FUNNY LITTLE ALICE.
BY MRS. FANNY BARROW (“AUNT FANNY”).
ONCE on a time, not long ago, four little girls lived together in a large farm-house. It was quite by itself—on the top of a hill with thick woods all around it—but as it was full of people from the city, thirty miles away, and as these people were always polite to each other, and it was warm, sweet summer-time, they were very happy together.
Daisy and May were sisters; Katie had another father and mother, and funny little Alice was the only child of a lady whose husband was dead, so Alice had no father. Poor little thing!
But as she was only two and a half years old, she was too young to feel very sorry for herself, especially as all the ladies in the house loved and petted her; every gentleman rode her to “Banbury Cross” on his foot, and “jumped her” almost as high as the ceiling; and Daisy, May and Kate, who were each seven years old, let her come in to all their plays—which I hopeyoualso do, my little reader, with your baby sisters and brothers.
One day Alice was walking in the road with her nurse. She had seen one of the ladies pick a checkerberry leaf out of the grass and eat it, so she pulled up a handful of leaves and crammed them into her mouth.
“Oh, take them out, take them out! Do, Alice!” cried the nurse. “They may be poison! If you swallow them you will die, and have to lie in the cold grave, and the worms will eat you up!”
But the nurse had to pull her mouth open, and dig out the leaves, for Alice had never before heard of the cold grave, and she did not care a button about it.
That night her mamma, with whom the little girl slept, was awakened by a feeling as if some one were choking her, and found Alice sleeping with her curly head buried in her mother’s neck, and the rest of her little fat body spread across her breast. She lifted the child gently, and put her back on her own pillow. But the next instant Alice flung herself again on her mother.
“Don’t, dear,” she said; “youmustlie on your own side. It hurts me to have your head on my throat.”
“Well,” said the sleepy little thing, “if you don’t let me I shall die, and have to lie in thetold drave, and thewullimswill eat me up.”
Her mother was perfectly astonished at this speech. She could not imagine where Alice had heard it; butweknow, don’t we?
The farmer had a poor old fiddle-headed white horse, whose stiff old legs couldn’t run away if the rest of him wanted to, and the young ladies used to drive him by themselves in a buggy. The morning after Alice’s speech two young ladies took her driving with them. She sat on a little bench at their feet, and went off in high glee.
It was cloudy, and, for fear it might rain, they took a big waterproof cloak. Before they got back it was pouring down, so all were buttoned up in the cloak, with Alice’s little round rosy face just peeping out in front. The old white horse jogged on not a bit faster than usual, though Miss Lizzie, who was driving, slapped his back with the reins the whole time. At last he whisked up his tail, and twisted it in the reins.
“Oh, now, just look at that horrid old tail!” said Miss Lizzie. “How am I ever to get rid of it?”
“It is not a horrid old tail!” cried Alice, her sweet hazel eyes flashing. “It’s a nice white tail! He’s a booful horse, with a nice white tail.”
“Well, so he is,” said Miss Lizzie, laughing. “So hurra for the booful horse!”
This reminded the funny little thing of one of her songs, which she immediately set up at the top of her voice, and as they reached the house in the pouring rain, the ladies inside heard Alice singing with all her little might:
“Woar, boys, fevver!Woar, boys, woar!Down with the tritty!Up with the ’tar!We’ll rally round the f’ag, boys,Rally round ’gain,Shoutin’ the batter criderfee-dom!”[3]
“Woar, boys, fevver!Woar, boys, woar!Down with the tritty!Up with the ’tar!We’ll rally round the f’ag, boys,Rally round ’gain,Shoutin’ the batter criderfee-dom!”[3]
“Woar, boys, fevver!Woar, boys, woar!Down with the tritty!Up with the ’tar!We’ll rally round the f’ag, boys,Rally round ’gain,Shoutin’ the batter criderfee-dom!”[3]
“Woar, boys, fevver!
Woar, boys, woar!
Down with the tritty!
Up with the ’tar!
We’ll rally round the f’ag, boys,
Rally round ’gain,
Shoutin’ the batter criderfee-dom!”[3]
[3]These are the words little Alice meant, as I suppose you all know:“Hurra, boys, forever!Hurra, boys, hurra!Down with the traitor!Up with the star!We’ll rally round the flag, boys,Rally round again,Shouting the battle cry of freedom!”
[3]These are the words little Alice meant, as I suppose you all know:
“Hurra, boys, forever!Hurra, boys, hurra!Down with the traitor!Up with the star!We’ll rally round the flag, boys,Rally round again,Shouting the battle cry of freedom!”
“Hurra, boys, forever!Hurra, boys, hurra!Down with the traitor!Up with the star!We’ll rally round the flag, boys,Rally round again,Shouting the battle cry of freedom!”
“Hurra, boys, forever!Hurra, boys, hurra!Down with the traitor!Up with the star!We’ll rally round the flag, boys,Rally round again,Shouting the battle cry of freedom!”
“Hurra, boys, forever!
Hurra, boys, hurra!
Down with the traitor!
Up with the star!
We’ll rally round the flag, boys,
Rally round again,
Shouting the battle cry of freedom!”
That afternoon, when it had cleared up, Daisy said:
“Come, May, come, Katie, let’s take our dolls and have a picnic.”
“I want to picnic, too,” cried Alice.
“So you shall, you little darling,” said all the girls, running to her and kissing her, “and you can bring Nancy with you.”
Nancy was a knit worsted doll, with two jet beads for eyes. She slept with Alice, who loved her dearly, and who now ran off to get her, in a great state of delight.
The children took a lunch, of course; for who ever heard of a picnic without it? A stick of peppermint candy was broken in four pieces, which, with four ginger-cakes and four huge apples, begged from the farmer’s wife, were packed in a little basket, and then they set off, all running, for no girl or boy can walk when they are so happy; at least, I never knew of any—have you?
The warm, bright sun had dried up all the drops on the grass long before. They ran merrily through the meadow at the back of the house, and soon got to the entrance to the wood. There they found a nice, mossy place, and, sitting down on the old roots of the trees, they spread their lunch on a large, flat stone that was near, and commenced to “tell stories.”
“Last night,” began Daisy, “I woke up, and I thought I would get out of bed, and look out of the window; and whatdoyou think I saw?”
“Oh! what?” cried the rest, with their mouths wide open.
“Why, I saw ten thousand diamonds dancing and sparkling in the dark.”
“Oh, oh! I wish I had seen them!” cried May and Katie.
This was the first time that Daisy had seen the fire-flies flashing their soft, bright lights. She did not mean to tell a falsehood; she really thought that they were diamonds.
“My mamma went to a party last winter, and whatdoyou think she ate?” asked Katie.
“What?” inquired May and Daisy.
“Frogs!” said Katie.
“Oh! oh! how awful!” cried May and Daisy—but all this time little Alice had said nothing.
“Once I saw an elephant,” said May in her turn. “It was in the menagerie. A little boy stuck a pin in his trunk, and he caught the boy up by his jacket, and shook him right out of it, and hurt him so! and he screamed like everything!”
“Oh, oh! how dreadful!” exclaimed Katie and Daisy, but little Alice said nothing—becauseshe was not there! While the others had been lost in wonder over the stories, she had trotted off farther into the woods, clasping her dear Nancy in her arms, and softly singing this queer little song:
“By-lo-by, my darlin’ baby,Baby,Taby,Faby,Maby,Darlin’ baby.”
“By-lo-by, my darlin’ baby,Baby,Taby,Faby,Maby,Darlin’ baby.”
“By-lo-by, my darlin’ baby,Baby,Taby,Faby,Maby,Darlin’ baby.”
“By-lo-by, my darlin’ baby,
Baby,
Taby,
Faby,
Maby,
Darlin’ baby.”
“There, now, she’s fas’ as’eep,” said Alice. “Sh! sh!” She laid Nancy softly down among the mossy roots of a hollow tree, and, sitting close beside her, she heaved a funny little sigh, and said: “Oh, my! that child will wear me out!” which was a speech her nurse had very often made to her.
Soon there was a rustling sound. The hollow tree was full of dry, dead leaves, and out of these a huge black snake came crawling. It slowly curled itself round Nancy, and then lay quite still.
Alice looked curiously at a creature she had never before seen, or even heard of. Then she put out one little fat hand, and gently patted the snake on its head.
“Did you want to see my Nancy?” she asked. “Well, so you s’all, poor sing!” Then she smoothed the snake’s head, who appeared to like it very much, for it shut its eyes and seemed to sleep.
And the sweet little tender-hearted child, never dreaming of any danger from the loathsome reptile, looked up and smiled at the birds piping over her head, and kept on softly smoothing the head of her plaything.
And this was how “Mitter ’Trong,” as she called the gentleman who rode her oftenest to “Banbury Cross,” found Alice, as he was walking through the wood that summer afternoon. No wonder that he screamed, and rushed to her, and caught her up and kissed her, and almost cried, and then went at the snake with his stick.
But it was as frightened as he was, and May, Daisy and Kate came running up, just as it was squirming back into the hollow tree. Then there were three more screams, and their six bright eyes grew perfectly wild with terror—while little Alice looked on very much surprised, but not a bit frightened.
The children had missed their dear little playmate at last, and, very much alarmed and ashamed of their carelessness, were searching for her.
Mr. Strong carried little Alice home in triumph on his shoulder, where she was kissed and cried over again, and Mr. Strong was thanked for saving her.
The black snake might not have bitten her, but it might have squeezed such a little thing to death, so Mr. Strong and another gentleman went back, and poked the snake out of the hollow tree, and killed it; and, finding Nancy patiently waiting for some one to come for her, they brought her back to the arms of her cunning little mother. And after this, funny little Alice never went out without her nurse.
We must bid her good-bye now, because this story is long enough; but some day I will tell you more about her.