The Echo.Serella Carlillian,Editor.No. 1.Marbury, Wednesday, July 15th, 18—.Vol. I.
The Echo.
Serella Carlillian,Editor.
No. 1.Marbury, Wednesday, July 15th, 18—.Vol. I.
DELL'S COMPOSITION."Oh, dear!" sighed Dell Ripley, "next Friday is Composition Day, and I've got to write a composition. What subject shall I take, mamma?""Are there not any subjects in your school composition-book?" asked Mrs. Ripley, a pleasant looking lady of apparently thirty-five."Yes'm, but not any I want. Oh, it seems to me that I saw a book up-stairs in the garret with something about compositions in it," and, shaking back her floating curls, the little girl bounded from the room. She ran up the garret stairs, and then began to look for the book. At last she found it, and eagerly opened it, and, as she opened it, a paper fluttered to the floor.She picked it up, and saw the name "Amy Willard" on it. "Why," she thought, "it's something of Aunt Amy's," and she read it. It was a composition."Joan of Arc," cried Dell, "splendid subject, and splendid composition. I wish I could write one as nice.""Why not take this one?" asked the tempter. Then there was a very long struggle in Dell's heart, but the tempter conquered, and Dell carried the composition down to her own room to copy it. When she had finished it, she read it over, trying to think that it sounded just like any of her own, and that no one would ever know it."It sounds just like mine," she said, trying to get rid of that uneasy feeling. "I guess I'll just change this sentence and that one.""Have you written your composition, dear?" asked Mrs. Ripley, pleasantly, as Dell came slowly down-stairs, and out on the piazza."Yes'm," answered Dell, very low."You look tired, dear.""I am.""What shall I do if I am found out?" thought Dell.When she went to bed that night she was very unhappy. Her conscience troubled her very much. She wished she had never found the composition, and almost made up her mind to confess, but, alas, only almost.She turned and tossed till nearly ten o'clock, and then fell asleep, and dreamed that, just as she was reading the composition before the school, her Aunt Amy appeared, and claimed it as her own, thus showing her niece's wickedness. She awoke with a scream that brought her mother to her bedside. Dell's first thought was to tell her mother all, and, without waiting a moment, she confessed her sin.After that, Dell's compositions were her own.Esmeralda Muriel Le Grand.POLLY'S NECKLACE."Oh, mamma," exclaimed little Polly More. "To-morrow is my birthday, and what are you going to give me for a present?""What do you want?" asked Mrs. More."I should like a necklace of some sort. Oh, papa," bounding toward her father, "are you going to give me something?""What would you like me to give you?""Oh, anything," said Polly.So the next morning, Polly found by her bedside, when she woke up, a pretty little coral necklace, and a red purse with seventy-five cents in it, and a penknife.Three or four weeks after, Polly went to visit her uncle, who lived in the country. He was a farmer, and it was haying time, and he was getting in the new hay, and Polly liked to play in the hay with her cousin May. One day, as they were playing there, her coral necklace came unclasped and fell into the hay. She hunted a long time, but could not find it.Polly went home the next week sorrowing, but the next spring, when the cows had eaten up all the hay, the news came that May had found the necklace, and Polly was happy again.Hildegarde Genevieve Montague.POETRY.TO MY MOTHER.(A Lament.)Oh, mother dear, why hast thou gone,And left thy Cricket all alone?The tears flow often from my eye,And oft, indeed, I almost cry.Should danger chance to come to thee,While thou are sailing on the sea,With sorrow would our hearts be torn,And we would be here all forlorn.Perhaps thou may fall from the deck,Before papa thy fall could check,Perhaps they could not rescue thee,And then, alas! what grief to me.Of course papa might pull thee out,Or else some burly sailor, stout.Oh, dear mamma! I pray thee, striveTo keep thyself, for us alive!And dear papa, we miss him, too,Almost as much as we do you.We long to see his dear old face,And fold him in our close embrace.And Marjorie and Donald, too,We miss you all, but mostly you.Oh, hurry and grow very strong,That we may have you back ere long.Seretta Carlillian.Miss Zaidee and Miss Helen Ward have decided that they will patronize the ocean hereafter for their daily bath, rather than the tanks in the cheese factory.A SAD ACCIDENT.The other day our editor, and one of the valuable contributors to this paper, were seated on two posts, playing the manly game of bean-bag. The bag was coming to the editor, but somehow, when he grabbed for it, it fell on the ground. Our editor immediately sprang after it, but, in doing so, his dress caught on the post, and he hung up there. He was rescued by Miss Le G. He is now doing well.POOR PATTY.Little Patty looked very poor indeed. She sat on a rough stone that was used as a door-step, with her head resting on her hand. Her beautiful golden curls fell way below her waist, over her white neck and shoulders, which her ragged dress did not hide.Patty had been stolen by gypsies three years before, when she was seven years old. She was very pretty, and because of that the gypsies had stolen her to sell. One night she ran away from the gypsies, and during the day she wandered on till she came to a large town. When it was night again, she was tired and hungry, and she sat down on a door-step and fell fast asleep, and here she was found by Mrs. Bruce, who took her home, thinking she could make her useful in running errands.So Patty was sitting on the door-step when a rough voice called from inside the house, "Be off with you, you lazy thing! Didn't I tell you an hour ago to be off for the milk? Be off with you, I say."Poor Patty got off rather slowly, for she didn't feel well, and ran down the street and didn't stop till she got to the store. But coming home she didn't run so fast, for her head ached, and when she got home Nan Bruce scolded her. In a few minutes Patty went up-stairs to her poor garret, where she slept, and threw herself upon the bed, and cried herself to sleep. When she woke up she had a high fever, and in a short time she was delirious. Nan was much alarmed, and sent for the doctor, who said she had scarlet fever, and he got a good nurse for her. For three months no one expected she would recover, but after that she began to get well.One morning, when she was nearly well, she said suddenly to the doctor, "Doctor, it seems to me as if I had seen you before.""You have, I guess," said the doctor, laughing. "I have been here every day for three months.""I don't mean that," said Patty, "but I feel as if I had seen you before those people took me off.""How old were you when they took you off?" asked the doctor, who knew she had been stolen."I think I was seven, for it was on the very day after my birthday, I remember.""Why,Ihad a little girl that was stolen the very day after she was seven years old," said the doctor. "She was carried off by gypsies.""Why, the gypsies were the very people that carried me off, too.""Patty, would you like to go and live with me?" asked the doctor."Oh, yes, I would. Perhaps I am your little girl, for I am nothers.""Perhaps so. I will see if I can find out about it." The doctor asked Nan Bruce, and she told him all she knew. He then made arrangements to take Patty home with him, for he knew now she was his own little girl. So Patty went to live with the doctor, and she had lovely dresses of porcelain to wear, and a servant to standin statu quobehind her chair at dinner.Seretta Carlillian.MARRIAGES.Hopvine—Woodbine. On the 21st, Mr. Hopvine, to Miss Woodbine, both of Marbury. No cards.DEATHS.On the first of June, little Robin, only child of Mr. and Mrs. Redbreast, aged two months, four days, and three hours.Little Robin, thou hast left us,We shall hear thy chirp no more;Very lonely hast thou left us,And our hearts are very sore.On the 7th of June, two little kittens, in the barn of Mrs. Maxwell. We grieve greatly at recording the deaths of these loving and lovely twins, so sad and unexpected. They had a large circle of admirers and friends, who feel greatly overcome that these beautiful young twins are called away.Also, Wallops, older brother of the above, departed this life on June 10th. He was found dead on the seashore.Poor little Wallops,Died of eating scallops.(He really ate crabs, but crabs wouldn't rhyme.)We'll see him frisk no more,For we found him on the shore,All stiff and cold, expiring in his prime.TOWN TOPICS.Miss Cricket Ward has decided to sell out her peanut stand at cost.Mr. Will and Archie Somers have cleaned theGentle Jane, and they are now prepared to take out parties at reasonable rates. Come early and often.Mr. Kenneth Ward has nearly recovered from a serious wound he received when he was eloping with his aunt's watch. The path of the transgressor is hard. It was the stones in this case.Miss Hilda Mason, of East Wellsboro', is expected soon to spend a week with her friend, the editor.WIT AND HUMOUR.["None of the wits are original, auntie," put in Cricket, here. "The boys sent some of them in, and theysaidthey were, but I don't believe them, and I copied mine, anyway."]How to get along in the world. Walk.A little girl visiting the country for the first time, saw a man milking. After looking a few minutes, she asked, "Where do they put it in?"When is a man thinner than a shingle? When he's a-shaving.What was the first carriage Washington ever rode in? When he took ahackat the little cherry-tree.What did Lot do when his wife became a pillar of salt? He got a fresh one."Mike," asked a man, addressing a bow-legged friend, "are them legs of yourn natural or artificial?" "Artificial, me lad. I went up in a balloon, and walked back."GENERAL ITEMS.Letters were received from Dr. Ward and family, that they are enjoying themselves in the Swiss mountains. Mamma is better. She says they have such funny little boys there.Mr. Billy Ruggles is going to have a new shiny hat. Kenneth sat down on his other one, and it got all flattened out, and it looks like fury, and grandma says he can't wear it any more.Bridget has a new dishpan.Luke says he has forty-eight chickens.Maggie Sampson's little donkey can't go nearly as fast as Mopsie and Charcoal Ward.Mr. Simon has his summer stock of fresh red and white peppermints in. He won't have any chocolates till August, because he bought such a large stock in May.There is to be a church sociable in the Methodist church. I wish auntie would condescend to let us go, for we haven't ever been to a Methodist sociable. I never went to any kind of a sociable.Miss Hildegarde Genevieve Montague wishes to say that, if she was a boy, she doesn't think it would be any fun to cut up pieces of whalebones, and put them under the sheet in his sister's bed.There will be a special andveryprivate meeting of the E. C. in someverysecret place, to decide whether we will let the boys be honorary members or not. If they are elected honorary members, we will turn them out any time that they don't behave themselves very well indeed.* FAME. *THE END—FINIS.
DELL'S COMPOSITION.
"Oh, dear!" sighed Dell Ripley, "next Friday is Composition Day, and I've got to write a composition. What subject shall I take, mamma?"
"Are there not any subjects in your school composition-book?" asked Mrs. Ripley, a pleasant looking lady of apparently thirty-five.
"Yes'm, but not any I want. Oh, it seems to me that I saw a book up-stairs in the garret with something about compositions in it," and, shaking back her floating curls, the little girl bounded from the room. She ran up the garret stairs, and then began to look for the book. At last she found it, and eagerly opened it, and, as she opened it, a paper fluttered to the floor.
She picked it up, and saw the name "Amy Willard" on it. "Why," she thought, "it's something of Aunt Amy's," and she read it. It was a composition.
"Joan of Arc," cried Dell, "splendid subject, and splendid composition. I wish I could write one as nice."
"Why not take this one?" asked the tempter. Then there was a very long struggle in Dell's heart, but the tempter conquered, and Dell carried the composition down to her own room to copy it. When she had finished it, she read it over, trying to think that it sounded just like any of her own, and that no one would ever know it.
"It sounds just like mine," she said, trying to get rid of that uneasy feeling. "I guess I'll just change this sentence and that one."
"Have you written your composition, dear?" asked Mrs. Ripley, pleasantly, as Dell came slowly down-stairs, and out on the piazza.
"Yes'm," answered Dell, very low.
"You look tired, dear."
"I am."
"What shall I do if I am found out?" thought Dell.
When she went to bed that night she was very unhappy. Her conscience troubled her very much. She wished she had never found the composition, and almost made up her mind to confess, but, alas, only almost.
She turned and tossed till nearly ten o'clock, and then fell asleep, and dreamed that, just as she was reading the composition before the school, her Aunt Amy appeared, and claimed it as her own, thus showing her niece's wickedness. She awoke with a scream that brought her mother to her bedside. Dell's first thought was to tell her mother all, and, without waiting a moment, she confessed her sin.
After that, Dell's compositions were her own.
Esmeralda Muriel Le Grand.
POLLY'S NECKLACE.
"Oh, mamma," exclaimed little Polly More. "To-morrow is my birthday, and what are you going to give me for a present?"
"What do you want?" asked Mrs. More.
"I should like a necklace of some sort. Oh, papa," bounding toward her father, "are you going to give me something?"
"What would you like me to give you?"
"Oh, anything," said Polly.
So the next morning, Polly found by her bedside, when she woke up, a pretty little coral necklace, and a red purse with seventy-five cents in it, and a penknife.
Three or four weeks after, Polly went to visit her uncle, who lived in the country. He was a farmer, and it was haying time, and he was getting in the new hay, and Polly liked to play in the hay with her cousin May. One day, as they were playing there, her coral necklace came unclasped and fell into the hay. She hunted a long time, but could not find it.
Polly went home the next week sorrowing, but the next spring, when the cows had eaten up all the hay, the news came that May had found the necklace, and Polly was happy again.
Hildegarde Genevieve Montague.
POETRY.TO MY MOTHER.(A Lament.)Oh, mother dear, why hast thou gone,And left thy Cricket all alone?The tears flow often from my eye,And oft, indeed, I almost cry.Should danger chance to come to thee,While thou are sailing on the sea,With sorrow would our hearts be torn,And we would be here all forlorn.Perhaps thou may fall from the deck,Before papa thy fall could check,Perhaps they could not rescue thee,And then, alas! what grief to me.Of course papa might pull thee out,Or else some burly sailor, stout.Oh, dear mamma! I pray thee, striveTo keep thyself, for us alive!And dear papa, we miss him, too,Almost as much as we do you.We long to see his dear old face,And fold him in our close embrace.And Marjorie and Donald, too,We miss you all, but mostly you.Oh, hurry and grow very strong,That we may have you back ere long.
POETRY.
TO MY MOTHER.
(A Lament.)
Oh, mother dear, why hast thou gone,And left thy Cricket all alone?The tears flow often from my eye,And oft, indeed, I almost cry.
Should danger chance to come to thee,While thou are sailing on the sea,With sorrow would our hearts be torn,And we would be here all forlorn.
Perhaps thou may fall from the deck,Before papa thy fall could check,Perhaps they could not rescue thee,And then, alas! what grief to me.
Of course papa might pull thee out,Or else some burly sailor, stout.Oh, dear mamma! I pray thee, striveTo keep thyself, for us alive!
And dear papa, we miss him, too,Almost as much as we do you.We long to see his dear old face,And fold him in our close embrace.
And Marjorie and Donald, too,We miss you all, but mostly you.Oh, hurry and grow very strong,That we may have you back ere long.
Seretta Carlillian.
Miss Zaidee and Miss Helen Ward have decided that they will patronize the ocean hereafter for their daily bath, rather than the tanks in the cheese factory.
A SAD ACCIDENT.
The other day our editor, and one of the valuable contributors to this paper, were seated on two posts, playing the manly game of bean-bag. The bag was coming to the editor, but somehow, when he grabbed for it, it fell on the ground. Our editor immediately sprang after it, but, in doing so, his dress caught on the post, and he hung up there. He was rescued by Miss Le G. He is now doing well.
POOR PATTY.
Little Patty looked very poor indeed. She sat on a rough stone that was used as a door-step, with her head resting on her hand. Her beautiful golden curls fell way below her waist, over her white neck and shoulders, which her ragged dress did not hide.
Patty had been stolen by gypsies three years before, when she was seven years old. She was very pretty, and because of that the gypsies had stolen her to sell. One night she ran away from the gypsies, and during the day she wandered on till she came to a large town. When it was night again, she was tired and hungry, and she sat down on a door-step and fell fast asleep, and here she was found by Mrs. Bruce, who took her home, thinking she could make her useful in running errands.
So Patty was sitting on the door-step when a rough voice called from inside the house, "Be off with you, you lazy thing! Didn't I tell you an hour ago to be off for the milk? Be off with you, I say."
Poor Patty got off rather slowly, for she didn't feel well, and ran down the street and didn't stop till she got to the store. But coming home she didn't run so fast, for her head ached, and when she got home Nan Bruce scolded her. In a few minutes Patty went up-stairs to her poor garret, where she slept, and threw herself upon the bed, and cried herself to sleep. When she woke up she had a high fever, and in a short time she was delirious. Nan was much alarmed, and sent for the doctor, who said she had scarlet fever, and he got a good nurse for her. For three months no one expected she would recover, but after that she began to get well.
One morning, when she was nearly well, she said suddenly to the doctor, "Doctor, it seems to me as if I had seen you before."
"You have, I guess," said the doctor, laughing. "I have been here every day for three months."
"I don't mean that," said Patty, "but I feel as if I had seen you before those people took me off."
"How old were you when they took you off?" asked the doctor, who knew she had been stolen.
"I think I was seven, for it was on the very day after my birthday, I remember."
"Why,Ihad a little girl that was stolen the very day after she was seven years old," said the doctor. "She was carried off by gypsies."
"Why, the gypsies were the very people that carried me off, too."
"Patty, would you like to go and live with me?" asked the doctor.
"Oh, yes, I would. Perhaps I am your little girl, for I am nothers."
"Perhaps so. I will see if I can find out about it." The doctor asked Nan Bruce, and she told him all she knew. He then made arrangements to take Patty home with him, for he knew now she was his own little girl. So Patty went to live with the doctor, and she had lovely dresses of porcelain to wear, and a servant to standin statu quobehind her chair at dinner.
Seretta Carlillian.
MARRIAGES.
Hopvine—Woodbine. On the 21st, Mr. Hopvine, to Miss Woodbine, both of Marbury. No cards.
DEATHS.
On the first of June, little Robin, only child of Mr. and Mrs. Redbreast, aged two months, four days, and three hours.
Little Robin, thou hast left us,We shall hear thy chirp no more;Very lonely hast thou left us,And our hearts are very sore.
Little Robin, thou hast left us,We shall hear thy chirp no more;Very lonely hast thou left us,And our hearts are very sore.
On the 7th of June, two little kittens, in the barn of Mrs. Maxwell. We grieve greatly at recording the deaths of these loving and lovely twins, so sad and unexpected. They had a large circle of admirers and friends, who feel greatly overcome that these beautiful young twins are called away.
Also, Wallops, older brother of the above, departed this life on June 10th. He was found dead on the seashore.
Poor little Wallops,Died of eating scallops.(He really ate crabs, but crabs wouldn't rhyme.)We'll see him frisk no more,For we found him on the shore,All stiff and cold, expiring in his prime.
Poor little Wallops,Died of eating scallops.(He really ate crabs, but crabs wouldn't rhyme.)We'll see him frisk no more,For we found him on the shore,All stiff and cold, expiring in his prime.
TOWN TOPICS.
Miss Cricket Ward has decided to sell out her peanut stand at cost.
Mr. Will and Archie Somers have cleaned theGentle Jane, and they are now prepared to take out parties at reasonable rates. Come early and often.
Mr. Kenneth Ward has nearly recovered from a serious wound he received when he was eloping with his aunt's watch. The path of the transgressor is hard. It was the stones in this case.
Miss Hilda Mason, of East Wellsboro', is expected soon to spend a week with her friend, the editor.
WIT AND HUMOUR.
["None of the wits are original, auntie," put in Cricket, here. "The boys sent some of them in, and theysaidthey were, but I don't believe them, and I copied mine, anyway."]
How to get along in the world. Walk.
A little girl visiting the country for the first time, saw a man milking. After looking a few minutes, she asked, "Where do they put it in?"
When is a man thinner than a shingle? When he's a-shaving.
What was the first carriage Washington ever rode in? When he took ahackat the little cherry-tree.
What did Lot do when his wife became a pillar of salt? He got a fresh one.
"Mike," asked a man, addressing a bow-legged friend, "are them legs of yourn natural or artificial?" "Artificial, me lad. I went up in a balloon, and walked back."
GENERAL ITEMS.
Letters were received from Dr. Ward and family, that they are enjoying themselves in the Swiss mountains. Mamma is better. She says they have such funny little boys there.
Mr. Billy Ruggles is going to have a new shiny hat. Kenneth sat down on his other one, and it got all flattened out, and it looks like fury, and grandma says he can't wear it any more.
Bridget has a new dishpan.
Luke says he has forty-eight chickens.
Maggie Sampson's little donkey can't go nearly as fast as Mopsie and Charcoal Ward.
Mr. Simon has his summer stock of fresh red and white peppermints in. He won't have any chocolates till August, because he bought such a large stock in May.
There is to be a church sociable in the Methodist church. I wish auntie would condescend to let us go, for we haven't ever been to a Methodist sociable. I never went to any kind of a sociable.
Miss Hildegarde Genevieve Montague wishes to say that, if she was a boy, she doesn't think it would be any fun to cut up pieces of whalebones, and put them under the sheet in his sister's bed.
There will be a special andveryprivate meeting of the E. C. in someverysecret place, to decide whether we will let the boys be honorary members or not. If they are elected honorary members, we will turn them out any time that they don't behave themselves very well indeed.
* FAME. *
THE END—FINIS.
The tail-piece was Cricket's ambitious flight of fancy. She drew a long breath and sat down, amid vigorous applause.
"That's very creditable, my little authorlings," said auntie, encouragingly. "Cricket, you did more than your share, I think, if you copied all that, and wrote a story and a poem beside."
"I had them all thought before, auntie. I made up the poetry the day I was caught on the mud-flat. I love to think out stories."
"Oh-h!" groaned Edna. "How any one can think out stories just for fun, Idon'tsee. I'd almost rather fight skeeters. Mine's the stupidest story that ever was, but I don't believe I slept a wink for three nights, while I was making it up. You don't catch me writing any stories, girls, when I am editor."
"I am afraid you weren't intended for an author, my dear," said her mother, laughing.
"Somebody mustreadthe stories," said Edna, defensively.
The Maxwell family were coming home from church along the sandy, sunny road. Eunice and Edna, arm in arm, were ahead, laughing and talking over some profound secret. Will and Archie mimicked them behind, while grandmamma and Auntie Jean, under a generous black sun-umbrella, strolled slowly along some distance in the rear. Cricket, in the misery of a dainty organdie, which shemustkeep clean for another Sunday, and with the unhappy consciousness of her Sunday hat of wide, white Leghorn, which, with its weight of pink roses, flopped uncomfortably about her ears, walked along by herself, in an unusually meditative frame of mind. She refused, with dignity, the boys' proposal to walk with them, and told the girls it was too hot to go three abreast.
Presently, down a cross street, she spied a familiar figure, tall and bent, with a head of bristling hair, and a high silk hat,—it was Billy, and she instantly ran to meet him. Billy could never be induced to attend the little Episcopal chapel where Mrs. Maxwell went, but "favoured his own meetin'-'us," he said, which was the little white Unitarian church by the post-office.
"Folks didn't set easy in Mrs. Maxwell's church," he often said, "and he didn't like to see a minister in a white petticoat, with a black ribbund around his neck." It didn't seem respectful to him to have so much to do with the service. But Billy was very devout in his own way, and never missed service nor Wednesday evening prayer-meeting in his own church.
"H'lo, Billy!" cried Cricket, beaming. "Don't you want to carry my prayer-book? I want to get those wild roses."
Billy was only too delighted.
"Had a good sermon?" pursued Cricket, in very grown-up fashion, as they walked along, side by side, after the roses were secured.
"Oh, very decent, very decent," answered Billy, who always nodded from the text to "Finally."
"What was it about?" went on Cricket, feeling that she must give a Sunday tone to the conversation.
Billy took off his hat and scratched his head, to assist his ideas.
"'Bout—'bout very good things," he said, vaguely. "We sang a pretty hymn, too."
"Did you? What was it?"
"That hymn about 'Hand Around the Wash-rag.' I've heard you a-singin' it."
"Hand around thewash-rag! Why Billy Ruggles, what can you mean?"
"Yes," insisted Billy, who had a good ear for music in his poor, cracked head. "You was singin' it las' night."
"I can't imagine what you mean, Billy. When we were on the piazza, do you mean? We didn't sing anything about wash-rags, I'm sure. We didn't sing but three things, anyway, because grandma had a headache."
"It was the first thing you sang," persisted Billy.
"Oh—h! 'Rally Round the Watchword,'" and Cricket, regardless of her Sunday finery, sat down on a stone to laugh. "YoufunnyBilly!"
Billy grinned, though he did not see the joke.
"That's as bad as what Helen insisted they sang last Christmas, in the infant class, something about 'Christmas soda's on the breeze!' I don't know what she means," said Cricket, forgetting that Billy would not understand. It was such a relief when any one else, even old Billy, mispronounced words, and thus gave her a chance to laugh at them. It was her heedlessness that made her make so many mistakes, for her quick eyes flashed along the page, taking in the meaning and general form of the words, without grasping the exact spelling.
"Hope you heard a good sermon," said Billy, making conversation in his turn.
"Oh,yes, very. I listened to almost all of it. Mr. Clark said something about something being as many as the hairs of your head, and there was a bald-headed man who sat right in front of us, and he only had the teentiest bit of hair, just like a little lambrequin around his head. So I thought I could easily count his hairs, because they were so straight and so long, and so few of them, anyway. And, Billy, do you know, I got so interested that I began to count right out loud once, and I stood up, right there in church, Billy, while the minister was preaching, to see round his head better, and Eunice pulled me down. I wassoashamed."
Billy looked so shocked that Cricket hastened to add:
"There weren't very many people who saw me, though, for we sat pretty far back. Ididlisten to the sermon after that, though. I had only counted up to two hundred. I just wonder how many hairs a person has on his head, anyway. I mean a person with the regular amount."
"Three hundred?" hazarded Billy, hazily.
"No, indeed; more than that. Many as a thousand, I guess. Oh, Billy, you have a splendid lot of hair! S'pose I count it this afternoon?"
Billy chuckled assent.
"Let's go out in the orchard, back of the beach. It's all quiet and shady there. The girls will be down by the rocks, and the boys are going for a long walk. So there will be nobody to interrupt us. It will take most all the afternoon, I guess, but I've always wanted to know how many hairs grow on a person's head. I'll come for you after dinner, Billy, don't forget!" and, having arrived at the house, Cricket skipped up the porch steps, and went up-stairs to relieve herself of the bondage of her pink organdie as soon as possible.
After dinner, Cricket found her willing slave waiting for her on the piazza.
"Let's go right off before the others come out, for we don't want a whole raft of children after us," she said, and so they went around the house, through the side gate, into the orchard.
"Here's a lovely, shady spot. You sit right down on this hummock, Billy," ordered Cricket. "Your hair is justfinefor counting," she went on, taking off Billy's shining beaver.
Billy looked much flattered. He certainly did have a good crop for the purpose. His hair was rather coarse, very wiry and bristling, about two inches long, and as clean as a daily scrubbing in soap and water could make it.
"Now, where shall I begin? You see you haven't any part, Billy, and there's no place to start from."
"Seem's if my hair wouldn't stay parted," said Billy, meekly, looking troubled by the fact.
"I'll part it right in the middle, and you put your hand up and hold this side down, while I count the other. I'll begin right in front. One—two—three—there, Billy, you moved your hand a little, and some of your hair slipped right up again, and I've lost my place."
"I didn't go to do it," said Billy, pressing his hand down harder on the rebellious hairs. "Is that all right now?"
"Yes, that will do. Now, hold still," and Cricket began again.
"Ninety-nine—one hundred—oh,Billy!" for an inquiring wasp came whizzing near, and Billy ducked suddenly to avoid it. "Now I've lost that, and I've got to begin again. Billy, you haven't any string in your pocket, have you? Then I could tie up your hair in bunches when I get to one hundred, and count the bunches afterward."
But Billy hadn't a string.
"I'll run up to the house and get some," said Cricket, darting away. She was back in a few minutes, with a small pasteboard box in her hand.
"This is better than string," she panted. "I got auntie's little box of rubber bands. Now we can count. Never mind holding your hand up, for I can begin anywhere."
She gathered up a lock of hair, counted to one hundred, and twisted an elastic band around it, close to the roots.
"That's one hundred. Now, for the next," she said, with much satisfaction. She counted on, industriously, and soon poor Billy's head bristled with queer-looking little bunches on one side. She was much too engrossed to notice the effect at first.
Some time later, grandmamma and Auntie Jean, strolling leisurely through the orchard, saw ahead of them a funny sight: Billy, sitting meekly on a hummock, his hands on his black broadcloth knees, while Cricket stood behind him, bending over his head, all over the top of which bristled plumy bunches of white hair, which stood up rampantly.
"What in the world is that child doing, making Billy look like a porcupine?" exclaimed grandma, standing still in amazement, unseen by the two.
"Playing Horned Lady, I should think. But I dare say she has purpose in her mind. Listen. Why, mother! she's actually counting Billy's hair!"
At this moment, Cricket, pausing to snap another elastic band around the last bunch, for the first time noticed the effect of her hair dressing.
"Oh, Billy! if you don't look just as if you had a lot of little feather dusters growing on your head!" she cried, holding on to her sides as she laughed.
Billy looked disturbed. He decidedly objected to being laughed at. He put up his hand to feel.
"Don't take them down," said Cricket, pushing his hand away. "I'm going on. My! what a lot of hair people have. Let's see how many bunches I have. Twenty-two—twenty-three. That makes twenty-three hundred, and there's lots more to do, yet. I don't wonder people mean so much when they say, as many as the hairs of your head, do you?"
"How many, Cricket?" asked auntie, laughing, as she and grandma drew nearer.
"Who's that? Oh, auntie!" Cricket looked a little abashed. "I'm only counting Billy's hair," she explained. "Mr. Clark said this morning that, if we counted our mercies, we should find them as many as the hairs of our heads."
"It might be easier to count the mercies," said auntie, still laughing.
"Yes, I thought of that coming home from church," said Cricket, going on with her work of gathering up wisps of Billy's hair into plumes, and fastening them by the bands, though without counting. "Then I didn't know exactly what my mercies are, excepting that 'Liza says it is a mercy I'm not twins."
"What had you been doing when she said that, Jean?" immediately asked grandma, who never used her nickname.
"Nothing, much," said Cricket, "only 'Liza gets cranky sometimes, you know."
"That won't do, Cricket," said Auntie Jean, scenting mischief. "Tell me what you did."
"Really, it wasn't much. It was this morning, and 'Liza had Helen in the bath-tub bathing her, and I went into the nursery a moment, and Zaidee was in bed, and she said her leg hurt her, and 'Liza was going to rub it with 'Pond's Extrap,'—that's what she calls Pond's Extract, you know," taking breath,—"and I only meant to help 'Liza, really and truly. So I took down the bottle and began to rub Zaidee's legs. I thought the Pond's Extract seemed to have gotten dreadfully sticky, and it was all thick and dark like molasses, and I could hardly rub at all with it, and Zaidee said she didn't like it, and she cried. But I thought it was the best thing to do for her, so I told her a story to keep her quiet, till I got both her legs all rubbed. Then 'Liza came in, and wanted to know what made Zaidee's legs so sticky, and the sheets and her nightdress were pretty bad, because she wiggled so that I spilled some. 'Liza just snatched the bottle away, very unpolitely, when I only told her that I had been helping her because she was so busy, and Zaidee wanted her legs rubbed. 'It's Kemp's Balsam,' she said, 'and I'm giving it to Helen for her cough, and it's not Pond's Extract, at all.' But itwasa Pond's Extract bottle, auntie, truly, so how should I know? And then she said, 'it was a mercy I wasn't twins,'" finished Cricket, looking much aggrieved.
Auntie laughed till the tears came into her eyes.
"Kemp's Balsam, of all sticky things!" she said. "Poor Zaidee! did she have to be scraped?"
"'Liza said she guessed she would have to scrape her," admitted Cricket, reluctantly. "And the things on the bed, and her nightdress, had to be changed. I kept thinking it was pretty funny looking stuff for Pond's Extract, but I thought perhaps it was rancid."
"Rancid Pond's Extract! Oh, what a girl!" laughed grandma, but patting her head, consolingly, "Our little Jean is very nice, but I think I'm glad, myself, you're not twins."
"There'd be two of us to fall through ceilings, then," meditated Cricket, "for I suppose if I was twins we'd be always together like Zaidee and Helen. No, I'm glad there is only one of me. It's more convenient. I don't want to count any more, now, Billy, but would you mind keeping your hair that way for a day or two, so I could count whenever I like?"
And if auntie had not interposed in his behalf, I do not know but Billy might still be walking the streets of Marbury with his crested decoration.
"That's it! Prime! Now, again!" shouted Will, encouragingly, and Cricket, in her blue gymnasium suit, panting and laughing, put her shoulder to Archie's again, and stood in position. Will was giving her a lesson in wrestling, at her particular request, and she was proving an apt pupil, for the slender, elastic little figure and supple muscles made up for any lack of strength.
"Good, good!" repeated Will, as Cricket, swaying and tugging, and bending backward almost double, came up like a steel wire. "Bravo! we'll soon have you champion lady wrestler in a dime museum. At him again! good enough! hurray!" for Cricket, slipping through Archie's grasp like a knotless thread, took him suddenly unawares, and fairly and squarely tripped him up.
"By jove!" ejaculated Archie, still on his back, too much surprised to get up.
"Well done, Miss Scricket!" applauded Will. "Bet you can't do it again."
"Come over here, and I'll tryyou," offered Cricket, and Will, laughingly, put his arm around her waist. But his superior size and strength soon told, and Cricket found herself down on her back.
"But you do well, youngster," said Will, patronizingly. "Try that twist once more that you tripped Archie up on. That's a good one! Now, again! That would fetch anybody if they weren't expecting it."
"I'm tired now," said Cricket, throwing herself on the grass, for they were in the orchard. "Let's rest awhile." She clasped her hands above her head, and lay back on the grass. Archie drew himself up on to one of the low gnarled trees and balanced himself in a very precarious way directly over her head.
"If you fall off that limb, you will come straight down and break my nose," warned Cricket.
"There isn't enough of it to break, miss," said Archie, balancing himself with care, as he tried to see if he could kneel upon a horizontal branch without holding on.
"You'll have to be of a veryequilibriousnature to do that," said Cricket, rolling hastily out of her dangerous position, just in time, for Archie overbalanced himself, and came down with a crash.
"Now, see what you've done," said Archie, sitting up and feeling of his back. "You spoke at the wrong time. I might have broken my neck."
Cricket meditated a moment, then addressed the sky, thoughtfully.
"Isn't it funny that when anything happens to a boy all by his own fault, he always says to somebody, 'See what you've made me do.' Anybody would thinkI'dmade Archie fall there."
"Well, didn't you?"
"When Donald can't find anything that he's gone and lost himself," went on Cricket, still addressing the sky, "he always says he wishes the girls would let his things alone. Boys are thefunniest."
"If they're any funnier than girls, I'll eat my boots," said Archie, firing green apples at a mark. "Girls are so finicky. There's Edna, squeals if you touch her. If I give her hair just one little yank, you would think I'd pulled her scalp off. If I give Will a good punch"—illustrating with a resounding whack—"he doesn't squeal."
"No, but he hits back," said Cricket, laughing, as Will levelled Archie, by a vigorous thump. "If Edna should hit you a few times like that, you wouldn't tease her so."
"And she's always so careful of her clothes," went on Archie, ignoring this point; "can't do this, because she'll spoil her apron, can't do that, because she'll muss her hair."
"Boys ar'n't talked to about their clothes as girls are," said Cricket, with a sigh. "If you just heard 'Liza talk when we tear our clothes! She has to mend them. Wouldn't I be happy if I could go around all the time in my gymnasium suit. I feelsolight and airy."
"And girls are so affected," pursued Archie. "You wouldn't walk with us yesterday coming home from church, and why not? 'Cause you had your best bonnet on, and you carried your head too high.Soaffected!"
"It wasn't affectedness, it was got-to-do-it-ness," said Cricket, stoutly. "If you had to go to church with a great, big, flappy, floppy hat on, that joggled your ears all the time, 'cause the roses were so heavy, and if you had to be careful to keep your pink organdie clean for next Sunday, and if you had a teasy cousin, who, likely as not, would take hold of your arm, and crunch your sleeves all down, most probably you'd have walked all by yourself, too, and tried to keep yourself respectable so 'Liza wouldn't scold. But you're a boy," finished Cricket, with a burst of envy, "and so you don't bother about clothes. And, anyway, boys will never admit they're to blame about anything," returning suddenly to the original charge.
"Because they never are, of course," answered Archie, turning a back somersault. "It's always somebody else's fault."
"Did you hear auntie tell that funny story about Archie, last night, Will?" asked Cricket.
"Funny story about me, miss? There never was any funny story about me."
"This was a little bit funny, anyway. Auntie said you weren't but three years old, and she was visiting with you, at Kayuna. It was early one morning, before breakfast, and the piazza had just been washed up, and wasn't dry yet. Papa was reading a newspaper, and you were running up and down the piazza, showing off."
"Showing off!" repeated Archie, with a sniff of disdain.
"Yes, sir, showing off. Auntie said so. She said you always liked to, even then. Stop firing apples at me. You nearly hit me that time. You stood still just in front of papa, and gave a little kick at him, and your foot slipped, and down you went on your back. And you got up, as angry as could be, and you said, 'Now see what you made me do,' and you gave another kick at him, and down you went again. Then auntie said you screamed out, 'Now you've done it again. You've done it again.' And she says that ever since, you always say that, no matter what happens to you."
"There comes grandma," said Archie, changing the subject, immediately, since he knew by long experience that Cricket was apt to get the best of him, in such conversations.
"She's been to see that sick woman," said Cricket, jumping up and running to meet her. She had the most unbounded admiration for her stately, handsome grandmother, who by some strange attraction of opposites, had an especially soft place in her heart for her hoydenish little namesake.
Grandmother Maxwell was by no means an old lady yet, in spite of her flock of grandchildren, for she was only just sixty, and was as erect and vigorous, in spite of her snow-white hair, as a girl. Beauty-loving little Cricket thought her dead perfection, and adored her.
"What a hot little face," said grandmother, lightly touching Cricket's cheek. Cricket put her arm about her grandmother's waist, which she was just tall enough to do, and walked along beside her.
"The boys have been teaching me to wrestle," she explained. "I'm learning fast, grandma. It's just as easy. Get up, Archie, and let me show grandma how I can throw you."
"Throw me! well, I like that. I happened to stumble on a stone, grandma, and Cricket thinks she threw me. She couldn't do it again to save her life."
"Come and try, then," said Cricket, invitingly. But Archie declined, on the plea of its being too hot.
"Isn't he lazy, grandma?" said Cricket, disdainfully. "But I can show you, grandma, how we do it. Put your arm around me this way, and take hold of my hand. Now then, see. I try to get my foot around your ankle, quickly, and give a little jerk, and pull this way—"
And to the unbounded astonishment of all three, stately grandma suddenly and unexpectedly measured her length on the grass, with Cricket on top of her. Cricket's illustration had been altogether too graphic.
"Jean!" gasped grandma, as she went over. Cricket rolled over and sprang to her feet in a flash.
"Oh, grandma! please excuse me! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to. I never thought I could do it so quickly, for you're so large. I only meant to show you."
Will and Archie were bending over grandma, to help her rise. Her foot was twisted under her.
"Wait, boys," she said. "I'm lying on my foot."
It is not easy for a large person who is lying on her back, with her foot doubled up under her, to find her centre of gravity. It was several minutes before she could be helped to a sitting position. She was very pale, although she laughed.
"Children, I'm really afraid,—Jean, you absurd child! how did you throw me over so quickly? I reallyamafraid that my ankle is sprained. I don't think I can step on it. See if you can help me to stand, boys, and I'll try it."
"Oh, grandma!" groaned Cricket, in horror. "Have I sprained your ankle?"
"It probably isn't bad, dear," said grandma, quickly. "At any rate, you didn't mean to—Hush, Archie!" as that young man gave Cricket a reproachful—
"Now youhavedone it!"
Will and Archie, being stout, well-grown boys, easily raised grandma to her feet, or, to her foot, rather, for she immediately found she could not bear her weight on her left ankle, and she sat down rather suddenly again.
"Dear me! this is a dignified position for a grandmother," she said. "Never mind, dear. It was only an accident. Take off my shoe, please, for my foot is swelling, I think. Archie, go for Luke, and tell him to bring a piazza-chair, and I think you can manage to carry me in on that, can't you? Then tell Auntie Jean that I'm here, and have sprained my ankle, and tell her to have some arnica and bandages ready when I get there. Why,don'tcry, darling," as two big tears welled up in Cricket's gray eyes, and splashed over her cheeks, where her dimples were entirely out of sight, at the dreadful thought that she had sprained grandma's ankle.
In a few moments Auntie Jean came flying across the orchard, bandages and arnica in hand, while the waitress came after with a water-pitcher.
"Mother!" said Mrs. Somers, in greatest surprise. "How did you manage to fall and sprain your ankle on this perfectly level ground?"
"It's rather humiliating to confess that I was wrestling with my granddaughter, and that she got the best of me," returned grandma, patting Cricket's hand. "It's my first and last pugilistic performance."
"It's my fault," burst out Cricket, "and I ought to be put in jail. Will had been showing me how to wrestle, and he had taught me such a good twist, that I caught Archie on, and I thought I'd just show grandma—just barely show her, auntie, and I put my foot around her ankle, and somehow, she went right over like ninepins, and doubled up her foot. Oh, grandma! can you ever walk again?"
Grandma's lips were getting rather white with pain from her foot, but she laughed again, and said, brightly:
"Yes, indeed, little maid, I will be all right in a week or two."
"A week!" groaned Cricket. "I thought you were going to say to-morrow."
Auntie Jean had slipped off grandma's stocking, and was bathing her rapidly swelling foot with arnica. In a few minutes, Will, and Archie, and Luke appeared, bringing a piazza-chair, and two stout poles. Auntie Jean bandaged the foot temporarily, and then Luke and Will helped grandma up in the chair. They slipped the poles lengthwise under the chair, and Luke stood ready to lift the front ends as Will and Archie took the rear ones.
"Wait a moment," said Aunt Jean, as the procession was ready to start. "Can't I fix a support for your foot, mother? It will hurt it dreadfully to hang it down."
"Put a stick across the poles, and the cushion on it," suggested Cricket, quickly, "and lay her foot on that." She picked up a stout stick, and laid it in place, while Archie put the cushion on it, and adjusted grandma's foot on it.
"That's a capital suggestion," said grandma, approvingly. "That feels very comfortable. Are you sure you can lift me, boys?"
"Could carry a ton this way, Mrs. Maxwell," said Luke. "All ready, boys. Hist all together, now." And as they all "histed" the procession moved. Auntie Jean and Cricket walked on either side, keeping the cushion and stick in place. So grandma finally arrived, was helped up the piazza steps, and into her own room, which was, fortunately, on the first floor.
Poor Cricket went around with a face as long as her arm, all the rest of the day, dreadfully cast down by this unfortunate result of her wrestling lessons. For a while, she was almost ready to vow that she would never do anything again that the boys did, but when she thought of all the lovely things this would cut her off from, she couldn't make up her mind to go that length.
"SHE BURIED HERSELF IN THE STORY FOR 'THE ECHO'"
"SHE BURIED HERSELF IN THE STORY FOR 'THE ECHO'"
Auntie Jean soon assured her that the sprain was not at all serious, and that the inflammation seemed to be going down already, but her heart was very heavy. She would not go sailing with the boys, nor sit under the rocks with the girls, and at last she buried herself in her next story for theEcho. A very tragic and mournful tale it was, of a naughty little girl, who was left in charge of her small brother, but who ran away, all by herself, up garret, to play, and when she went back she found her poor little baby brother had fallen into the bath-tub, which was left half full of water, and was drowned. Picturing the remorse of her heroine, and how they finally brought the baby back to life, although he had been in the water all the afternoon,—of course Cricket did not mind a little thing like that,—somewhat relieved her mind. By supper-time she had sufficiently recovered so that she could allow herself to smile.
Will came in from the post-office, waving a letter that finished the work. It was from Hilda Mason, saying that she could come on Friday next, as Cricket, with auntie's permission, had written, asking her to do, to spend a week.
"Goody! goody!" cried Cricket, dancing around, with her dimples quite in evidence again. "Won't we have fun! and she can write a story for the 'Echo,' too."
"What bliss!" remarked Archie, bringing all her curly hair over her face with a sweep of his arm.
"It's a great honour to be a contributor to a paper, Mr. Archie, so," shaking back her hair, and pulling his.
"Especially for one that pays so liberally as the 'Echo,'" teased Archie.
"You're a model of sarcasticity, I suppose you think," said Cricket, tossing her head. "Auntie, will you take us to Plymouth some day? I know Hilda will want to see Plymouth Rock."
"Watch her that she doesn't carry it off in her pocket," advised Archie.
"And all the other interesting things in Plymouth," went on Cricket, turning her back on him. "And we'll go over to Bear Island for a picnic, girls."
"Yes, if you'll promise—" began Edna.
"Goodness, yes! if you won't say anything more about it," interrupted Cricket, hastily. "And, oh, auntie! couldn't we have some charades? Some real, regular charades, I mean, not little ones all by ourselves."
"I'll be in them, if you'll have something I like," offered Archie, condescendingly.
"If we have any charades, you may be sure we won't ask you," returned Cricket, crushingly. "I'll have Will, though. He's a very good actress, and he doesn't spoil everything, as some other people do."
"Thank you," said Will, making a bow, with his hand on his heart.
"I'm out of it, then," said Archie, "for I know I'm not a good actress."
"Of course I meant actor. There isn't much difference, anyway. Just two letters. Anyway, we'll have a beautiful time. You'll have Edna, Eunice, and I'll have Hilda."
"What do you suppose would happen if it should chance to be a rainy week, and I should have you all on my hands to entertain in the house, now, while grandma is laid up? Would there be any house left?" asked Auntie Jean.
"The cellar," said Eunice. "But I'd be sorry for you, auntie."
"And I for myself. But I don't think it will rain, and you'll probably have a lovely time together."
"Don't expect too much," advised Will. "Anticipation is always better than reality, you know."
"It wouldn't be, if people always had as good a time as they expected," remarked Cricket, thoughtfully.
There was a shout at this.
"Exactly, little wiseacre. That's the trouble," laughed auntie. "Write to Hilda to come on the 4.10 train Friday afternoon, and we'll all be ready to help you both have as good a time as you anticipate."
Cricket departed to write the following letter: