially when Aunt Kate and Uncle
Rufe had gone to Boston, and Keturah had all the small fry
under her thumb.
Sam put his nose in at the crack of the kitchen door, and
sniffed. The pop-overs allured, but Keturah’s apron waved a.-
warning, and Sam, being a wise boy, retreated.
Polly was in the garden hanging out the clothes. Sam, look-
ing out of the hall window, saw her, and wondered if a blackbird
had nipped her nose, it was so red. But the next moment a big
tear dropped past it, and he saw that she was weeping, and there
was her lover, Jake Pettibone, beating a hasty retreat, looking
very sheepish. Keturah had “shooed†him off, just as she
“shooed†the chickens. Keturah was Polly’s aunt, and had
been “more ’n a mother to her,’ as she was always reminding
her.
Sam did wish that Polly had more spirit, and would n’t allow
her lover to be “shooed†away. Jake was such a good fellow,
and owned such delightful boats.
177
178 WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE.
Ike was down by the currant bushes, now, digging worms for
bait, preparatory to going fishing with Jake. Sam had been
invited to go, but Keturah would n’t let him, because it might
rain, and he had had the croup when he was six months old.
(This was the very worst attack of doleful dumps that Keturah
had ever had.)
Kitty was in the garden, too, try-
ing to put salt on a robin’s tail; some-
body had told her she could catch
«“ KITTY WAS IN THE GARDEN TRYING TO PUT SALT ON A ROBIN’S TAIL.â€
a robin so, and she believed it, because she was only a girl; and
she did n’t care if she could n’t go fishing, for the same reason.
It was almost as well to be a girl, as to be a boy, under
Keturah’s thumb; and Aunt Kate would be away for three
weeks more, and there was no hope that Keturah would come
out of the doleful dumps, and be her usual good-natured self
—vunless that provoking old clock should get over its mys-
terious habit of striking One, and unless she should find her
saffron-coloured silk stockings.
WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE. 179
For Keturah was superstitious; she believed in signs and
omens, and nobody could reason, nor laugh, nor coax her out
of the belief. Nothing could induce her to begin any under-
taking on Friday; she would not burn egg-shells, lest she
should come to want; and if she spilled salt, she was sure she
should quarrel. If she saw the new moon over her left
shoulder, or the first robin on a low bough, ill-luck was certain.
If a mirror was broken, or a whip-poor-will sang on the roof,
somebody in the house would die before the year was out. If
a fork or a pin that was dropped stood up on the floor, or
Casabianca, the cat, washed his face, she made preparations
for company. She carried a horseshoe in her pocket to ward
off witches, and a potato to ward off rheumatism. She was
always hearing mysterious noises, and was very scornful when
anybody suggested rats. When she saw a “calico†horse, she
wished, and she was sure that she would get her wish ; and she
always made a bow to the new moon, that it might bring her
a present.
Uncle Rufe and Aunt Kate—who were like the best of
parents to their little orphaned nephews and nieces — were
always telling them, privately, that Keturah’s signs were all.
nonsense, and they must not listen to them; but so many signs
“came true†that Ike and Kitty more than half believed
Keturah was right. Didn’t Ike have that fight with Neddy
Forrester the very day that he spilled all his salt at breakfast ?
And didn’t he get his velocipede, and Kitty her walking doll,
—presents from Uncle Jack,—only two days after they
bowed to the moon? Sam declared it to be his belief that
they would have had the presents, even if they had failed
to pay their respects to the moon, and, as for the salt, Neddy
Forrester had been threatening to thrash Ike for a long time.
Sam was almost ten, and Aunt Kate had told him that she
depended upon him to teach the other children not to mind
Keturah’s nonsense.
180 WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE.
But he did quake, inwardly, whenever Keturah heard very
strange noises, and prophesied dreadful things. However, he
had n’t quaked half so much since Keturah had twice called
him to the door, in the evening, to see a ghost in the garden;
and one ghost was the Bartlett pear-tree, all blossomed out
white, and the other was a stray white cow that had taken
a fancy to the cabbages! Then Sam had concluded that there
was something as substantial and commonplace as a pear-tree
or a cow at the bottom of all ghost stories, and he had felt
sure that Keturah could n’t scare him again — but it was queer
that that clock should strike One!
The disappearance of Keturah’s saffron-coloured silk stockings
—which had been given to her by her first and only lover,
a sailor, who was drowned on his second voyage —was not
so unaccountable. Keturah had a great many bundles and
budgets; she was, as she declared, “uncommon savin’,†and
hoarded all the scraps that would otherwise have found their .
way to the rag-bag. Sam suspected that in one of Keturah’s
budgets the saffron-coloured silk stockings, which she felt sure
had been spirited away as a warning of impending evil, were
hiding themselves.
But what could make that clock strike One ?
Tt was a tall, old hall-clock, that had been in the family for
generations; it had not been in working order for years, and
was supposed to have outlived its usefulness. Some people
admired it very much, but the children thought it ugly, with
its great gilt griffin on the top, and its gilt claw feet, just
like a beast. Keturah had always felt there was something
queer about that clock.
And now it did seem as if there were something queer about
the clock; for it had struck, on five or six occasions, just one
loud, solemn stroke, which could be heard all over the house.
It struck the very first night after Uncle Rufe and Aunt Kate
went away, between nine and ten o’clock at night. Sam and
WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE. 181
Ike were awakened, and got out of their beds to see what was
the matter. Keturah was as white as a sheet, wringing her
hands, and bewailing that something was going to happen,
whereupon Ike got back into bed, and covered his head with
the clothes.
Sam slipped into his pantaloons, so as to be ready for emer-
gencies, and crept down two or three stairs. He peered over
the balusters at the clock. A moonbeam fell exactly across the
eviffin’s head. It did n’t wink, but its eyes flashed like coals of
fire.
I am sorry to say that Sam followed Ike.
Keturah said that something dreadful must have happened to
Uncle Rufe or Aunt Kate. But the next day she received a
telegram, saying that they were well, and had had a very pleas-
ant journey.
And Sam thought that something might have jarred the
clock, and made it strike, and he wished he had n’t covered up
his head with the bedclothes. If he’d only had time to think,
he ’d have marched boldly up to the clock, and found out what
was the matter. He lay awake for more than an hour, mourn-
ing that he, the man of the family, should have let the others.
think he was afraid.
He was awakened by another stroke of the o’clock. There
was a faint glimmer of dawn creeping in at the window —not
enough to give the cheerful courage that comes with morning,
but just enough to make the furniture take on ghostly shapes.
Instead of going boldly down-stairs, Sam sat up in bed, with
his teeth chattering; and when the door-knob turned slowly,
and the door opened softly, Ike or even Kitty could not have
popped down under the clothes more quickly than he did!
It was only Keturah. Sam felt: wonderfully reassured when
he heard her voice, and he emerged from his retirement, and
assumed as easy and confident a manner as a boy could assume
while his teeth were chattering.
182 WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE.
“That clock wa’n’t never struck with hands!†announced
Keturah, solemnly.
“Of course it wasn’t the hands that made it strike,’ began
Sam, but his feeble attempt at a joke was promptly frowned
down by Keturah.
“TI felt in my bones that something was a-goin’ to happen,
even before them saffron-coloured silk stockin’s was sperited
away,†said she, in a doleful voice, and with many shakings of
the head. “And, as if them stockin’s wa’ n’t enough, there ’s
that old clock, that hain’t been wound up nobody knows when,
and with its insides all gi’n out, anyhow, a-strikin’ out loud and
solemn enough to wake the seven sleepers of Christendom! I
hain’t no expectation that we shall ever see your aunt and uncle
ag’in!â€
“Tsay, Keturah, if I were you, 1’d go down and take a look
at that clock! You might find out what makes it strike,†said
Sam.
“‘ J sha’ n’t meddle nor make with the works of darkness, and
I’d advise you not to, neither,†said Keturah.
. Sam scarcely needed that advice. He felt even less like in-
vestigating the matter than he had the night before. Even in
the broad, cheerful daylight he gave that clock a wide berth.
After that, the clock struck once or twice every night; and
three times it had struck in the daytime,—each time when
Jake Pettibone, Polly’s lover, was in the house; and from this,
Keturah had become possessed of the idea that Jake had some-
thing to do with the impending evil of which they were warned
by the clock. And so she had forbidden Polly to have anything
to say to him. Polly was almost broken-hearted, in consequence,
and Jake was as much under the weather as such a jolly sailor
could be.
Sam, and Ike, and Kitty all thought it was a great shame. If
there ever was a sweetheart that was worth having, Jake was
one. Indeed, Kitty had resolved to marry him, herself, when
WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE. 183
she should grow up, if Polly did n’t— unless Ike and she should
keep a candy store, for which enterprise she was willing to
forego matrimony. Jake had been “ ’round the world and home
again,’ when he was only a boy. He had seen cocoanuts, and
bananas, and dates, growing; he had been. down in the ocean,
and brought up great branches of coral, and shells that looked
as if they were made of pure gold; he had been on intimate
terms with monkeys, and wild men, and alligators, and earth-
quakes, and volcanoes; he had been half cooked by cannibals,
scalped —in a mild way — by Indians, and had had a piece of
his arm bitten out by a shark; he had been on a fishing expedi-
tion to “the Banks;†had killed, with his own hands, a shark
as big as — well, I am obliged to confess that the size of that
shark varied with each time that Jake told the story; but it was
never smaller than a whale, and it was once as large as the fab-
ulous sea-serpent; he had caught a codfish so heavy that it
nearly sank the vessel; had got wrecked, and escaped drowning
only by a hair’s breadth.
After all those good times, he had settled quietly down in
Northport, and, wonderful man as he was, had become so con-
descending as to wish to marry Polly, the children’s nutse. -
Polly was a nice girl enough, and pretty, too; but she did not
know what a volcano was, and seemed to think it was'an animal ;
she said she saw one stuffed ina menagerie, once; and she
would say, “Oh, la, now, I know you’re jokin?!†while Jake
was relating his most thrilling adventures, which was very dis-
agreeable. :
To say nothing of his past greatness, Jake was now the pro-
prietor of three boats; in one, he went fishing; the other two
he kept to let. If there could be a happier or prouder position
in life than Jake’s, Sam and Ike would like to know what it was.
The fishing vessel was “as tidy a craft as you often run afoul
of,†as its owner often remarked, and the children were very
fond of going fishing in it, although, to tell the truth, there was
184 WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE.
a fishy smell about it, which grew very strong just about the
time the water began to break up into hills, and the boat began
to make dancing-school bows, and you began to wish you had n’t
come. The little pleasure-yacht, the Harnsome Polly, was
«desarvin’ of her name, and more ’n that you could n’t say.â€
That was Jake’s opinion. The children thought Polly ought to
be very proud and grateful for the honor of having such a beau-
tiful boat named for her. Jake’s third boat was only a row-.
boat, named the Racer, which he had made for himself; but
it was everything that a rowboat ought to be, and he often lent
it to Sam and Ike to row in, by themselves.
It will readily be seen that Jake was a valuable, as well as a
distinguished, friend, and his marriage to Polly was an event
ereatly to be desired, especially as Jake threatened, if Aunt
Keturah persisted in “cutting up rough,’ and preventing him
from seeing Polly, to go off to the Cannibal Islands, and get
himself wholly cooked, this time, and eaten,—a harrowing
possibility, the thought of which caused Kitty to dissolve into
tears, and made Sam and Ike lose their zest for fishing, even, for
a whole day.
And that queer, ridiculous old clock was at the bottom of all
this trouble!
As Sam, looking out of the hall window, saw Jake being
“ shooed †away from Polly, he beckoned to him, slyly. He
wanted to see whether that clock would strike as soon as he sect
foot in the house, as on former occasions, and he also wished to
cheer Jake a little, lest he should, in desperation, set sail at once
for the Cannibal Islands.
Poor Jake’s round, rosy face was elongated until it looked
like the reflection of a face in a spoon, and its jollity had given
place to a weebegoneness that was enough to make your heart
ache.
He came cautiously around to the door, anxious lest Polly’s
vigilant aunt should espy him ; but Keturah had returned to her
THE MYSTERIOUS CLOCK.
WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE. 187
chicken pie, without having the faintest idea that Jake would be
so audacious as to enter the house by the front door.
Jake stood still, just inside the door, and surveyed the clock.
He was superstitious, as sailors usually are, and he seemed to
prefer to keep at a respectful distance from that clock.
“ She ’s an onaccountable cre’ tur’, now, ain’t she ?â€
Sam understood that he meant the clock, for Jake had a way
of considering clocks, as well as vessels, as of the female sex.
“ But it didn’t strike, Jake! It didn’t strike One when you
came in!†exclaimed Sam.
“She did n’t, that’s a fact!†said Jake, brightening a little.
““Mebbe she’s gi’n over her pesky tricks. I don’t see what
nobody ’s got ag’in’ me to go to bewitchin’ on her like that,
anyhow!â€
“I don’t think it has anything to do with you, Jake. It
strikes every night, and you are not here then,†said Sam.
“But it’s kinder cur’us that she don’t never set up to strike
in the daytime, onless I be here. But there is folks, Sammy,
that says none o’ them things don’t happen without nateral
causes, and if there is a nateral cause for that there clock’s
performances, I’d gin somethin’ harnsome to find it out. — For
there haint nothin’ but jest clearin’ up this here mystery that’ll
ever fetch the old woman ’round†—.with a nod toward the
kitchen. “As for them saffron-coloured silk stockin’s, — she
says, mebbe I haint got nothin’ to do with their bein’ sperited
away, but that pesky clock’s strikin’ is a warnin’ ag’in’ me. —
Well, if Polly ’n’ me has got to part, there’s the Cannibal
Tslands for me, and the sooner I’m off the better!â€
“Oh, Jake, don’t go!†cried Sam, in distress. ‘“ Perhaps we
shall find out what makes it strike. I’m going to try!â€
«Sammy, if you will find out, and fetch Keturah round, I Il
—Tll take you mackerelin’ clear’n outside the shoals, and
T ’ll—Sammy, I’ll make you a rowboat that ’ll beat the
Racer all holler, and as pretty as new paint can make her!â€
*
188 WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE.
This was a dazzling offer, indeed! Sam felt ready to brave
all the ghosts he had ever heard of, for such a prize. And to
keep Jake away from the Cannibal Islands !— though he must
be a great goose to let cannibals eat him, just for Polly.
“ Of course it is nothing but what can be accounted for, and
1’ll find out for you, for nothing, Jake,†said he, grandly. Just
at that moment a sudden breeze, blowing through the open
window, slammed the hall door.
A moment afterward the clock struck One!
Jake’s ruddy face actually changed colour, and he gazed at
Sam in awestricken silence. Sam did n’t feel so brave as he had
felt a few moments before, but he marched up to the clock, and
had his hand on the door when he heard Keturah’s voice. He
turned to look for Jake, but he had vanished.
“It’s jest because that Jake Pettibone was hangin’ ’round
here, though he did n’t set his foot in the house. I did n’t send
him off none too soon, for it’s true as preachin’ that that
warnin’ has got somethin’ to do with him! Sakes alive, child,
you ain’t a-touchin’ of it! Come right away, this minute; it’s
a-flying in the face o’ Providence to meddle with such things!â€
Sam was not sure that he would have opened the clock door
if Keturah had not appeared, for he felt very queer and “shaky.â€
His heart sank. . He had a “ presentiment,†like Keturah. He
felt sure that he should never have a boat that could beat the
Racer, that Polly would die of a broken heart, and the cannibals
would dine off roasted Jake.
“ Hickory, dickory, dock,
A mouse ran up the clock;
The clock struck One,
And down he ran,
Hickory, dickory, dock !â€â€™
Sam awoke in the dead of the night, with this poem of
Mother. Goose running in his head. It had, in some way,
mingled itself with his dreams. It was no wonder, for Kitty
WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE. 189
was continually repeating Mother Goose’s poetry, and the clock,
which was in everybody’s mouth, figuratively speaking, had prob-
ably put that verse into her head. Indeed, Sam remembered
now that he had heard her singing it over
and over the day before. It had not
suggested any idea to him then; he
only wished that he need not hear
quite so much about clocks, and
he thought that Mother Goose
was a tiresome old lady, whose
poetry was of very little account ~
— by which it will be seen that
Sam’s literary taste was poor.
But now it occurred to him that
a mouse might make a clock
strike One, if it got in and frisked
about among the works.
A mouse might be the “ nat-
eral cause†that Jake would give
so much to find. Sam might
possibly make a discovery that
would bring Keturah out of the
doleful dumps, keep Jake from
the cannibals, dry Polly’s tears,
take them all mackereling out
beyond the shoals, and last, but
not least, give him a rowboat of
his own that could beat the “THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE.â€
Racer all hollow.
He must be a queer boy who would not dare something with
a chance of gaining all that.
He might wait till morning to investigate, but Keturah seemed
to know, by instinct, when anybody went near that clock, and
she would be sure to interfere, and, besides, he could n’t wait.
190 WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE.
He slipped out of bed and lighted his candle (Keturah did not
allow him to have a lamp, lest he should break it and set the
house on fire), and he stole softly down-stairs. The one small
candle had very little effect upon the darkness of the great hall.
There seemed to be shadowy shapes in every corner, and the
stillness was awful. It required all the courage that Sam could
muster to force himself to go forward.
But at last he did stand before the clock, with his heart in his
mouth, and his hand trembling so that he could scarcely hold
the candle. You may think it strange that he was afraid, but
you have n’t heard Keturah talk about ghosts and witches until
your blood ran cold. Sam knew there were no such things, just
as well-as you do, but he felt very “shivery.â€
It was not too late to turn back ; but that was not the kind of
boy that Sam was.
He thought of the boy that stood on the burning deck, of
Daniel in the lions’ den, and, queerly enough, of the Plymouth
Rock rooster that would fly around after its head was cut off.
People do think of queer things at great crises, you know.
Then, with a bold little jerk, he opened the clock door.
The clock struck One.
The stroke came in the midst of a rushing, scrambling noise,
and Sam saw a mouse’s tail whisking out of sight.
Sam put his head inside the clock, and there, down in one
corner, was a nest, full of tiny mice, scarcely as large as your
little finger! And what do you suppose the nest was made of ? .
A great quantity of bits of paper came first, but sticking out at
the side was a strange something that caught Sam’s eye. He
pulled, and out came — just as true as you live -— Keturah’s saf-
fron-coloured silk stockings ! .
Sam was a brave boy, then, you may be sure! You could n't
have made him believe that he ever had been otherwise; and
happy ?— if he had had anything to set the candle on, he would
have turned a somersault, then and there. As it was, he had to
WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE. 191
content himself with uttering a shout; it was what Ike and
he called a Comanche war-whoop, and it raised the whole
household.
Keturah came first, with her nightcap strings flying, a Bible
under one arm, and a horseshoe under the other. Ike came
next, in his nightgown, with his hair standing upright from
terror, but tugging his velocipede along, because, as he after-
wards explained, “if everything was going to smash, he was
going to save that, anyhow.†Then came Kitty, half awake
and sobbing ; and Polly brought up the rear, her face as white
as her curl papers.
Keturah sat down flat on the hall floor, when she heard
Sam’s report, and saw her saffron-coloured silk stockings, soiled
and tattered, but still her precious treasures.
«“ Seein’? that wa’ n’t a warnin’, ’ll never believe in warnin’s
- no more!†she exclaimed.
“ Oh, don’t! please don’t, Keturah!†cried Sam. "Nor hear
raps nor have doleful dumps —â€
“Nor turn ag’in poor Jake!†interrupted Polly.
«It was just because he is big, and stepped heavily, and jarred
the clock, and scared the mouse, that the clock struck One when.
he came here! Don’t you see?†cried Sam.
“I’m a foolish old woman, and I’m free to confess I’d ought
to put more trust in Providence, seein’ things mostly turns out
to be jest what you might have known, and as natural as life.â€
With this not very clear confession, Keturah retired. She
dropped her horseshoe on the way, and did n’t stop to pick it up.
Keturah wanted to let Casabianca have those wee mice, but
Sam begged them off; he thought it was mean to take the
advantage of such little bits of things, and he declared they
should have a fair chance for their lives. But the next time
that they went to look at them, — lo and behold! their mother
had carried them off! She evidently thought a quieter tenement
was better suited to a growing family.
192 WHY THE CLOCK STRUCK ONE.
And so the clock never struck again.
That new boat is a beauty. Sam and Ike agree that the
Racer “isn’t anywhere†beside it.
The Cannibal Islanders will have to go hungry for a long
time, before they make a meal off Jake.
If you’ll believe it, Keturah washed, darned, and patched
those saffron -coloured silk stockings, and danced in them at
Jake and Polly’s wedding.
PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD.
«“ Some like it hot, some like it cold,
Some like it in the pot, nine days old.â€
I pow’r think that Mother Goose herself could make better
pease-porridge than Barbara. Indeed, as Mother Goose was a
literary lady, I doubt whether she could make as good. While
she was gaining fame as a poetess she must, sometimes, have
intrusted the porridge-making to somebody else; and we can not
read the story of the four-and-twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie,
who began to sing as soon as the pie was opened, without a pain-
ful suspicion that Mother Goose was accustomed to very
“slack†ovens indeed, or that her knowledge of the art of
cooking was very small.
Barbara read her Bible, “The Pilgrim’s Progress,†and « The
Children of the Abbey,†and she had a cloudy idea that the two.
latter were both religious books, and devoutly to be believed, by
which it will be seen that literature was not Barbara’s strong
point. But cooking was. Even such every-day and uninterest-
ing things as meat and bread were delicious, as Barbara cooked
them, and her soups were never the watery, flavourless things
that are often unworthily dignified by that hame. But when it
came to her cream-cakes, and peach fritters, and pop-overs, there
are no words that can do justice to them. And, besides all that,
Barbara was an artist in dough. Her doughnut boys were so
lifelike that it seemed a wonder that they did not speak, and
she could make a whole farm of gingerbread,—a house and
barn, cows and horses, and sheep, hens, and turkeys, and ducks
and geese, little pigs and big pigs, dogs that would almost wag
193
194 PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD.
their tails, and roosters that were going to crow the very next
minute. And some of them were likenesses of individuals.
~ You would have recognised Ebenezer, the hired man, in ginger-
bread, the moment you saw him, and old Buttercup, the yellow
cow ; and as for the cross gobbler, he was simply perfect.
There was one rather sad thing about it. The gingerbread
which they were made of was so good that Ike and Dolly could
not help eating them. They usually began with the cross
gobbler —it was a double satisfaction to eat him — and they
left Ebenezer, the hired man, until the very last, for it seemed
unkind to eat him, he was so good and told such lovely stories,
and besides, Barbara always shook her head solemnly, and
called them “cannyballs,’ when they ate him. Ike didn’t
mind that very much, for he was determined to be a cannibal,
or a pirate, or something equally desperate, when he should grow
up; but Dolly did. She had made up her mind to be a minister’s
wife, because there were so many pound-cakes and tarts carried
to the donation parties, and Barbara had explained that can-
nibalism was incompatible with being a minister’s wife.
But good as Barbara’s gingerbread was, it was not to be
compared with her pease -porridge. “ Pea- porridge,†they
called it. Mother Goose has been dead so long now that
people have forgotten how to speak properly. It was not
simply stewed peas, by any means. There were a richness,
and a sweetness, and a flavour of savoury herbs about it, that
made it a dish to set before a king.
It was a gala day for the children when Barbara made pease-
porridge ; but they never coaxed her to make it, because it always
made her eyes red, and they knew what that meant. It made
her cry, because it reminded her of her little brother Elnathan,
who ran away to sea, and never was heard from after the vessel
sailed. She used to make pease-porridge for him. Only a
little while before he ran away she took care of him through
a long illness, and when he was recovering he would eat
PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD. 195
nothing but her pease-porridge. The children had heard about
it a great many times, and she never spoke of it and never
made pease-porridge without tears. And yet she often made
the porridge on wild, tempestuous nights that make people
think, with anxious hearts, of those at. sea.
“TJ can’t help thinkin’ what if he should come a-knockin’ at
the door some o’ these stormy nights — my little Nate, just
as he used to be,†she would say. “And then, if I had some
good hot pea-porridge for him, just such as he used to love so, °
he’d know I was always a-thinkin’ of him. I s’pose he’s
layin’ drownded at the bottom of the sea, but folks can’t help
hevin’ idees that ain’t jest accordin’ to common sense.â€
And then Barbara would stir the porridge vigourously, and
pretend she wasn’t crying.
Barbara was housekeeper and “help,†both in one, at Deacon
Trueworthy’s, and Ike and Dolly were Deacon Trueworthy’s
grandchildren. Their father and mother and grandmother were
all dead, and their grandfather was the kind of a grandfather
that has almost gone out of fashion. He believed that children
should be “seen and not heard.†He never laughed, no matter
how many funny things happened, and he ordered Ebenezer to -
drown Beelzebub, the black kitten, because it would chase its
tail in prayer time. (Ebenezer did n’t-do it, however. He gave
Beelzebub away, and it is alive and flourishing at this very day.
Ebenezer promised to find Dolly a kitten that would n’t chase its
tail, but up to this time all his efforts have been unsuccessful.)
In his heart the Deacon was fond of his grandchildren, but he
never let them know it. He would have thought fondling or
petting them very “unseemly.†He never took them on his
knee and told them stories, and he always thought that they
made a noise. He was entirely lacking in the qualities which
make most-grandfathers so delightful, and Ike and Dolly would
have had but a dull and dreary time if it had not been for
Barbara and Ebenezer.
196 PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD.
Barbara had a motherly heart, big enough to take in all the
orphans in the country. She never thought any pains too great
to take to make them happy, and she petted, and cuddled, and
comforted them as if she were their own mother.
And Ebenezer! He was a real walking edition of fairy
stories and true stories, funny stories and exciting adventures.
He had been to sea, for years, as mate of the Bouncing Betty,
and more wonderful things had happened to that vessel than to
any other that ever sailed. Ebenezer had been cast away on a
desert island, and the wonderful feats that he had accomplished
there would make Robinson Crusoe “ hide his diminished head.â€
He knew as much about gorillas, and leopards, and ourang-
outangs as he did about sheep.and oxen, and he talked as famil-
iarly about giants, and wild men, and dwarfs with seven heads,
as if he were in the habit of meeting them, every day. And he
knew stories that would make you laugh, even if you had the
toothache. Nobody could be dull or lonesome where Ebenezer
was.
But we must return to Barbara’s pease-porridge, which, on
this April day, at ten minutes before twelve, M., was smoking
hot, just ready to be taken from the pot. They usually had
pease-porridge for breakfast or supper, but to-day Deacon Truc-
worthy had gone to County Conference, and Ebenezer had gone
to the next town to buy a new plow, and Barbara didn’t think
it was worth the while to get a dinner when there were no —
“men folks†at home to eat it. The children were always
delighted to have pease -porridge, and a slice of “ companyâ€
plum-cake, instead of an ordinary dinner, and Barbara wanted
to pursue her house-cleaning all day, with as little interruption
as possible — for this was Barbara’s one failing, she liked to clean
house, and she turned things upside down relentlessly. Even
the attic, which was the children’s playroom, did not escape.
On this day Ike and Dolly had staid out-of-doors for that
reason. They were in the barnyard, getting acquainted with
PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD. 197
the new calf, — who was very fascinating, although somewhat
weak on his legs, when Zach Harriman, one of the village
boys, came along.
“The performers is goin’!†he called out to them. “A
special train is a-goin’ to come after em. If you ain’t seen ’em,
now is your chance! Everybody’s a-goin’ down to the depot to
see ’em off. Never was no such a show in Cherryfield before !
That educated pig he knows as much as the minister, and that
feller that swallers snakes and swords, as slick as you’d eat your
dinner, is worth goin’ to see. Then there’s the Giant, more’n
half as tall as the meetin’-house steeple, and them little mites
o’ creturs that stands up in his hands, that you can’t hardly
believe is real live folks, and the Fat Woman — my eyes, ain’t
she a stunner! There wa’ n’t never nothin’ that you could call
a show in Cherryfield before, alongside o’ this one. And you
can see ’em all for nothin’, down to the depot. Of course, they
ain’t a swallerin’, nor performin’, nor nothin’, but they ’re
worth goin’ to see, you’d better believe.â€
Ike and Dolly did believe it. They had longed with an unut-
terable longing, to see the wonders of the “Great Moral and
Intellectual National and Transatlantic Show, which had been.
advertised by flaming posters all over the village. The pictures
on the posters, of the performing canaries, the educated pig, the
marionettes, and the dancing dogs, to say nothing of all the other
marvels, had aroused Ike’s curiosity to the highest pitch. But,
alas! his grandfather did not approve of shows, though they
were never so “ moral and intellectual.†No pleadings nor tears
could move him. Ike knew well enough, when he saw those
enticing posters put up, that the delights which they depicted
were not for him and Dolly. He never had expected such hap-
piness as Zach Harriman’s announcement seemed to promise —
to see them all.
“Go, quick, and ask Barbara if we may go, Dolly!†he
exclaimed, half wild with excitement and eagerness.
198 PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD.
“ But’s it’s twelve o'clock,†said Dolly, “and the porridge all
hot. She called us while Zach was talking, and she might say
no. Don’t let’s ask, Ike — let’s go.â€
It was one of Barbara’s rules that they should never go out of
sight of the house without leave, but Ike fell in with Dolly’s
wicked little plan as readily as Adam did with our grandmother
Eve’s.
Because it would be such a catastrophe if Barbara should say
no!
So it happened that, while the pease-porridge was standing,
smoking hot, upon the table, and the frosted plum - cake was
being cut, Ike and Dolly were running as fast as their legs
would carry them toward the railroad station.
There was a great crowd upon the platform. It looked as
if all Cherryfield had turned out to see the last of the “ per-
formers.†But Ike was eager and adventurous, and pushed his
way through the throng, and Dolly was always ready to follow
where Ike led the way. But when they stood close beside the
cars they were so surrounded by taller people that they could
see nothing. It was too dreadful to lose the sight, after all.
With the cheers of the people at sight of each wonder ringing
in his ears, Ike grew desperate. The steps of the freight-car
were within reach; mounted upon them it would be easy to see -
everything; and they always rang a bell and gave ample notice
before a train started.
“Come along, Dolly!†he shouted, springing up the steps.
And Dolly followed, nothing loth.
But when they had mounted the steps, nothing was to be seen
but the crowd. The “ performers†were getting into the forward
cars.
Ike rushed through the freight-car, Dolly following.
They scarcely stopped to glance at a pig, in a box with slats
that looked very much like a hen-coop. Indeed, he was not at
~ all attractive to look upon. His education had not affected his
PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD. 199
appearance in the least, and he was expressing his discontent at
the situation very much after the manner of an ordinary pig.
The dogs were handsome, but Ike didn’t stop even for them.
He wanted to see the Giant, and the man who swallowed knives
and snakes. Dolly had set her heart upon seeing the little
people and the Fat Woman... She had had:an- extensive acquaint-
ance with dogs and pigs, but giants and pigmies possessed the
charm of novelty.
They were there —all the wonderful people — in the passen-
ger-car, just in front. The children’s eyes grew big and round
with wonder, as they saw the Giant, whose head almost reached
the top of the car when he was sitting, holding in his out-
stretched hand one of the mites, a wee bit of a lady who looked
like the queen of the fairies, as Ebenezer described her, and
who was.bowing and kissing her hand in the most fascinating
manner to the crowd outside the car window. Was. it to be
wondered at that Ike and Dolly did not hear the bell when it
rang? Not until the train was going quite fast did they
realise that they were being carried away— away from home,
where Barbara was waiting for them, and the pease-porridge
growing cold; away, nobody knew where, with the “ Great
Moral and Intellectual National and Transatlantic Show!â€
When Dolly understood what had happened, she began to cry.
Ike screamed to the conductor to put aoe off. The conductor
was not at all a polite man.
“ What business had you to get on, you little rascal ?†he said.
““T can’t’ stop the train. I’m running on fast time, with not a
- moment to spare.â€
“Where are you going?†asked Ike, feeling very guilty and
frightened.
“To Barnacle. There’s no train back from there to-day, but
I will see that you get back to-morrow morning.â€
He seemed somewhat mollified at sight of Dolly’s tears and
Ike’s frightened face.
200 PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD.
Barnacle was a large seaport town, forty miles from Cherry-
field. Ike and Dolly had never been so far away from home in
their lives. It would not have seemed much more wonderful to
them to be going to Paris. And Ike began to think that it was
not, after all, a very unfortunate thing. It was a real adventure.
They were going to see the world! [Excitement and delight
began to get the better of his fears.
The conductor had led them into the passenger car where the
members of the troupe were, and — oh, joy!—the Knife-Swal-
lower made room for Ike to sit down beside him. He looked
astonishingly like an ordinary man —a big, burly fellow, with a
good-natured face, weather-beaten, like a sailor’s. Ike was
amazed to see that knife and snake swallowing had not affected
his appearance, any more than education had affected the pig’s.
Zach Harriman had confided to Ike that the man was made of
gutta-percha inside; that was why the knives and snakes did n’t
hurt him; and Ike was devoured by curiosity to know whether
this were really so, but he was-afraid it would not be polite to
ask. E
The Fat Woman, who could not sit on an ordinary seat, but
had one which was constructed expressly for her, motioned to
Dolly to come and sit on her footstool. Dolly felt a little shy
of this mountain of flesh, with features that were scarcely distin-
guishable, and a gruff voice that reminded her of the big bear’s
in the story of “Golden-hair.†But as the car was full and
there was no other seat for her, she obeyed.
“Have you lost your ma, dear?†said the gruff voice, in a
very kindly tone.
“Weve lost Barbara, and shell be so worried, and the pea-
porridge is getting cold, and — oh, dear!†and poor Dolly broke
down, utterly overcome by her misfortunes.
“La! is the lopsy-popsy going to cry? Don’t— there’s a
deary. You'll get back to Barbara all safe, and just think
what a privilege it is to travel with such a show as this — Moral
PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD. 201
and Intellectual, National and Transatlantic ! — though they ain’t
genooyne, child; don’t you believe a word of it! Not one of
’em’s genooyne but me an’ the Mites. Me an’ the Mites is
genooyne!â€
“ Genooyne†was too large a word for Dolly’s comprehension ;
but, by the Fat Woman’s mysterious air and tone, she knew that
she was telling her something very important.
“No bigger than common folks, the Giant ain’t, before he’s
built up and stuffed out,†the Fat Woman went on, in a very
low tone, and with a careful glance around, to see that she could
not be overheard.
“Do you mean that he isn’t a truly giant?†asked Dolly,
with a crushing sense of bewilderment and disappointment.
“No more than you are. And as for the Bearded Woman,
she takes it off and puts it in her pocket when nobody’s ’round.
The Two-headed Girl, the greatest scientific wonder of the age,
they call her on the bills — why, she’s two girls. They ’re
dreadful slim, and they manage to stick ’em into one dress.
The Talking Giraffe—why, it’s a man behind the scenes that
talks ; ventriloquism, you know. The man that swallows knives ©
and snakes — that trick is very well done, and folks is easy to -
take in, and he is so quick that you can’t see where the knives
go to, if you’re watching ever so close. Swallow ’em, child ?
Of course he don’t. He could n’t swallow ’em, no more ’n you
could.â€
“Oh, dear! I hope you won’t tell Ike. He would be so disap-
pointed,†said Dolly, feeling keenly the hollowness of the world.
“ But me and the Mites is genooyne. There ain’t a grain of
humbug about me, and the little teu tonty dears is just as
the Lord made ’em!â€
Dolly had her own private opinion that the Mites were fairies.
She wished Ebenezer could see them, for he would know.
While she was deliberating whether she’d better tell the Fat
Woman what shé thought about them, a man came sauntering
202 PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD.
through the car, and stopped in front of Dolly, surveying her
intently. He was very finely dressed, and wore a great deal of
jewelry, which Dolly admired very much.
“My heyes! W’at a helegant hangel she would make!†he
said, lifting Dolly’s flaxen curls, admiringly. “ Wouldn’t you
like to be a hangel, missy ?â€
Dolly wished very much that he had not asked her that ques-
tion. She sang, “I want to be an angel,†at Sunday - school,
and Barbara had impressed it upon her mind that she ought to
want to be an angel; but she and Ike had exchanged views on
the subject in private, and decided that the resemblance of
angels’ wings—in pictures and on tombstones—to turkey
feathers was an objection that could not be overcome. She
was afraid he would think her very wicked, but she said,
honestly :
«I don’t think I should like very well to grow feathers.â€
The man threw back his head and laughed at that, and the
Fat Woman shook with laughter, and Dolly felt rather hurt, as
if she were being made fun of.
“T think we could manage to’itch them on, so you would n’t
’ave to grow ’em,†said the man. “The hangel that we ’ad
belongin’ to the company ’as gone ’ome, sick with the measles —
not to mention ’er ’aving outgrown the business, and never
’aving no such angelic face as yours. W’ere’s your father and
mother ?†.
“In heaven,†said Dolly, as Barbara had taught her.
“ Then they could n’t wish for nothing better than to see their
lovely child a hangel in the greatest Moral and Hintellectual
National and Transatlantic Show in the world,†said the man.
“They were carried off in the train by accident — she and
her brother,†explained the Fat Woman.
“The ’and of Providence!†exclaimed the man, rubbing his
hands with delight. “ W’at a hattraction she ’ll be!â€
The Fat Woman said something, too low for Dolly to hear,
PEASE- PORRIDGE COLD. 203
and the man — who was evidently the manager of the troupe—
replied :
“Ho, 1 sha’ n’t do hanything hillegal. But she hain’t got hany
parents — †;
“But we’ve got Barbara, and Ebenezer, and Grandpa; I
should have to ask them,†said Dolly. When he had first asked
her if she wanted to be an angel, she had understood the ques-
tion to be such a one as her Sunday-school teacher might have
asked her. She knew now that he wanted her to become a
member of the company, and there was something very dazzling
and fascinating about the prospect. _
“Ho, we’ll hask them,†said the manager, reassuringly.
“But you "ll ’ave to stay at Barnacle to-night, and they could n’t
hobject to your happearing, just for once. ’Ere was I thinking I
should ’ave to give up the Ighly Hexciting, Moral, and Hintel-
lectual Hellevating and Hemotional Play with w’ich we closes
hour hexibition, for want of a hangel, w’en, hastonishing to say,
a lovely little himage, hexactly hadapted and hevidently hin-
tended by nature for a hangel, happears before me!â€
Dolly thought he was a very funny man, he made so many
gestures, and rolled up his eyes so, and put /’s in where they ~
didn’t belong, and left them out where they did. The Fat Woman
explained to her, after he had gone, that that was because he
was an Englishman. Dolly didn’t believe that even Ebenezer
had ever seen any Englishmen, and she felt as if she could
hardly wait until she should reach home to tell him how queer
they were.
She did not understand what the man wanted of her, not hav-
ing the slightest idea what a play was, but she felt very much
' flattered, and thought it was delightful to be with such wonder-
ful people. It was almost like one of Ebenezer’s stories. She
could scarcely believe that she was little Dolly Trueworthy, who
lived on the old farm in Cherryfield, and whose greatest excite-
ments had been coasting and going berrying. It seemed as if
204 PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD.
some fairy must have waved her wand over her, and changed
her into somebody else. She had to look at Ike, once in a
while, to reassure herself. He was surely Ike, and he seemed
perfectly at his ease, talking and laughing with the Knife
Swallower. One would. have thought he had been accustomed
all his life to riding on a train with a Great Moral and Intel-
lectual Show.
The train went so fast that it almost took Dolly’s breath away.
The trees, and houses, and fields, and fences whirled by in the
wildest kind of a dance, exactly as if they were bewitched, and,
in what seemed to Dolly an impossibly short space of time, the
forty miles were gone over, and they were whirled into the long,
dark, crowded station at Barnacle.
Dolly and Ike were hurried, with the others, into a great,
gaudily painted, open wagon, gayly decked with bunting. Be-
hind that came two other wagons, containing all the animals
belonging to the show — the Talking Giraffe standing, very tall
and imposing, in the middle of the first. The procession was
headed by a band of music, and accompanied by a shouting and
cheering crowd of people.
“Oh, Ike, don’t you wish Barbara and Ebenezer could see us
now ?†cried Dolly, feeling that it was a proud moment.
“ Who is Barbara?†said the Knife-Swallower, who had taken
Dolly on his knee, the wagon being somewhat crowded. “I used
to know a gal by that name, away up in Brambleton.â€
“ Brambleton? Why, that is where Barbara used to live!â€
cried Dolly.
“ Her name does n’t happen to be Barbara Pringle, does it?â€
asked the Knife-Swallower.
“Yes, itis!†cried Ike and Dolly, both together. “Do you
know her?†ra
“T cale’late I used to, when I was a boy,’ said the man, and
he held his head down, and there was an odd sort of tremor in
his voice.
PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD. 205
«“ And did you know her sister Sally that died, and ner little
brother Elnathan, who ran away to sea?†asked Dolly.
“T knew Sally, and I b’lieve I’ve heard tell of Elnathian.â€
“Do you suppose he is drowned? Don’t you suppose he ever
will come back ?†asked Dolly, anxiously. “I wish he would —
Barbara cries so on stormy nights and when she makes pea-por-
ridge, because she used to make it for him. Don’t you think
he will come back? People always do, in Ebenezer’s stories.â€
“Well, folks does turn up, sometimes, and then ag’in they
don’t, and sometimes it’s a marcy that they don’t,†said the
Knife-Swallower. ‘Because, you see, they may have turned
out bad, and not be any credit to their folks.â€
“ Barbara would want to see her brother, if he had turned out
bad,†said Dolly, after a little reflection. “She says she loved
him better than anybody in the world, and if he were ever so
- bad he would be her brother all the same— just like Ike and
me.â€
The Knife-Swallower turned his head away, then, and did n’t
say any more. Dolly determined that she would find out what
his name was before she went home. Barbara would be so
proud that one of her old friends had become such a distin- _
guished man.
They went to a hotel, —a rather dingy and disr apalaplel look-
ing one, on a narrow side street, —and, aiter having dinner,
Dolly was taken at once to the hall where the evening perform-
ance was to be given. Ike was allowed to go, too, at his earnest
entreaty.
The “’Ig¢hly Hexciting Moral and Hintellectual, Helevating
and Hemotional Play†did not need to be rehearsed, it had been
given so many times, but Dolly was to be taught how to be
“a hangel.†The Knife-Swallower went with them ; he seemed
to have assumed a sort of guardianship over Ike and Dolly — a
very fortunate thing for them, as the cross conductor had
entirely forgotten them.
206 PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD.
The angel who had gone home with the measles ‘had left her
costume behind her, and it fitted Dolly very well, after it had
been nipped in and tucked up a little. It was not a nightgown,
as Ike had predicted, — judging from pictures of angels which
he had seen, — but a beautiful dress of white gauze, with silver
spangles, and the wings which were fastened upon it were not
made of feathers, to Dolly’s relief, but of silver paper. The
angel was to descend through an aperture in the stage-ceiling,
on a framework of iron, with a foreground of pasteboard clouds;
clouds seemed to be all around her, over her head and under her
feet. Ike thought it was wonderful and delightful, and only
wished that they wanted a boy angel, but Dolly was dizzy and
frightened, and clutched the iron framework with all her might.
The manager tried to coax her; promised her all the candy she
could eat, and a whole shopful of toys. But all that did not
have half so much effect upon Dolly as Ike’s scorn. She could
not bear to have Ike think her a coward. So she resolved and
promised that, when evening should come, and the hall should
be full of people, and the angel would have to step off her cloud
platform and throw herself between the young man whose guar-
dian she was and the Fiend who was pursuing him, she would
not be afraid, but would do just as she had been told.
The hall was glittering with lights and thronged with people.
Ike had a seat very near the stage—thanks to his friend the
Knife-Swallower. Dolly peeped out from behind the scenes,
while the animals went through their performances, the Fat
Woman was introduced and her history related, the Knife-Swal-
lower swallowed a whole dozen of table-knives and a large
family of snakes, the Giant and the Mites exhibited themselves,
and sang songs and danced. At last came the play.
In the most exciting part, while the Fiend was pursuing the
poor, good young man with a red-hot poker, down came the
clouds in an apparently miraculous manner, with no machinery
in sight — with Dolly standing a-tiptoe on them, in her pretty,
PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD. 207
if not strictly angelic, attire of gauze and spangles and silver
paper, with her long golden hair hanging about her. The
applause was, as the manager would have said, ‘ himmense.â€
There was a shouting and cheering and clapping of hands that
- was almost deafening. Ike
was in such a state of excite-- aA
ment that he could not sit \
still — to think that that beau-
tiful being was Dolly !
The angel had been looking
at the people — such a crowd as
she had never seen before — as
she sailed down on her clouds.
As she tripped down from them
to the floor she suddenly caught
sight of the Fiend. He was a
most awful fiend. He was as
black as a coal, all over. He
had horrid horns and_ hoofs;
his eyes were like live coals, and
a flame came out of his mouth,
and he brandished his red-hot
poker in a way that was enough
to strike terror to the stoutest
heart.
The poor little guardian
angel’s was not a very stout
heart; and he looked exactly like a picture of the Devil in an
old, old book of her grandfather’s.
She uttered a piercing scream, and turned to run. Her dress
— caught on a nail that projected from the cloud- frame, and held
her fast. She screamed and sobbed, in an agony of terror.
“Oh, Knife-Swallower! Dear Knife-Swallower! Save me!
Save me!†she cried.
THE “ HANGEL.â€
208 PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD.
The audience had arisen in great excitement, half of them
laughing, the other half trying to find out what was the matter,
and one mischievous boy crying, “ Fire! fire!â€
The Knife-Swallower rushed upon the stage, took poor Dolly
in his arms,—heedless that the nail tore a long rent in her
gauze dress,— and carried her off, trying to soothe her and calm
her fears, as tenderly as Barbar‘a could have done.
But Dolly would not be soothed. She cried and sobbed hys-
terically, and begged, piteously, to be taken home. Ike made
his way into the dressing-room where they were.
“Well, if that wasn’t just like a girl!†he exclaimed. “I
knew in a minute that he was only make-believe. But he must
have felt pretty mean with his insides all on fire. Oh, but the
manager is mad, I can tell you! He is making a speech to
keep the people quiet, and his face is so red.â€
The Knife-Swallower was wrapping Dolly in a shawl and
putting her hat on. He told Ike he was going to take them to
a quiet house, where lived some people whom he knew. Ike
felt somewhat disappointed at losing all the wonderful sights in
the hall, but he didn’t want to stay behind when Dolly was
going.
It was a pleasant, homelike house to which the Knife-Swal-
lower took them, and the people were very kind, and Dolly soon
recovered from her nervous excitement; but she was very glad
to hear the Knife-Swallower say that he was going to take them
home on the first train in the morning.
Ike, too, now that he was away from the novelty and ex-
citement of the show, began to feel very homesick, and he felt
all the worse that pride prevented him from crying, “as girls
did.â€
At eight o’clock the next morning they were homeward
bound. When they stepped off the cars at Cherryfield, the
station-master ran to tell the sexton to ring the church-bell, to
tell the people that they were found. The manager had prom-
PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD. 209
ised to telegraph to Cherryfield that they were safe, but he had
not done it, and there had been a great fright about them.
Barbara was standing at the garden gate, with her apron over
her head, and looking anxiously in every direction, when they
came walking up—two little wayworn pilgrims, who had seen _
the world and were wiser than yesterday. The Knife-Swallower
straggled along behind, as if he shrank from being seen.
Barbara wept for joy, and hugged and kissed them until they
were almost suffocated.
But when the Knife-Swallower took off his hat and stood
before her, looking fixedly at her, she uttered a cry and fell
upon his neck, looking so white that the children were fright-
ened. And she kissed him—the Knife-Swallower—and she
called that great man, six feet tall, her “dear little brother
Nate.â€
They had brought her brother Elnathan home to Barbara!
When the children knew that, they were almost as wild with
joy as Barbara herself.
“JT might never have got courage to come if it had n’t been
for them children,†he said. “For you see, Barbara, I got
pretty low down. And I ain’t what I oughter be, now. It’s
dreadful lowerin’ for a chap to pertend to be what he ain’t, and
do what he can’t, even if it’s only pertending to swallow knives
and such tricks, and I’m goin’ to quit the business. What
them children told me about your thinkin’ of me and feelin’ bad
about me, after all these years, drove me to makin’ up my
mind.â€
Barbara only hugged him again for answer, and then hugged
the children.
By and by, Barbara remembered that they must be hungry,
and bustled about and got them all the good things in the house
to eat. Ike remembered the pease-porridge he had missed by
running off, and now called for it.
“Sakes alive! There it is, jest as I put it into the blue
210 PEASE-PORRIDGE COLD.
nappy, yesterday,†said Barbara. “Ebenezer ’n’ I had n’t the
heart to touch it. You blessed young ones! I had n’t no idea,
when I made that porridge, that you ’d find Elnathan, and bring
him home to eat it—no more’n I had that it would n’t be
_ touched till it was stone cold.â€
THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN’S GIG.
THEY kept the lighthouse on Great Porpoise Island — Aunt
Dorcas (nobody ever called her anything but Darkis), Saul and
Semanthy, Nick and Little Job, and the Baby.
Job Jordan (Aunt Dorcas’s brother, and the children’s father)
was the lighthouse keeper, but Job was, in the language of the
Porpoise Islanders, a “ tarlented†man, and “dretful literary.â€
His chief talent seemed to be for smoking and reading vividly
illustrated story-papers, and he devoted himself so completely to
developing that talent that all the prosaic duties of the estab-
lishment fell upon Aunt Dorcas and the children. “The light-
house would ’a’ been took away from him long ago, if it had n’t_
’a’ ben for Darkis,†the neighbours said.
Aunt Dorcas did seem to have the strength of ten. She and
the children raised a large flock of sheep on the rocky pastures.
around the lighthouse, and, rising up early and lying down late,
tilled a plot of the dry ground until it actually brought forth
vegetables enough to supply the family; and they cleaned; and
filled, and polished, and trimmed the great lamp, with its curious
and beautiful glass rings, which reflected the calm and steady
light from so many angles that myriads of flashes went dancing
out over the dark waters and dangerous rocks. Through sum-
mer and winter, storm and calm, the light on Great Porpoise
Island never was known to fail.
And they kept everything in the tower, and in the dwelling-
house, as bright and shining as a new pin. So when the com-
missioners came to examine:.the lighthouse, their report was
that “ Job Jordan was a most faithful and efficient man.â€
211
212 THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN’S GIG.
What the family would have done if Job had lost the position -
I don’t know; though I think that Aunt Dorcas would have
managed to keep their heads above water in some way. They
all looked upon her as a sort of special providence; if good
fortune did not come to them in the natural course of things,
Aunt Dorcas would contrive to bring it.
She was very nice to look at, with smooth, shining brown
hair, and pretty, soft gray eyes. She had been a beauty once —
in the days when she had turned her back upon the brightness
that life promised her, and shouldered. the responsibilities of
Job’s family ; but she was past thirty-five now, and years of toil
and care will leave their traces. She still had a springy step,
and laughed easily — and these are two very good things where
work and care abound. It was when Mrs. Jordan died that she
had come to live with them, and when the baby was only a year
old. Peas
That was four years ago, now, and the baby was still called the
Baby. The reason for this was that his name was Reginald
Fitz-Eustace Montmorenci. His father named him — after a
hero in one of his story-papers. Aunt Dorcas scorned the
name — she liked old-fashioned Bible names — and the children
could n’t pronounce it, so it had, fallen into disuse.
He was tow-headed and sturdy — Reginald Fitz- Eustace
Montmorenci — with a fabulous appetite, and totally unable to
keep the peace with little Job.
Little Job, who came next,— going up the ladder, — found
life a battle. His namesake of old was not more afflicted. He
had sore eyes, and his hair was “tously,†and he hated to have
it combed. He was always getting spilled out of the boats, and
off docks, and tumbling down steep rocks and stairs. When the
tips of his fingers were not all badly scratched, his arm was
broken or his ankle sprained. His clothes were always in
tatters, and Aunt Dorcas sometimes made him go to bed while
she mended them, and that always happened to be just when
THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN'S GIG. 213
the others were going fishing. The cow swallowed the only
jack-knife he ever had, and when he saved up all his pennies for
a year, and had bought a cannon, it would n’t go off. And he
always was found out. The others might commit mischief, and
go scot-free, but Little Job always was found out.
And this sort of existence he had supported for nine years.
Nick was but little more than a year older than Little Job,
and no larger, but he took life more easily. He was brave, and
jolly, and happy-go-lucky ; so full of mischief that the neigh-
bours had christened him “ Old Nick.†Aunt Dorcas thought.
that he didn’t deserve that, as there was never anything malicious
about his mischief, but little did Nick care what they called
him. He had little, bright, beady cross-eyes, which seemed to
be always eagerly looking at the tip of his nose. And as the
tip of his nose turned straight up to meet them, the interest
appeared to be mutual.
His shock of red hair would stand upright, too, let Aunt.
Dorcas and Semanthy do what they would to make it stay down.
And his ears — which were the largest ears ever seen on a small
boy — would not stay down, either, but stood out on each side of
his head, so that Cap’n ’Siah Hadlock (who was Aunt Dorcas’s.
“beau†once, and still dropped in to see her occasionally in the
light of a friend) declared that Nick always reminded him of a
vessel going wing-and-wing. .Cap’n ’Siah and Nick were good
friends, notwithstanding, and now that Cap’n ’Siah had given up:
following the sea, and kept a flourishing store on “the main,â€
there was no greater delight to Nick: than to stand behind his.
counter, and sell goods; it might have been rather tame without.
the occasional diversion of a somersault over the counter, or a.
little set-to with a boy somewhat bigger than himself, but these
entertainments were always forthcoming, and the store was
Nick’s earthly paradise.
Saul and Semanthy were twins. They were twelve, and felt.
all the dignity and responsibility of their positions as the elders.
214 THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN'S GIG.
of the family. Semanthy was tow-headed and freckled, and
toed-in. Saul was tow-headed and freckled, too, but he was (as
Cap’n ’Siah expressed it) “a square trotter.†Their towheads and
their freckles were almost the only points of resemblance between
them, although they were twins. Saul had an old head and keen
wits. He was very fond of mathematics, and had even been
known to puzzle the schoolmaster by a knotty problem of his
_own making. Semanthy could do addition, if you gave her
time. Saul kept his eyes continually open to all the practical
details of life, and was already given to reading scientific books.
Semanthy was a little absent-minded and dreamy, and as fond of
stories as her father. Saul always observed the wind and the
clouds, and knew when it was going to rain as well as Old Prob-
abilities himself. And if he had been suddenly transported to
an unknown country, blindfolded, he could have told you which
way was north by a kind of instinct. And he heaped scorn
upon Semanthy because she was n’t a walking compass, too, —
poor Semanthy, who never knew which way was east except
when she saw the sun rise, and then could never quite remem-
ber, when she stood with her right hand toward it, according
to the geographical rule, whether the north was in front of her
or behind her. Saul was a wonderful sailor, too, and had all
the proper nautical terms at.his tongue’s end, as well as num-
berless wise maxims about the management of boats; if he
-had sailed as long as the Ancient Mariner he couldn’t have
~ been more learned in sea lore. But Semanthy didn’t even
know what the “ gaff-topsail†was, and had no more idea what
“port your helm†and “ hard-a-lee†meant than if it had been
Sanscrit. When she was sailing she liked to watch the sky, and
fancy wonderful regions hidden by the curtain of blue ether, or
build castles in the clouds which the sunset bathed in wonderful
colours ; she liked that much better than learning all the stupid
names that they called things on a boat, or how to sail ‘one.
She was perfectly willing that Saul should do that for her. And
THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN'S GIG. 215
Saul cherished a profound contempt for girls, as the lowest
order of creation, and for Semanthy, in particular, as an espe-
cially inferior specimen of the sex. Semanthy had a deep
' admiration and affection for Saul, but still, sometimes, when he
assumed very superior airs, and said very cutting things about
her ignorance, she did feel, in her heart, that boys were rather a
mistake.
It was about five o'clock on a sultry Saturday afternoon in
THAT BOY NICK STARTED THEM.
August. Aunt Dorcas was putting her last batch of huckle-
berry pies into the oven, and thanking her stars that they had
not been troubled by any “ city folks†that day; for Hadlock’s
Point, the nearest land on “the main,†had become a popular
summer resort, and troops of visitors were continually coming
over to Great Porpoise Island, to explore the rocks and the
lighthouse. . Nick was endeavouring to promote hostilities
between a huge live lobster, which he had just brought in, and
which was promenading over the floor, and a much-surprised
216 THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN’S GIG.
kitten. Little Job was in the throes of hair-combing, under the
hands of Semanthy, and howling piteously. Suddenly they all
looked up, and Little Job was surprised into ceasing his howls.
A deep bass voice just outside the door was singing, or rather
roaring, this singular ditty :
«“ For I am a cook, and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain’s gig.â€
This was “The Yarn of the Nancy Bell,†which Cap’n ’Siah
Hadlock had learned from some of the summer visitors, and was
never tired of singing.- He had taught it to the children, too,
and the experience of the “ elderly naval man,†who had cooked
and eaten all the personages named in the rhyme, had fired
Nick’s soul with a desire to boil Little Job in the dinner pot,
and Little Job accordingly dwelt in terror of his life. Cap’n
*Siah was just what his voice proclaimed him —a big and jolly-
looking man of forty or thereabouts, with a twinkle in his eye,
and a double chin with a deep dimple in it. But what made
his appearance particularly fascinating to the children was the
fact that he wore earrings— little round hoops of gold— and
had grotesque figures tattooed all over his hands, in India
ink.
All four of the children knew what he was going to say, for
he always said the same thing, whether he came often or
seldom.
“ Gittin’-ready, Darkis ?â€
“For the day of jedgment? Yes, an’ I hope you be, too,â€
said Aunt Dorcas, trying to force a pucker upon a face that was
never made for puckering. But something brought a colour to
her cheeks just then — perhaps the heat of the oven, as she
opened the door to look after her pies.
Semanthy wondered if Cap’n ’Siah never would get tired of
THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN’S GIQ@. 217
saying that to Aunt Dorcas, and she never would get tired of
blushing at it — such old people, too !
“ Well, I kinder calkerlate that the day o’ jedgment ll get
along ’thout my at-
tendin’ to it, but if
ever I’m a-goin’ to git
a good wife, I’ve got
to go arter her!†said
Cap’n ’Siah.
“ Then p’r’aps you’d
better be a-goin’,†said
Aunt Dorcas. Where-
upon Cap’n ’Siah sat
down.
.“T come over in the
captain’s gig,†he said,
addressing himself to
the children.
They all looked be-
wildered, not’ know-
ing that “ captain’s
gigs†had an exist-
ence outside of “ The
Yarn of the Nancy
Bell.â€
“There’s a reve-
nue cutter a-layin’
up in the harbour;
she come in last
night. The cap’n he CAP'N ’SIAH HADLOCK.
come off in his gig,
and went off ridin’ with some of the folks up to the hotel. He
wanted some good fresh butter, an’ I told him I’d come over
here an’ see if I could n’t git some o’ the Widder Robbins, an’ he
218 THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN'S GIG.
said his men might row me over in the gig. So there the boat
lays, down there at the shore, an’ the men have gone over to the
cliffs after ducks’ eggs. I told ’em they need n’t be in no hurry,
seein’ as I was n’t.â€
The children were all out of the house in a trice, to see what
kind of a boat a “ captain’s gig†was.
They were somewhat disappointed to find only a long, narrow
rowboat; it had outriggers, and was painted black ; except for
those peculiarities, they might have taken it for a boat belong-
ing to some of the summer visitors at Hadlock’s Point. They
all had a fancy that a “captain’s giz†must bear some resem-
blance to a carriage.
“Cap'n ’Siah must have been fooling us; it’s nothing but a
rowboat,†said Nick.
Saul had been there before them, inspecting the boat, and
spoke up: “ That’s what they call it — the sailors said so; it’s
a good boat, anyway, and I’d like to take a row in it.â€
““ Come on!†shouted Nick, jumping into the boat. “It’s a
good mile over to the cliffs where the ducks’ eggs are; the men
won’t be back this two hours.â€
“Do come, Saul,†urged Semanthy, and Little Job joined his
voice to the general chorus.
“I suppose they would let us take it if they were here, but I
don’t just like to take it without leave,†said Saul, doubtfully.
“Stay at home, then. We’re going, anyhow. Semanthy can
row like a trooper,†cried Nick.
Semanthy could row a boat if she could n’t sail one, and
she was proud of her accomplishment, especially as Saul
always chose her as an assistant, in preference to any of the
boys.
“Tf you are all going, I suppose I shall have to go to take
care of you,†said Saul, jumping in. “ But we must n’t go so
far that we can’t see the sailors when they come back for their
boat.â€
THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN’S GIG. 219
So they all went off in the « captain’s gig†—Saul and
Semanthy, Nick and Little Job, and the Baby.
But as soon as they were off, conscientious Saul pushed back
again, and sent Little Job up to the house to ask Cap’n ’Siah if
it would do for them to use the “captain’s gig†for a little
THE CAPTAIN’S GIG AT GREAT PORPOISE ISLAND.
while. And Cap’n ’Siah said that the sailors would n’t be back
before dark, and he would “make it all right†with them.
Whether Cap’n ’Siah was anxious to get rid of the children, that
he might have a better opportunity to urge Aunt Dorcas to “ git
220 THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN’S GIG.
ready,†I cannot say, but he was certainly very willing that they
should go.
Saul’s mind was now at ease, and he was quite ready to enjoy
himself; but I am afraid that Nick felt, in the bottom of his
mischievous heart, that there was quite as much fun about it
before they had anybody’s permission.
«“ Now we can go over to the Point!†said Semanthy.
That was Semanthy’s great delight, to go over to the Point
and see the crowds of summer visitors, in their gay, picturesque —
dresses, the steamers coming in, and the flags flying. Now and
then there was a band playing; and at such times Semanthy’s
cup of happiness ran over.
Saul did not make any objection. He liked to go over to the
Point, too. Not that he cared much for crowds of people, or
flags, or bands, but there was a queer, double-keeled boat, which
they called a catamaran, over there, and he wanted to investi
gate it. The Point was nearly three miles away, but they pulled
hard, Saul and Semanthy, Nick and Little Job, each taking an
oar. ~To be sure, they had to keep an eye on Little Job, for he
had an unpleasant way of dropping his oar into the water —if
he didn’t drop himself in—and of keeping the Baby in a
drenched condition, which aroused all the pugnacity of his infant
nature. But in spite.of all drawbacks, they reached the Point
in a very short space of time. And Semanthy saw a steamboat
just coming in, and it had a band on board, playing “ Pinaforeâ€
selections, and some Indians had come and pitched their tents
on the shore, and hung out silvery seal skins and beautiful, gay
baskets at their tent doors, and the little Indian children, run-
ning about, were queerer than anything out of a fairy book.
And Nick had an opportunity to invest a long cherished five-cent
piece in “ jaw-breakers †— a kind of candy whose merit seemed
to consist in “lasting long.†Little Job had time to be knocked
off the wharf by a huge Newfoundland dog, and rescued drip-
ping. Saul found the catamaran fastened to the slip, where he
THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN'S GIG. 221
could inspect it to his heart’s content. The owner was standing
by, and, noticing Saul’s interest, he told him all about the boat,
and ended by asking him to go sailing with him.
“Go, of course, Saul! You don’t suppose we can’t get home
without you?†said Semanthy.
“Of course you can, but you had better go right along. You
have no more tlian time to get home before dark,†called pru-
dent Saul, as he stepped into the catamaran with his friend.
“Oh, my! Don’t we feel big!†called out Nick, in a voice -
which was distinctly audible in the catamaran. “You’d think
we were the cap’n of the boat! I wouldn’t feel big in that
queer old machine —’t ain’t any kind of a boat, anyhow!â€
And Little Job piped up, in a high, shrill voice:
“Oh, I am a cook, and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo’sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain’s gig!â€
It was clearly a relief to get rid of Saul; he was so very pru-
dent and cautious, and kept them in such good order. “The
crew of the captain’s gig†meant to have a good time now.
Semanthy tried her best to make Nick pull with a will,
straight for home, for it was already past six o’clock, and she
had a vivid picture in her mind of the sailors all on the shore
waiting for their boat, and furiously angry with those who
had stolen it.
But Nick and Little Job had become hilarious, and preferred
“catching crabs†and “sousing†Semanthy and the Baby, and
rocking the boat from side to side to see how far it would tip
without tipping over, to going peaceably along.
And all Semanthy’s remonstrances were in vain, until, sud-
denly, she espied a black-cloud swiftly climbing the sky.
“Look there, boys!†she cried. “ Zhere’s a squall coming!
Now I guess you ’ll hurry!â€
222 THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN’S GIG.
And they did. Nick and Little Job were not without sense,
and they had not lived on that dangerous, rocky coast, where
sudden “flaws†came down from the mountains, and squalls
came up with scarcely a moment’s warning, in the calmest, sun-
niest days, for nothing. Even the Baby understood the situation
perfectly.
But there was little danger in a rowboat, unless it should
grow so dark before they got home that they could not see their
-way, or the waves should run so high as to swamp their boat —
and the “ captain’s gig†was not a boat to be easily swamped.
Semanthy wished they were at home, but her chief anxiety was
for Saul, out in a sailboat,—and such a queer, new-fangled one,
too.
“Pooh! Saul knows how to manage any sailboat that ever
was!†said Nick, scornfully, when Semanthy expressed her fears.
« And if he didn’t, those fellers know how to ey their
own craft,†said Little Job.
The black cloud spread so quickly over the sky that it seemed
as if a pall had been suddenly cast upon the light of day. The
water was without a ripple, and there was a strange hush in the
air. It was a relief to Semanthy when a flock of gulls flew
screaming over their heads — the stillness was so oppressive.
Then the wind swooped down suddenly and fiercely upon them.
On the land they could see the dust of the road torn up in a
dense cloud, and the trees bent and writhing. The smooth
water was broken into great, white-capped waves.
Semanthy and Nick tugged away bravely at the oars, but it
was very hard work, and they made but little progress. The
darkness was increasing with every moment; every ray of the
setting sun had been obscured, and the sky over their heads was
black. In a very few minutes they were in the midst of a thick
darkness.
“Look out! You just missed that buoy!†called out Little
Job. And in another moment he shouted: °
“ THERE’S A SQUALL COMING!â€
THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN’S GIG. 225
“J don’t b’lieve this is the way at all! I think you’re goin’
straight for Peaked Nose Island !â€
« Well, I ain’t got eyes in the back o’ my head, like Saul!
No other fellow could tell which way to go in this darkness.
Anyway, I can’t tell Little Porpoise from Peaked Nose. We
might just as well drift.â€
“Drift! I should think it was drifting, with the boat most
turning a somersault every minute. Most likely we shall all be
drowned,†said Little Job, with the calmness of one accustomed
to misfortune.
“Tf you say that again, I’ll pitch you overboard!†said Nick.
“Of course we ain’t going to get dr owned! It will get lighter by
and by, and then we’ll go home.â€
“If night were not coming on, I should hope that it would
grow lighter soon,’ said Semanthy; “but, as it is, I wonder
why Aunt Darkis does n’t light the lamp ?â€
But, though they strained their eyes to the utmost, peering
anxiously into the darkness, there was no welcome flash from
the Great Porpoise lighthouse. They rested on their oars,
while the boat stood, now on its head and now on its feet, as
the Baby said, until Nick’s stock of patience was exhausted.
“JT move that we pull ahead,†he said. “I know this place
too well to get a great ways out of my reckoning, and it’s
enough to make .a fellow crazy to be wabbling around here
this way. We can’t do any worse than to bump on a rock, and,
if it’s above water, we ’ll hold on to it.â€
Semanthy was prone to seasickness, and the pirouetting of
the boat had caused her to begin to feel that there might be
worse things even than being drowned. So she was only too
glad to “ pull ahead.â€
They did not “bump†upon any “yock, but neither did they,
after what seemed like hours of rowing, see any signs that they
were nearing home. They were rowing against wind and tide,
and -conld not expect to make rapid progress; but still it did
e
226: THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN'S GIG.
seem to Nick that they ought to have got somewhere by this
time, unless they had drifted out into the open sea.
‘Goin’ straight ter Halifax! All aboard!†shouted Little
Job, wliose spirits were fitful.
The wind’s violence had abated somewhat, and it had begun to
rain. If Semanthy had only known that the catamaran and its
crew were safe, she would have felt that their woes were not
beyond remedy. But the gale had come on so suddenly! Be-
fore they had time to take down their sail, the boat might have
capsized, or been blown upon the rocks. Even Nick shook his
head now and then, and said: “This squall’s been pretty rough
on sailboats, I can tell you.â€
“ Nick, where can we be that we don’t see our light ?â€
“That must be Great Porpoise just ahead,†said Nick, point-
ing to a spot in the distance, which looked only like darkness
intensified and gathered into a small compass. “Why we can’t
see the light I am sure I can’t tell.â€
As they drew nearer, the black spot grew larger, and revealed
itself as land beyond a question.
“ But it can’t be Great Porpoise, Nick, because we should see
the light!â€
Nick looked long and earnestly, doubt growing deeper and
deeper in his mind.
“Well, it must be Peaked Nose,†he said, at last, “though it
is certainly a great deal bigger than Peaked Nose ever was
before.â€
‘And so they turned the boat in the direction in which Great
Porpoise ought to lie, if this were Peaked Nose.
That the light on Great Porpoise might not be lighted did not
occur to any one of them. For that lamp to remain unlighted
after nightfall was a thing which had never happened since they
were born; it would have been scarcely less extraordinary to
their minds if daylight should fail to put in an appearance.
Since there was no light there, that could not be Great Por-
THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN’S GIG. 227
poise Island. That was all there was about it,— so they all
thought.
- They rowed swiftly and in silence for a while, and another
dark shape did appear ahead of them; but there was no light
there !
“Oh, Nick! The Pudding Stones! I hear the breakers!â€
cried Semanthy, suddenly. “ It must be Little Porpoise!â€
“Then the other was Great Porpoise!†said Nick, blankly.
«« What is the matter with the light?â€
The Pudding Stones made Little Porpoise a terror to mari-
ners. If the beams from Great Porpoise lighthouse had not
fallen full upon them; they would probably have been the ruin of
many a good ship. Now, where was the Great Porpoise light?â€
The other end of Little Porpoise was inhabited; they had
friends there, and went there often, but Semanthy had never
before been so near the Pudding Stones, and she was anxious
only to get as far away from them as possible. They seemed to
her like living monsters, with cruel teeth, eager to crush and
grind helpless victims.
«“ Why are you going so near, Nick?†she SARL in terror.
“IT want to make sure where we are. There are other rocks .
around besides the Pudding Stones, and it seems as if we must
have got to the other side of nowhere. If we have n’t where in
creation is that light?â€
This did seem to Semanthy an almost unanswerable argument
in proof of their having “ got to the other side of nowhere.â€
But still she did not feel any desire to investigate the rocks just
ahead, upon which the breakers were making an almost deafen-
ing uproar. But Nick would not turn away until he had fully
satisfied his mind about their position.
Suddenly, above the roar of the breakers, Hey, heard a voice,
— ai shrill, despairing ery for help, —a woman’s voice, and not
far away.
“A boat has run against the rocks, most likely,†said Nick,
228 THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN’S GIG.
and pulled straight on toward the breakers. “We may be in
time to save somebody.â€
_ “Oh, but Nick, it isn’t as if there were only you and me to
think of! Here are the children. We are Tae their lives!â€
said Semanthy.
It was Little Job who piped up then, in his high, weak little ~
voice, and not by any means in the terror-stricken wail which
might have been expected from little Job. His courage had evi-
dently mounted with the occasion.
“‘T guess we ’re all the crew of the captain’s gig, and we ain’t
a-goin’ to let anybody get drownded if we can help it!†he said.
Nick did not reply to either Semanthy or him, but rowed as if
his own life depended upon it. Semanthy knew that he thought
she Was a coward, and was disgusted with her; but she was sure
that if she and Nick had been alone, she would not have hesi-
tated.
Little Job’s speech and Semanthy’s thoughts occupied but a
moment’s space. The next moment the boat grated against a
rock, and that cry, weaker and fainter,-arose close beside them.
“ Jehosaphat! TThere’s a woman clinging to this rock!
Steady, Semanthy — she’s slipping off! Hold the boat tight to
the rock, Little Job! Take hold here, Semanthy ;° she’s heavier
than*lead !â€
Using all their force, they dragged her into the boat — a limp,
drenched form, from which no sound came. The boat rocked
terribly, but righted at last.
> “Semanthy, she’s fainted, and she was losing her hold of the
rock! If we had n’t grabbed her just as we did, she ’d ’a’ been
drownded,†said Nick, in an awed voice.
“T think she’s dead, Nick,†said Semanthy, who had put her
face down to the woman’s lips, and felt no breath.
“ Rub her hands and feet,†said Nick. “We can’t do any-
thing else, but try to get out of this place, now; or we shall all
be ground to bits.â€
THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN’S GIG. 229
“Tt is sodark! I can’t see to do anything!†groaned Seman-
thy. ‘Oh, where is the lighthouse lamp? This all seems like
a dreadful nightmare! fe?
“I know those were the Pudding Signeste so now I know the
way home,†said Nick.
“The lamp has most likely: got bewitched,†said Little Job,
who was a reader of fairy tales.
But suddenly, like a ray of sunshine falling on the black
waters, out shone the lamp.
It shone full on the white face of the unconscious and’ half-
drowned woman, resting on Semanthy’s lap.
« Aunt Darkis! Oh, Aunt Darkis!†they all bred in concert.
“Oh, Nick, ain’t we dreaming!†said Semanthy, while a flood
of tears fell on Aunt Dorcas’s face. ‘“ How could she have come
there ?â€
“ Why, it’s plain enough. I heard Cap’n ’Siah ask her to go
over to Little Porpoise with him, to see his sister, the last time
he was over. They took our little sailboat, and went over, and
the squall struck ’em coming home, and drove ’em on to the
rocks.â€
“ But where is the boat, and where is — oh, where is Cap’n
*Siah ?â€
' « Can’t say — p’r’aps all right!†said Nick.
Semanthy and Little Job rubbed Aunt Dorcas’s poor white
hands, and wrung the water out of her pretty brown hair, and
kissed her over and over again. And by and by they could de-
tect a faint fluttering breath coming through her parted lips.
«“ But oh —oh, Nick, if we Beda been: there!†Semanthy
said.
Nick did n't say anything. He had too big a lump in his
throat.
In a few minutes more they were carrying Aunt Dorcas ten-
derly, and with great difficulty, into the house. The sailors —
the original “crew of the captain’s gig’ — were all there; it
230 THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN’S GIG.
was one of them who had lighted the lamp. The children’s
father, they were told, was down at the Widow Dobbins’s.
The sailors did n’t scold about their boat, you may be sure,
when they knew what service it had done.
Aunt Dorcas soon came to herself enough to know them, and
to speak to them, but they none of them dared to ask the ques-
tion that was trembling on their tongues — where was Cap’n
Siah? And Aunt Dorcas seemed too weak to remember anything
that had happened.
But while they were sitting there, looking questioningly into
each other’s faces, in walked a drenched and weather-beaten
and pale-faced man—Cap’n ’Siah, but ten years older, it
seemed, than he had been that afternoon. But when he caught
sight of Aunt Dorcas, he threw himself into a chair, and
covered his face with his hands, and when he took them away
they saw tears on his cheeks — great rough man as he was.
“TI thought she’d got drownded, and I’d let her,†he said.
« You see, I wa’ n’t lookin’ at the sky, as I’d ought to ’a’ ben,
and that pesky little boat went over ker-slap, an’ there we was,
both in the water. I ketched hold o’ the boat, and reached for
yer Aunt Darkis, and jest missed her! Then I let go o’ the
boat, and tried to swim for her, but I found I was sinkin’, with
all my heavy toggery on, and I ketched hold o’ the boat again.
Then a big wave knocked me off, and I went down, and I
thought I was done for, but when I came up I managed to grab
the boat again. But your Aunt Darkis was gone. I could n’t see
nothin’ of her, and in a few minutes ’twas so dark I couldn’t
see nothin’ at all! By and by, after I had drifted and drifted,
I heard voices, and I hollered, and that queer craft from the
P’int, the catamaran, picked me up— and there was our Saul
aboard of her! I didn’t care much about bein’ picked ‘up,
seein’ your Aunt Darkis was drowned, and’ I’d let her, but now
I’m obleeged to ye, Saul, for pickin’ me up!â€
Then Nick and Semanthy told their stor y, and soon Aunt
THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN’S GIG. 231
Dorcas told how she had clung, for what seemed like hours, to
the steep and slippery rock, from which Nick and Semanthy had
rescued her just as her strength gave out.
-“ And yer pa he’s a-courtin’ the Widder Dobbins, it appears,
otherwise he might ’a’ ben here to light the lamp,†said Cap’n
*Siah, in a mild and meditative tone. “And yer Aunt Darkis
an’ me’s ben a-thinkin’ that yer pa an’ the Widder Dobbins an’
her six might be enough here, an’ so you’d better all of you
come over to the main and live with me. My house is big
enough for us all, and Saul, hell kind of look after my boats
that I keep to let, and Nick, he’ll tend in the store, when he
ain’t to. school, and Semanthy — why, of course Aunt Darkis
could n’t do. without her; and as for Little Job and the Baby,
why, they “Il kinder keep things lively.â€
So, not only Aunt Doreas, but the whole “crew of the cap-
tain’s gig.†are “ gittin’ ready †now.
WHY THE BLACK CAT WINKED.
“Tr do be a bitther night, Micky, with the thaynometer down
that far they "ll have to pry it up wid a crowbar. Misther Jin-
nings, in the company’s store beyant, is jist afther tellin’ me.
An’ it’s betther have all the pipe-lines in Clarion County freeze
than ye! An’ up on the top o’ that high hill, where the wind
makes a clane swape, it’ll be afther curddlin’ the blood in your
veins! Sure, Micky darlint, I’d not go at all, at all.â€
“I’m afther promisin’ the masther that I’d help kape the
fires the night, an’ it’s not that mane-spirited 1’d be to back out
o’ me worrd for a thrifle o’ cowld.â€
And Micky, who was only a little fellow j in spite of iis fifteen
years, drew himself up to his full height, and looked as manly as
possible.
“Sure, I’d think Misther Ludlow ’d have more compashin
than til ask ye, whin it’s not shtrong ye are, an’ the only bye iv
a poor, lone widdy,†Mrs. McGinty went on.
“TI do be as shtrong an’ hairty as anny o’ the byes, an’ I wish
ye’d not always be sayin’ it’s wakely I am, an’ shamin’ me,â€
said Micky, with much feeling.
“If ye were but that big an’ hairty as Biddy, now!â€
And Mrs. McGinty looked with affectionate pride at her eldest
daughter, who was tramping vigourously through the yard with a
- heavy bucket in each hand, carrying their evening meal to two
“ foine pigs,†whose expectant gruntings sounded from afar.
“ Hear the vice iv her now — that shtrong an’ musical! It’s |
only a wake little whisper ye have beside it, Micky,†pursued
Mrs. McGinty, as Biddy, evidently irritated at, the persistent
clamour of her charges, called out:
232
WHY THE BLACK CAT WINKED. 233
“Whist, now, ye bastes! Howld your tongues, will ye ?— an’
_me com’n til ye as fast as iver I can.â€
Biddy had a thin calico dress on, her sleeves were rolled up
above her elbows, and her head was bare, but she did not seem
to feel the cold in the least. ;
“Now, if’t was Biddy goin’ to kape watch o’ the fires Pd not
be afraid she ’d be afther freezin’,’ said Mrs. McGinty.
“It’s not afther hirin’ girrls they are,†said Micky, scorn-
fully. “ An’ it’s nobody but ye thinks me wakely. An’ may be
it’s as good as a girrl ye ll think I am, some day.†And Micky
buttoned his coat, and tied his scarf on with great dignity.
“ Och, now, Micky, me darlint, it’s not gittin’ vexed ye are
wid the owld mother that would give the two eyes out iv her
head for ye? Sure, do ye s’pose I don’t know that there don’t
be so smairt a bye in the country, let alone qui’t an’ dacent?
An’ do ye s’pose I’m not afther remimberin’ whin the sthrike
was, two years ago agin April, how ye stud up, an’ ye a little
felly, amongst all the men, that was that mad they threatened
to shoot ye, an’ spoke a good worrd for the master? An’ don’t
I mind whin the bridge tuk ye off, wid itself, in the big freshet,
an’ ye bringin’ the three foine little pigs from Danny Casey,
-how everybody said ye were that brave and smairt’t was a
wondther, an’ ye afther bringin’ wan foine little pig home all
safe and sound, let alone yourself ?—an’ by the same token it’s
the descindants o’ that same foine little pig that’s now atin’
their supper in the pin beyant. An’ don’t I mind—â€
“Tl be go’n’ now, mother,†said Micky, who looked more
shamefaced, now, at hearing his heroic deeds recounted, than
when he was called “wakely.â€. “An’ sure you needn’t be
frettin’, for the fires "ll be afther kapin’ me warrm.â€
And with a motherly hug, and a repetition of the plaint that
she was “a poor, lone widdy, and he her oldest bye,’ Mrs. Mc-
Ginty was forced to let him go.
The pipe-lines, as they were called, were pipes extending
234 WHY THE BLACK CAT WINKED.
sometimes for many miles over hill and dale, transporting the
oil from the wells, where it was “struck,†to the great tanks,
near the railroad. In extremely cold weather, fires were built
beside the pipe, at intervals, to keep the oil from freezing; and
the fires had to be watched and fed all through the night.
Mr. Ludlow, the superintendent of the iron mills where Micky
worked, was interested in the oil business, also; and he, know-
ing Micky to be faithful, had hired him to take the place of a
man who was prevented by illness from serving. And Micky
felt flattered, as all the other watchers were men, and thought
it would be only good fun to tend the fires all night, though the
weather was cold.
Biddy came in with her empty buckets, her hands and arms
the colour of a boiled lobster.
“The tips o’ me ears an’ the tip o’ me nose feels frosty-like,
but it don’t be that cold as they says!†said she. “Sure, it’ll
no do harrm to Micky, but toughen him, like.â€
“TI hope it’s not the onfalin’ hairt ye have, Biddy, but ye ’re
that strong and hairty yerself, that ye don’t seem to ondther-
stand how wakely Micky do be, an’ how the murtherin’ cowld ’ll
take howld iv him!†said her mother.
“It’s not a chick or a young gosling he is, to be kilt wid a
trifle o’ cowld like this,†said Biddy, as she proceeded to feed
Tam, the great black cat, who was only second to the pigs in
her regards.
But after her mother had thrown her apron over her head,
and run into Honora Cassidy’s, next door, to ease her mind with
a bit of gossip, Biddy kept going to the window and scraping
away the frost, with which it was thickly covered, though there
was a hot fire in the little room, looking out with an expression
of anxiety which did not seem at all at home on her fat, round
face, with its turn-up nose and merry blue eyes. She seemed to
be trying to see how cold it was.
“Tt do be orrfle cowld! Though I’d not let on to the mother,
WHY THE BLACK CAT WINKED. 235
that’s frettin’ the hairt out iv her aready. I wish it’s me
they ’d take to mind fires, in place o’ Micky.â€
Meantime, “ wakely †Micky was trudging cheerfully along on.
his way to Sugar Hill, where his fires were to be built and taken
care of. There was a new moon, and the stars were beginning
to shine brightly out through the far-away darkness overhead.
Micky had had a good, hot supper, he was warmly clothed, he
walked fast, he whistled “St. Patrick’s Day,†and did n’t care a
fig for the cold. Already fires were blazing like beacons from
the hills around, looking as if they were trying to rival the
flames that went up from the great chimneys of the iron mills,
and made all the landscape as light as day. This was the first
time that fires had been lighted along the pipe-line for the
winter, and it was now late in January, but Jack Frost seemed
determined to make up now for the long mildness of his reign.
Micky hurried. It seemed to him that it grew colder every
moment, and he was afraid the oil would freeze in the pipes on
Sugar Hill before he got his fires built.
The wood was there, ready for use, and in a twinkling Micky
had a fire which could hold its own with any along the line.
And oh, how good it was to warm his stiffened fingers by it! -
On Beech Knoll, a quarter of a mile away, he had to build
another fire, and he was to keep those two fires burning until
daylight.
“ An aisy job it do be, an’ a dollar an’ a quarther for it!â€
said Micky to himself, with great delight.
Ah, Micky! It is only a little past six o’clock now, and it will
not be daylight until after six to-morrow morning. Micky sat
down beside his Sugar Hill fire, and thought how comfortable
and warm it was. But before he had sat there long he began to
be conscious that, although his face and hands were warm, there
was a keen, cold wind at his back; beside that roaring fire he
was becoming chilled and stiffened with the cold! He got up
and ran, as fast as he could, over to the brow of another hill,
236 WHY THE BLACK CAT WINKED.
where Gottlieb Meisel, a jolly old German fiddler, was tending a
fire. Gottlieb was highly valued as a fire tender, because, being
accustomed to sitting up all night at balls and parties, he never
fell asleep at his post. He had his fiddle with him now, and.
was scraping away at it; but the cold seemed to have affected
the strings, —a dismal screeching sounded through all the merry
jigs.
« She has vun very bad catarrh, and her heart is also mit de
cold broken! Dance ve, or ve vill be frozen, too!†said the
old German. So they spun away nimbly around the fire, Gott-
lieb still scraping away at his fiddle; and a very funny sight it
must have been, if there had been anybody to see. The dance
warmed Micky and revived his spirits, which had begun to droop
a little.
About midnight Gottlieb returned Micky’s call, but then poor
Micky was thoroughly chilled, and was having a desperate strug-
gle to keep himself awake; and Gottlieb did not seem to have
sufficient spirit to dance, but he solaced himself with his pipe,
and told Micky funny stories, which helped to keep him awake.
But after Gottlieb went: back, then came Micky’s tug of war.
He did not dare to sit still for ten minutes, because he knew he
should fall fast asleep if he did. He had to walk, backward and
forward, between his two fires, — he was too numb and stiff to
run, — and oh, how slowly the minutes dragged by! He had
never been awake all night before in his life. “ Why did nobody
iver tell me that it’s a whole wake long the nights is!†he said
to himself, over and over again.
And the cold was like nothing he had ever known before.
He began to think his mother was right; the blood was almost
“ curddled in his veins.â€
The moon was wading through masses of white clouds, that
Micky thought looked exactly like snow - drifts, and the stars
sparkled like little points of ice.
“The whole worrld an’ the sky do be freez’n’,’ thought
WHY THE BLACK CAT WINKED. 237
Micky. And then he thought nothing more, until a violent
shaking aroused him, and there was old Gottlieb standing over
him, and telling him to hurry home, or he would die of cold and
want of sleep; that it was almost five o’clock, and he would
take care of his fires until daylight.
Micky, feeling terribly ashamed that he had gone to sleep and
let his fire go almost out, declared that he was not so “ wake-
hairted†as to leave his post for the cold and “a thrifle o’ slape
in his eyes,†but when Gottlieb insisted, he had not strength to
refuse. He started for home, Gottlieb trying to thoroughly
awaken him and arouse his spirits by coaxing from his “ heart-
broken†fiddle the lively strains of ‘The Campbells are
Coming.â€
But even that was of no avail. Micky stumbled as he walked,
and felt a strange, dreadful stupor creeping over him which he
could not resist.
“Tl niver get home, niver!†he cried.
Mrs. McGinty slept but little that night, her thoughts being
with her “bye†out on the bleak hilltop, in the freezing night;
and she and Biddy were up betimes in the morning, making a-
“rousing†fire, and getting a nice hot breakfast — crisp sau-
sages and mealy, baked potatoes, and the “cup o’ tay†that
Micky liked as well as his mother. But six o’clock came; seven,
eight o’clock, and no Micky!’ By that time Mrs. McGinty was
running around the neighbourhood with only her apron over her
head, asking everybody if they had heard or seen anything of
Micky. Nobody had. Biddy ran every step of the two miles to
Sugar Hill, but there was nobody there to give her any tid-
ings of Micky. The sun was shining brightly, the weather was
growing warmer, and the fires had all been allowed to go out,
Then she went to Gottlieb Meisel’s house. She knew that he
was one of the fire tenders, and he and Micky were always great
friends. When Gottlieb was thoroughly awakened from the
238 WHY THE BLACK CAT WINKED.
sound sleep which he was enjoying after his long night watch,
he told Biddy that he had sent Micky home before five
o’clock, and had seen him start off in a very cold and sleepy
condition.
“ Wheriver in the wide worrld did the poor bye go, an’ him
kilt wid the cowld an’ the slape in his eyes!†cried Biddy.
“May be it’s in at Patrick Casey’s or Danny Reardon’s he
stopped, an’ him not able to get home.â€
And away ran Biddy to continue her search. Very soon a
dozen of the neighbours had joined in it; but though they sought
far and near, not a trace of Micky was to be found. By night-
fall most of them had settled down ‘to the belief that Micky had
run away. To be sure, that did not seem in the least like
Micky, who was a “ qui’t, dacent, hard-workin’ bye,†and a great
favourite in the mill with both master and men. But what
other possible solution was there of the mystery of his strange
disappearance ?
It was only when the darkness of night came down upon
them that Mrs. McGinty and Biddy returned home. The small
McGintys — Patsy and Johnny, Katie and little Bartholomew —
had been left to their own devices all day, and had enjoyed
unlimited dirt, quarrelling, and general mischief. Biddy seized
them, scrubbed them vigourously, combed their hair, and gave
them their supper. It was not Biddy’s way to sit down and
weep, however heavy her heart might be. Mrs. McGinty
swallowed a “cup o’ tay,†and then went off again, to seek
consolation by talking her woes over with the neighbours. The
house seemed “that dark and lonesome that she could na ’bide
it.†Biddy, having sent all the children to bed, sat down before
_ the fire, and studied the blazing ‘coals, as if she could get them
to tell her what had become of Micky.
Tam, the great black cat, sat on the wood-box, with Micky’s
old coat under him for a cushion. Tam liked something soft
under his old bones, and seemed to have a particular fondness
WHY THE BLACK CAT WINKED. 239
for anything that was Micky’s. _He had been Micky’s especial
pet and property ever since the cold winter night, seven years
before, when he had come to the door, a very small, stray kitten,
lean, and lank, and shrill-voiced, and Micky had taken him into
his own bed, and shared his supper with him. He seemed, then,
a very subdued and serious-minded kitten, but it soon proved
that that appearance was only the effect of early hardships.
Under the genial influences of warmth and good living, he
developed into a round, black, fluffy ball of a kitten, which
seemed to be the embodied spirit of mischief. He dipped into
every. milk-pan in the neighbourhood, ate out the middle of all
the squash pies, and helped himself to steaks and chops out of
the butcher’s wagon. He killed all the chickens in ‘the little
town, and the Widow Casey’s canary-bird. He tore up every-
thing -that came in his way, with his sharp, little, white teeth,
like a dog. He whipped dogs twice as large as himself, so that
they dropped their tails between their legs and slunk away when
they saw him coming. Dick Ludlow, the superintendent’s son,
named him Tam o’ Shanter, ‘and as Tam he was known all over
the neighbourhood. Every day his life was threatened, either by
Mrs. McGinty, who declared he was “ Owld Nick himself,†or by -
some angry neighbour on whom he had played his pranks; but
Micky was never off his guard. Nothing should happen to Tam
while he could help it; upon that he was resolved. He took all
his savings to pay for the chickens that Tam caught, and more
than once he protected Tam’s life at the risk of bodily injury to
himself. Now “ cathood, with careful mind,’ had come to Tam; he
had forgotten his kittenish pranks; he had grown to an enormous
size, and acquired great dignity of manner. But the neighbours
still shook their heads over him, declaring that he had “ quare
ways for a cat,’ and there were some who did not scruple to
assert their belief that he was “a witch.†Mrs. McGinty her-
self said that he was “wiser than a Christian, an’ could tell
forchins if he chose.â€
240 WHY THE BLACK CAT WINKED.
Certain it is that Tam knew enough to be grateful, so perhaps
he was wiser than some Christians.
On this night, while Biddy looked into the fire, Tam sat on
Micky’s coat, staring straight at her.
“Oh, Tam, ye’re that wise, an’ some o’ them says ye’re a
witch! Can’t ye be afther tellin’ where Micky do be?â€
Tam looked straight at her with his great yellow eyes, and
uttered a piteous howl.
He don’t be dhrowned in the river, for the ice is that thick
the teams is go’n’ over. He don’t be anny place in the mill,
nor in annybody’s house. Micky’d niver run away ! — that do
be foolishness. It’s dead he must be, or he’d come home til
us. 2
Tam got off the wood-box, and sat down at Biddy’s feet and
looked up in her face.
“ He do act quare,†said Biddy to herself. ‘But he do be
lonesome after Micky. Oh, Micky! Wheriver are ye? It’s
not gone to see an oil well he is; there don’t be anny new one.
It’s not in the mines he is, for sure he ’d come home from there.
There do be the owld mine at the fut of Sugar Hill; sure, it’s
in there he might have gone to get warrm.â€
Tam winked his right eye, — winked eagerly, yet with a sort
of deliberation.
“The saints be good til us! If iver I seen a cat wink!â€
cried Biddy. “Tam, és it a witch ye are, an’ are ye manin’ that
Micky do be in the owld mine? But what would kape him from
comin’ home ?â€
Tam jumped into Biddy’s lap, looked her straight in the eyes,
and winked again, solemnly !
Biddy crossed herself, devoutly.
“Tf it’s a witch he is, he “Il fly out through the indy, now,â€
she said.
But, instead of “flying through the windy,†Tam winked
again, three times with the same eye.
WHY THE BLACK CAT WINKED. 241
“I can’t stand it any longer!†cried Biddy, jumping up.
«“ Sure itll do no harrm to go up til the owld mine.†And
hastily throwing on her shawl and hood, Biddy started, on the
run, for the old mine, which ran into the heart of Sugar Hill.
“Tt do be always warrm in the mines, an’ him kilt with the
cowld, poor bye, an’ he’d not mind that it don’t be safe, wid the
props broke an’ it likely to cave in anny place. He don’t niver
be afeard of annythin†Micky don’t!â€
And Biddy’s heart stood still with fear, as she remembered
that everybody had been warned not to go into the old mine,
and that it would be like Micky to go, if he wanted to, in spite of
the warning.
The weather was much warmer, and there were no fires along
the pipe-line. The sky was overcast, and only the fires from
the iron mills showed Biddy her way. She reached the little
hollow scooped out between the hills, where the entrance to the
old mine was. The hearts of all the hills held treasures of iron
or coal, and the mines were only long tunnels leading straight .
into their hearts. Biddy knew the old mine well. She stepped
inside the little square entrance, and lighted the little miner’s
lamp which had been her father’s and which she had, fortu-
nately, not forgotten to bring.
The air inside the mine seemed warm and damp, like that of
a hothouse. The timbers over Biddy’s head seemed, many of
them, on the point of falling, and, where they had fallen, masses
of loosened rock and earth seemed only kept from crashing
down by some invisible hand. A track was laid in the mine,
just wide enough for the little drays, drawn by donkeys, which
carried out the ore; and along the narrow rails Biddy had to
pick her way, the mud and water were so deep on either side.
She called, “ Micky! Micky!†as loud as she could; and only
the echoes answered.
“ Micky ’d never come in this dthirty place, an’ it’s the fool I
am to come, all along iv a cat’s winkin’ — but, indade, it’s that
242 WHY THE BLACK CAT WINKED.
knowin’ the baste looked! I’ll be afther goin’ a thrifle farther,â€
she said to herself. But a few steps farther brought Biddy to a
sudden stop. There had been a fall of stones and earth, and
the passage was completely filled. Biddy’s experienced eye told
her that it was a recent fall, and she remembered that the
miners said such accidents were more common in cold weather.
Was Micky buried under it? The thought made poor Biddy
- sick and faint, but she had strength for one despairing cry:
“ Micky! O Micky!â€
Did a faint, far-away voice answer her? Or was it only an
echo from the tunnel behind her ?
She called again. Her lungs were sound, and this shout
would have awakened every one of the Seven Sleepers.
‘Here! Here! Here! Oh, help!†answered a voice from
beyond the barrier — Micky’s voice.
« Kape up yer hairt, Micky darlint!†Biddy uttered that one
shout, every word of which must have reached Micky’s ears, and
then she started to run for help.
No picking her way now. Biddy dashed and splashed through
water and mire, scarcely conscious that she was wet to the knees.
Not far off lived Patrick Casey and Danny Reardon, good friends
of the McGinty’s — as, indeed, was everybody in the town. In
a very short space of time their strong arms were digging a
passage way to Micky’s prison. They had to work carefully,
lest any jarring should bring another avalanche down upon them.
A small opening was enough for Micky. to crawl through, and
he was soon free. Haggard and worn, as if with months of ill-
ness, his face looked, as the light of Biddy’s lamp fell upon it.
He had gone in to get warm, and had dropped down and fallen
asleep on the first dry spot of ground. The mine had “ caved
in†only a few feet from where he lay, and the crash had awak-
ened him. He had spent but one day in his awful prison; it
seemed to him a week.
Great were the rejoicings at the “ Widdy McGinty’s.†And
WHY THE BLACK CAT WINKED. 243
Tam sat, in deep content, on Micky’s knee, and Biddy told the
neighbours about his winking when she had mentioned the old
mine, and that she should never have gone but for that. And
they all looked with great awe at Tam, and the Widow Lan-
nigan shook her head solemnly, and called upon the whole
company to witness that she had always said Tam was a witch.
And while they were all talking about him, Tam looked up
into Micky’s face, and winked again solemnly. Then up spoke
Patsy McGinty, a red-haired little Irishman of nine years, who
had crawled out of bed to grace the festive scene.
“ He do be wink’n’, an’ wink’n’, all day, iver since Katie poured
the bucket o’ slack over him!â€
Now, “slack†is coal dust, and could not have been a grateful
shower-bath to poor Tam.
“It’s a big piece o’ coal do be in his eyes!†cried Micky.
And with “as much sinse as a Christian,’ Tam let Micky get
the coal out. ‘
“ Av coorse it was the bit o’ coal made him wink, the poor
baste,†said one of the men; and the witch theory seemed to be
generally abandoned. But not by the Widow Lannigan. She
said, with many solemn head-shakings: “ Yez can say what yez _
plaze, he was niver a right cat.â€
And Biddy, too, always had a doubt whether or not it was
only the bit of coal that made Tam wink.
BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY.
THERE were so many of the Primes and they grew so fast
that their father’s long-tailed coat was handed all the way down
to little Amos, the seventh boy; and last year Tudy actually
made her “ fore-and-aft†cap of one of the tails. If one is a
minister’s daughter in a little out-of-the-world Cape Cod town,
where some people pay for their share of preaching with salt
codfish, and others with cranberries, one must develop a con-
triving bump, — and especially if one is the only girl in a family
of eight, and one’s father cherishes the old-fashioned opinion
that a girl is not of much account, anyway.
Papa Prime’s heart yearned over his boys, running wild with
bare feet among the sand-hills, apparently becoming amphibious
but acquiring very little book-learning. How to educate them
was a problem which absorbed much of his thought, but it never
occurred to him that it was of any consequence, whatever, that
Tudy wished to be an artist. He knew that her head had been
full of this fancy from the time when, a mite of a girl, she had
got into disgrace by drawing, in the “long prayer,†an old
- Portuguese sailor, with earrings and a wooden leg, who had
strayed into church, until the last school-examination when the
committee had ordered that the ship which she had drawn
should remain on the blackboard, being an honour to the district.
If Tudy learned, from her Aunt Rebekah, to be a thrifty house-
keeper, that was about all the education that was necessary for
her, he thought. So it happened that Tudy ate her heart out
with longing for drawing materials, colours to set forth the
glories of the East Tilbury marshes in September, and lessons
that would show her just how to express the conceits that were
244
BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY. 245
thronging her brain and fairly tingling at her fingers’ ends.
When, besides being the only girl in a family of eight, one is
a twin, one’s difficulties and trials are increased. Tudy was
very apt to be held responsible not only for her own short-
comings, but also for her twin brother’s; and to be responsible
for Toffy’s was sometimes not a trifling matter.
Their father had settled upon Toffy to be the minister of the
family. Ben, the eldest son, had sorely disappointed him by a
persistent determination to become a sailor; failing to obtain
his father’s consent, Ben had run away to sea, and now no one
dared to mention his name in his father’s presence, but Tudy
and Aunt Rebekah cried themselves to sleep every stormy night.
It seemed to Tudy that her father had grown ten years older
since Ben had run away. And now here was Toffy manifesting a
trading-bump, apparently the only one in the family. His father
had talked to him earnestly of the hopes which he had centered
in him, and Tudy, with a deep sense of responsibility, had set be-
fore him the delights of learning, all in vain. It is possible that
Tudy’s arguments might have had more effect if Toffy had not
been acquainted with her great weakness in the matter of the
multiplication table, and with her private opinion of parsing.
But Toffy, even in dresses, had yearned to play marbles “ for .
keeps,†and while the front yard fence still overtopped him
he had, through the slats, challenged every passer to “swop
knives†with him. Almost ever since he had worn jackets, he
had been saving up to buy a cranberry meadow, and the walls of
the wood-shed were covered with an imaginary profit and loss.
account of the cranberry business; but, alas for poor Toffy! on
this summer when he was fourteen his prospects of owning a.
cranberry meadow were represented by thirty-seven cents, and
he suspected Aunt Rebekah of having dark designs upon that.
sum for the purchase of his straw hat.
Even his poultry business, upon which he could generally
depend, had proved unprofitable this season ; his sitting hens all
246 BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY.
“rose up†(as-Ann Kenny, the Irish washerwoman, said), a
great mortality visited his young turkeys, and Aunt Rebekah had
an unprincipled way of making cake and custards of his eggs
before the egg man came around.
“HIS FATHER HAD TALKED TO HIM EARNESTLY.â€
But Toffy’s determination to become a business man was not
overthrown by these reverses, nor by the elusiveness of the cran-
berry meadow. He could see no advantage in grinding over
Latin declensions, and when Tudy exhorted him to work his
BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY. 247
way through college as a preliminary to being President,— to be
a minister meant, in Tudy’s experience, to be so poor that she
had not the heart.to keep that calling steadfastly before Toffy’s
eyes, — Toffy replied that he would rather keep a store.
Aunt Rebekah said, when she heard of Toffy’s ambition, that
she had known folks to serve the Lord keeping store, and make
money, too. And it was evident that Aunt Rebekah thought
that this combination of aims was not to be despised. But Papa
Prime, who had never scraped the flour barrel, nor made over
a coat seven times, sighed heavily, and began to look among the
rest of his flock for the one who should follow in his footsteps.
Isaiah, who came next to the twins, was addicted to truancy and
eccentric spelling; even now the minister’s heart was heavy
over a soiled and crumpled scrawl which had been presented to-
the school-teacher by Isaiah and by him forwarded to the
culprit’s father: “ pleez igscuz the barer for beeing Late. And
Oblidge yures truly, rev absalom Prime.â€
As to his morals, Isaiah might reform, but Papa Prime
despaired of his spelling. Samuel, who came next, owned an
_ imagination which imparted an “ Arabian Nights†flavour to
his simplest statements, and in matter-of-fact East Tilbury the
minister’s distressed ears had heard him called “ Lying Sammy.â€
Then Lysander was inordinately fat and fond of pie, and his
father was afraid that he would never be spiritually minded;
and, to say nothing of Absalom’s fixed determination to become
a circus clown, it was feared that his stammer was incurable.
Peleg and little Amos were notoriously mischievous and trouble-
some, but as they were but six and seven respectively, a less
despondent soul than the minister’s might cherish hopes of their
reform.
Papa Prime doubted whether the Lord had blessed him in his
children, and perhaps it was unfortunate that Tudy should have
taken the very day on which he had heard Toffy’s remark about .
keeping store, and been led by it to this gloomy survey of his
948 BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY.
whole family, to tell him-that Miss Halford, the drawing-teacher
at the 8 Academy, had kindly offered to give her a draw-
ing-lesson twice a week. The minister said, decidedly, that
Tudy could not walk four miles to 8 , and he could not
afford to pay her fare in the stage. Moreover, she would better
give her time to such useful occupations as cooking and sewing.
Here was another child who was a disappointment, with her
desire for vain accomplishments, the minister thought, bitterly.
And Tudy went away feeling herself the most deeply injured and
unhappy girl in the whole round world. If she were not the
only girl in the family she would run away, like Ben, she said
to herself ; but some one must help Aunt Rebekah to level the
weekly mountain of patching and darning, avert their father’s
anger from Isaiah and Lysander, keep Peleg and little Amos
from setting the house on fire or falling into the well, and, last
but not least, be responsible for Toffy. Oddly enough, what he
felt to be a great stroke of good fortune had come to Toffy on
this very day. It is seldom that one’s dearest ambitions are
realised so soon, but Toffy had actually had an opportunity to
become a partner in a store. Dave Rickerby, whose father was
postmaster and storekeeper of Hast Tilbury, had planned to go
into business in this summer vacation. Dave already had several
irons in the fire, being the owner of a small cranberry meadow,
- part owner of the Frisky Kitty, a jaunty little catboat which
thriftily went fishing in the fall and spring, and then, being
thoroughly cleansed of her fishiness and thickly painted, took
the summer guests of the Tilbury House on pleasure excursions ;
moreover Dave this summer had taken the contract to supply
the Tilbury House with clams and band concerts ( himself rein-
forcing the somewhat feeble Sandy Harbour band with a drum
and fish horn). Dave was nothing if not enterprising; he had
keen eyes for a business opening, and great prompiness in avail-
ing himself of it. Toffy greatly respected Dave Rickerby.
Now that Tilbury Centre had become a watering-place, and
BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY. 249
the summer guests drove or sailed over to East Tilbury every
day, and excursion boats often landed there, Dave was of the
opinion that a small store, kept in an old fish-curing estab-
lishment that belonged to his father, down on the wharf, would
be a paying investment. He meant to keep fruit, candy, and
nuts, ginger beer and pickled limes, the latter a delicacy much
esteemed by the youthful population of Hast Tilbury.
“It’s well to look out for the home trade,†explained Dave,
with his legs dangling from his father’s counter, while Toffy,
astride a barrel, listened open-mouthed as if he were literally
drinking in wisdom.
Toffy was very proud to have been selected as a partner by
Dave.
“Of course I could have found a partner with money,†Dave
had said; “but I know business talent when I see it.’ And
Toffy felt that, for the first time in his life, he was appreciated.
But when Tudy heard the terms of the partnership she thought
that Toffy’s share of the profits was to be small. Toffy had
scarcely thought of that, he had been so flattered by Dave’s ap-
preciation. “ He isn’t giving you a fair share, Toffy,†she said,
indignantly.
“It’s Capital; Labour can’t contend against it,†said Toffy,
gloomily. Toffy read the newspapers and heard the questions of
- the day discussed in the store, but he had never felt quite sure with
which side of the “labour question†he sympathised, until now.
“ By the time that he gets ten per cent. on the money he in-
vests there will be no more profits left to divide!†said Tudy,
who was not obtuse if she did have difficulties with the multipli-
cation table. ‘ And he will expect you to do all the work.â€
“ Yes, of course; that’s what he wants. me for; that’s the
way you have to do if you have no capital,†said Toffy. “ But
it’s a great opening for me, as Dave says. There’s the experi-
ence, you know. ButI don’t know what father will say about
it. You’d better ask him, Tudy.â€
250 BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY.
Tudy’s face lengthened dolefully. The experience which she
had just had with her father was not encouraging.
“T could n’t ask him to-day, and I would n’t if I were you,â€
she said. The minister had moods, like other people, and his
“erp’s CAPITAL; LABOUR CAN’T CONTEND AGAINST IT,’ SAID TOFFY,
, GLOOMILY.â€
daughter thought that he might be less severe upon Toffy’s shop-
keeping ambitions if the question were presented another day.
“ Perhaps we’d better not ask him at all,†suggested Toffy,
after reflection. “It’s safer.â€
BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY. 251
At any previous time Tudy. would have strongly dissented
from this: proposition, but now she was very bitter over the de-
struction of her own hopes. It would be too bad if her father
should crush Toffy’s in the same way.
“Tf anybody should speak to him of my being in the store, we
could let him think that-I was just tending for Dave. That’s
all it amounts to, anyway. And it may be a failure, so there
won’t be any need of telling him.â€
Toffy looked somewhat surprised, and very much relieved that
Tudy made no attempt to refute this logic. Tudy’s generally
stern views of duty and propriety were sometimes distasteful to
Toffy. “I can do my Latin just the same. He says 1’ve got to
stick to it all through vacation.†Toffy made a wry face. “ You
can tend for me sometimes, can’t you? I wouldn't dare to
trust any of the boys.â€
Tudy reflected that it was very pleasant down there on the
wharf, and if one were obliged to count one’s fingers in making
change one could probably do it under the counter; and she
always wished to help Toffy — poor Toffy !— whose tastes, like
hers, were frowned upon.
So it came about that when the little place on the wharf had _.
been thoroughly scrubbed and whitewashed — somewhat dingy
and tumble-down and very fishy it was — Tudy pinked blue and
white paper for the shelves, and pinned some of her sketches
upon the walls.
And Dave appreciated her assistance so highly as to offer for
her acceptance a small pickled lime, which was quite wonderful
for Dave, who disapproved of giving anything away. And Tudy
was. called upon to tend store almost every day. Dave superin-
tended affairs for a while, every morning, and he kept the books
(the accounts were, in fact, set down upon a broken slate, but
Dave had impressed Toffy with the desirability of giving an air
of importance to the establishment, so they always spoke of
“keeping the booksâ€), but Toffy was expected to be there con-
252 BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY.
stantly, and the Latin lessons, to say nothing of the cares of
- wood chopping and poultry keeping, and the occasional beguile-
ment of a game of ball, which not even the sternest business
principles could resist, made this very difficult.
Aunt Rebekah was forced to do the mending alone, and even
to make the ginger cookies for which Tudy was famous, and it
became necessary to use much discretion to prevent the minister
from finding out about the store.
Being responsible for Toffy was harder than ever. Business
was brisk at first. For the most part, the customers were children
with a few pennies to spend; but, sometimes, when the fishing
boats were in, or an excursion steamer made a landing at the
wharf, the stock would be almost exhausted in a few minutes,
and Tudy, racking her brains and frantically counting her
fingers under the counter, would firmly resolve to privately mas-
ter the multiplication table before the next boat came in.
But, after the novelty wore away, the home trade, as Dave
called it, began to fall off; the tin banks of Hast Tilbury began
to give forth their wonted jingle, and a virtuous sense of “ sav-
ing up†again filled many an over-tempted breast. Except
when the boats came in, it was dull, and Toffy allowed himself
to be beguiled more and more by the charms of ball playing;
moreover, he was securing jobs to row and sail boats for the
summer visitors ; he hoped to earn enough money to have a store
of his own, by another summer. To be a partner in a business
where labour was so overridden by capital was not only offensive
to Toffy’s feelings, but against his principles. Tudy carried her
sketch-book to the store, and cheered herself by drawing pictures
in dull times; she would have taken the pile of mending, but
Dave objected to that as looking unbusinesslike.
One morning, when the only customer was little Smith
Atwood, who wanted to change his stick of candy after he had
taken a bite of it, Tudy devoted herself to sketching, from the
window, Smith’s small and stocky figure; struggling manfully
BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY. 253
along under the same disadvantage as “my son John†in the
ancient rhyme, and with his tow head protruding from the
crown of his tattered hat, he struck her as a promising subject. °
But suddenly Smith stood still and shrieked, to the full extent
of his small lungs, and his shrieks were mingled with the frantic
parking of a dog. If it had not been for the dog, Tudy would
have taken it for granted that the cause of Smith’s woe was the
fact that his candy was all eaten ; he had been known to give ut-
terance to his feelings in like manner under such circumstances.
But the dog was barking on the banks of the cove which made
in behind the wharf ; there was a pile of boards there, and some-
thing hidden in it seemed to be the cause of the dog’s excitement.
“Jt’s my ki-ki-kitten!†screamed Smith, “and that’s Nye’s
dog that breaks ki-ki-kittens’ backs!â€
Tudy dropped her sketch-book and ran to the upper end of
the wharf and jumped down upon the pile of boards. It was easy
to drive Nye’s dog away, but the terrified kitten squeezed herself
out from the boards, and took a flying leap on to a rock which
was surrounded by water.
“Now she’s a-goin’ to der-der-drownd herself!†howled
Smith.
“Don’t ery! I'll get her, Smithy!†and in a moment Tudy-
had taken the flying leap, too, and catching the kitten tossed
her lightly back to Smith, who by this time had laboriously
descended to the water’s edge.
When it came to taking the flying leap back again, without
the excitement of the chase, Tudy found it another matter.
“J shall jump short, and it is quicksandy about here!†she
said to herself. “I don’t see how I ever did it!â€
The tide was coming in, and while she deliberated the breach
widened. She caught sight of a piece of driftwood floating
about on the waves. It looked long enough to cross the space
between her rock and the shore, and the incoming tide was
bringing it directly towards her. It was tossed back again on
254 BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY.
a retreating wave; forward and backward it wavered, and in
watching and trying to reach it Tudy failed to note the rapid
passing of time until the rock on which she stood was almost
covered with water. Just in time to escape a wetting she
seized the piece of board and made a bridge of it to the shore.
“T never left the store so long before,†she said to herself, as
she climbed quickly to the wharf. “But I should have seen
any one who came along the road, and if an excursion boat had
come in I am sure that I should have heard the whistle.â€
But when Tudy reached the store she felt like the little old
woman on the king’s highway who cried, “ Oh, lawk ’a’ mercy
on me, this surely can’t be I!†From the counter had vanished
the jar of pickled limes, the basket of lemons, the figs, and
dates, and nuts, and from the shelves were gone. the tins of
fancy crackers and cakes, the boxes of caramels and chocolates,
all the ginger beer! Nothing was left but a few jars of the
poorer candy, and some peannts. Nothing was in disorder;
there were no signs that the thief had been in haste. Tudy
looked out upon the water, but saw no sign of a boat on all its
broad surface.
Could Dave or Toffy have taken away the goods to frighten
and punish her for having left the store? They had been going
to take a party out sailing in the Frisky Kitty, but there had
been so little wind all the forenoon that Tudy had half expected
to see them come back; a fine breeze was blowing now, how-
ever, which Dave surely would not miss. She must wait until
night to know whether it was they who had done it. It had
seemed at first as if the thieves must have vanished into thin
air, but when she remembered how long she had remained on
the rock, she thought it possible that a boat, the Frisky Kitty or
another, might have put in there, taken the things, and with
that breeze have sailed out of sight, around the point, before she
returned. She reflected, with a heavy heart, that it was more
likely to have been another boat; for Dave was too businesslike
BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY. 255
for a joke, and it would not be like Toffy to do anything that
would distress her so much.
At one moment she was tempted to give an alarm and try to
get some one on the track of the thieves, but in the next she re-
flected that this would not be easy, since there was no telegraph
in Tilbury, and she might make a great deal of trouble and
bring everything to her father’s knowledge all to no purpose.
And then if it should prove to be the boys’ joke, she would have
made herself a laughing-stock.
The day came to an end, as even long days will, and up to the
wharf came the Frisky Kitty with the sunset gay on her sails. _
“You did—Oh, did n’t you take the things away?†gasped
Tudy, with all the day’s anxiety in her voice. One glance at
the boys’ faces told her that her hope was in vain. And they
were both very severe, even Toffy showing no regard for her ,
feelings. He said it was “just like a girl to neglect business to
run after a kitten,†and Dave said, loftily, that “it would never
have been Ads way to trust a girl, and he hoped that Toffy
realised that he was responsible for the loss.†And then he
got out the broken slate and reckoned up the loss; he said it
was no more than fair that he should charge the retail price for
everything because that was what he should have got; and he
brought the figures up to a height that made Tudy dizzy, and
Toffy turn pale. Even arithmetic was never so dreadful before!
Oh, why had Providence permitted Smith Atwood to have a
sweet tooth, or his stupid kitten to follow him ?
«“ You’ve ruined me, that’s all!†Toffy said to her, bitterly,
when Dave had brought his account up to nineteen dollars and
eighty-seven cents.
He must have half the money at once to restock his store,
Dave said; the rest Toffy might “work out†on board the
Frisky Kitty, and in his cranberry meadow. Of course the
partnership was at an end; he should be obliged to have a part-
ner with money. Nolly Van Dusen, a New York boy who was
256 BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY.
spending the summer at the Tilbury House, was desirous of
being admitted into the firm.
While Tudy was having her miserable day, Miss Halford, the
drawing-teacher at S——, was visiting the minister. She had
been much impressed by Tudy’s talent, and had come to try to
persuade her father to allow her to take lessons. Mr. Prime
was quite unmoved by her arguments while she remained,
but after she had gone one of them returned to him with some
force. Tudy might be obliged to earn her own living, and
many womanly occupations, such as sewing and teaching, were
overcrowded. Aunt Rebekah had once said something of the
kind to him. The minister, who, when he was convinced of a
duty, lost no time in performing it, walked over to Tilbury
Centre, under a hot sun, and called at the bank.
He met Tudy at the gate when she came home, and put some
money into her hand.
“ Miss Halford has been here, and has convinced me that it
would not be amiss for you to take drawing-lessons,†he said.
«Your Uncle Phineas put five dollars into the bank for each of
you when you were born. Yours amounts to nearly eight dol-
lars now, as you see. It will be enough to buy your materials
and pay your fare to S a
Poor Tudy strangled the largest sob that had ever filled her
throat.
“Oh, father, I shall have to take it to pay a debt! I owe
somebody — such a lot! I can’t tell you about it, because—
because it concerns somebody else,†she stammered.
The minister fairly groaned. Were ever children so trouble-
some and disappointing as his? “ You would better tell your
aunt. A girl like you should not have secrets or debts. I don’t
understand.â€
“Oh, you couldn’t, father, you couldn’t!†cried Tudy,
hastily trying to forestall inquiry. “It was all about a kitten
and things, and something that was carried off.â€
BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY. 257
The minister frowned severely, and turned away. He had a.
great distaste for the petty, practical details of living, and he
disapproved of kittens. Tudy had a guilty sense of having
taken advantage of her father’s weakness, but as she ran out to
the poultry yard to find Toffy she was not without a thrill of
happiness in the possession of the money. She found Toffy rue-
fully surveying his bantams to discover whether he could bear to
sell them. *
“«“ Here’s almost half the money, Toffy, and I will sell a pair
of my guinea-hens to make up the difference !†she cried.
Toffy had to hear all about it; such a miracle as the
possession of eight dollars must be explained.
“It’s too bad about your drawing-lessons, but probably you
would n’t have done much at it; girls can’t,†said Toffy, philo-
sophically, as he pocketed the money. “I’m going to charge
Dave Rickerby well for my labour!†he added. “He’ll find
out! And I’m going to be a Labour Reformer — an Agitator.â€
Toffy pronounced the words as if they were spelled with very
large capitals.
But in spite of the high charges it took a long time to
work out the rest-of the debt. Tudy sewed stockings from
the factory to help, and she tried not to think of drawing.
Her sketch-book had been carried away in the raid on the
store; she remembered that she had dropped it into the basket
of lemons; probably the thieves had thrown it away.
But one September day when Toffy had picked cranberries for
Dave after school, as the last instalment of his debt, a large
box arrived at the post-office for “ Miss Arethusa Prime.†It
was such a very unusual event that Tudy walked around and
around the box, on the back porch, and dared not open it. And
Toffy was not at all sure that it was not an infernal machine
intended to blow him up for being an Agitator.
It was not until Dave Rickerby had come around, and the
minister, too, had arrived, that the box was opeped. There was
258 BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY.
a letter on the top addressed, like the box, to Miss Arethusa
Prime, and beneath it lay the sketch-book which Tudy had
expected never to see again.
The letter, which Tudy read aloud with increasing wonder in
her voice, set forth that the writer, who was the proprietor of
the yacht Spitfire, having, on a certain day of July, been so
long becalmed that provisions on board the yacht were entirely
exhausted, had sent his steward on shore at Hast Tilbury, to
secure whatever provisions he could in the least possible time,
that they might catch a sudden breeze; that, finding no one in
the store, the man had carried off whatever he could lay his
hands on, and the sketch-book had been found in a basket of
lemons; that he, being an artist — “Oh, he is the great-artist,
C !†interpolated Tudy, actually turning pale as she looked
at the name signed on the last sheet had been much inter-
ested in her sketches, which he thought showed remarkable
talent, and this opinion was shared by the whole party of artists
on board the yacht; that only a severe accident, which had dis-
abled both his yacht and himself —“ Oh, I read about the Spit-
fire; a schooner ran into her in the fog, and two or three fellows
- got hurt,†cried Dave. ;
' A severe accident,†continued Tudy, “ had prevented him
from paying for the goods taken, and restoring the sketch-book.
Would Miss Prime accept from brother artists the enclosed
materials, which must be somewhat difficult to obtain in her
remote home, and would she kinlly reimburse the injured shop-
keeper, and afterwards use anything that might remain of the
one hundred dollars enclosed to further her artistic career? If
she would pie to gonsider it a loan she might repay it at her
convenience.’
The great box was full of drawing-paper, drawing-materials,
and colours.
“ Oh, how could they know just what I wanted -only from
seeing my name?†cried Tudy, looking through tears of joy from
BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY. 259
the precious contents of the box to the thin little strip of paper
which had fluttered from the letter, and which was a check that
meant a hundred dollars.
“TJ gay, you can’t blame me if I did hurry you up a little
about paying me, because, now, it’s all yours,†said Dave.
The minister was hearing it all. They had to explain to him
just how the robbery occurred.
«“ And you’ve been working to pay it?†was all he said.
“ Toffy has worked like —like a bear!†said Tudy. “ But
listen! There’s some more.â€
“We should hardly have been able to discover the name of
the place where our theft was committed,†the latter went on,
“if it had not happened that our sailing-master was a native of
East Tilbury, a young man of your name, Benjamin Prime. He
had suffered great hardships on a foreign voyage, and so was
glad to take the comparatively easy position of captain of a
yacht for the summer. You may be pleased to know that his
ability, fine character, and the bravery shown at the time of the
accident, interested us so greatly in him that we have helped him
to secure a very responsible position, for so young a man, with a
steamship company in New York.â€
The minister swallowed something hard; in another moment
tears were running down his thin, severe face.
“ My boy Ben!—of course he was brave! He must come
home, Tudy, he must come home!â€
Tudy’s heart danced. That was almost better than all the
‘rest! And to hear her father say, “The Lord has blessed me
in my children, after all, Rebekah!â€
During the reading of the otter, Dave had been somewhat ill
at ease.
“JT say, Toffy, you and I must try a partnership Foe next
spring,†he broke out, at the first opportunity. ‘I’m glad that
fellow Nolly Van Dusen is going home to-morrow; he’s a
reo’lar cheat— claiming everything, because he has more money
260 BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR TOFFY.
than I. I don’t know but I have been a little mean, Toffy, but
a—a fellow has to look out. We’ll share and share alike,
except fair interest on money.â€
“Tl try it. There ought not to be any contest between
Capital and Labour,†said Toffy, seriously. “But sometimes I
don’t think I know quite enough to go into business yet: Endy,
thinks Latin would help.â€
Dave looked a little alarmed. He did n’t altogether approve
of Tudy’s influence.
“ Oh, I was going to say—about girls, you know. We won’t
have ’em to tend, will we? They will run after kittens and
things, and another time it might not turn out so well.â€
THE END.
RaW TDA