CHAPTER III.DAMMING THE BROOK.
One bright May morning three little maids sat perched on the topmost rail of an old fence down by the brook. It was very pleasant just at that particular spot, where the tiny stream babbled along gayly in its wide, deep bed. There was only a ribbon of water there now, though early in the spring the current ran full and strong. The trees in the neighbouring woods waved and nodded their heads in cordial welcome to their constant little visitors.
This was a favourite spot with these little people, for they were well out of sight of the rest of the world. The lane curved around the hill which was behind them, wound over the rustic bridge, and lost itself in the green woods on the other side. Below them were the meadows, where loads of “roosters”—as country children call the sweet little white violets—grew in abundance.
There sat the three little maids, I say, swingingtheir black-stockinged legs, and nodding their three heads, black, brown and golden, keeping time to the clatter of their busy tongues.
There was so much to talk about, you see, for Hilda’s mamma had promised her that she might have all her little friends come to supper next week, to celebrate her eleventh birthday. Of course they had to arrange about the invitations and the amusements.
At last Cricket’s active body tired of being still so long, and she began to look around for exercise, for she had been sitting there for quite fifteen minutes. She edged along on her somewhat unsteady seat, when suddenly the treacherous rail turned completely over, and laid her on her back in the soft meadow grass. Hilda and Eunice shouted with laughter, for such an accident was so like Cricket; but the little girl, not in the least troubled, picked herself up. To be sure, there was a jagged tear in her fresh, blue gingham, and a great grass-stain on it, as well, but these were every-day affairs.
She jumped over the fence and sat down on the end of the wooden bridge, which crossed the road, with her feet hanging over the water, idlydropping pebbles down. Presently this inspired her with a new idea.
“Oh, girls!” she exclaimed, “let’s dam up the brook!”
This proposal immediately met with the greatest favor. Hilda and Eunice jumped briskly down, and Cricket jumped briskly up. The stone wall along the road supplied them with material, and they fell energetically to work.
Back and forth they went like little beavers, carrying stones instead of wood. They stood at the end of the bridge, and dropped the stones down, splash, just in the right place. It was great fun, tugging at the stones from the wall, finding the loose ones they could take, without leaving too large a space; or pulling out the wrong one, and bringing half a dozen more rattling about their feet, so that they had to jump, screaming, out of the way. Then they must tug and strain to roll them up the bank to the lane, and then on to the bridge, and over into the stream.
Being, as I said, a lonely, out-of-the-way place, it happened that no one passed to notice the mischief the children were doing. So they worked away undisturbed.
They lifted stones that were twice the size of their own heads, quite scorning the little ones, excepting to fill in with. When they presently paused to take breath and to survey their work, the stones lay closely packed together from side to side, and the water was deepening fast. Panting and quite tired out, they threw themselves on the grassy bank to rest.
“I’m glad,” sighed Cricket, “that I’m not a dammer by trade.”
“If you were,” said Eunice, wisely, “you would be a strong man, and then it would not be hard work.”
“What are you going to do, girls, when you’re grown-up?” asked Hilda.
“I know,” answered Cricket, promptly; “I thought of it last night. I’m going to write hymns for the missionaries, and p’raps I’ll be a missionary myself. Anyway, I’d like to go to Africa and have all the bananas I could eat, for once.”
“I won’t be a missionary,” returned Hilda, with decision. “I don’t want to go to Africa. Horrid old skeeters and things, and cannibals to eat you up.”
“I’d convert them. That’s what missionaries are for,” answered Cricket, serenely.
“But you wouldn’t get a chance,” persisted Hilda. “They’d catch you and kill you and eat you up just asquick. You’d be in somebody’s stomach before you could say Jack Robinson.”
“Buthymns, Cricket,” said Eunice, who had been meditating over the word, rather overcome by the ambition of her younger sister. “Would you write hymns like those in the hymnbook?”
“Yes. Of course they might not be quite so good just at first, but I could practise. I made up one last night. Do you want to hear it? It’s rather long.”
“Yes, indeed,” cried both the others, much impressed.
And Cricket cleared her throat, and began:——
“A big, black cannibal lived by the sea,And he was black as he could be,And he ate up children, one, two, three.“One day he found a little child,A little white one, meek and mild,And the little boy looked up and smiled.“‘Oh, don’t you know it’s wrong,’ said he,‘To eat a little child like me?And God won’t love you then, you see.“‘And don’t you know if you’re not good,And don’t do everything you should,And eat up children in the wood,“‘You will not then to Heaven go,But you will suffer down below,And wonder why you did do so?’“The cannibal was softened through,And said to him, ‘Forgive me, do,And I will go to Heaven with you.’“If little children only knewAll the good that they could do,They’d be missionaries, too.”
“A big, black cannibal lived by the sea,And he was black as he could be,And he ate up children, one, two, three.“One day he found a little child,A little white one, meek and mild,And the little boy looked up and smiled.“‘Oh, don’t you know it’s wrong,’ said he,‘To eat a little child like me?And God won’t love you then, you see.“‘And don’t you know if you’re not good,And don’t do everything you should,And eat up children in the wood,“‘You will not then to Heaven go,But you will suffer down below,And wonder why you did do so?’“The cannibal was softened through,And said to him, ‘Forgive me, do,And I will go to Heaven with you.’“If little children only knewAll the good that they could do,They’d be missionaries, too.”
“A big, black cannibal lived by the sea,And he was black as he could be,And he ate up children, one, two, three.
“A big, black cannibal lived by the sea,
And he was black as he could be,
And he ate up children, one, two, three.
“One day he found a little child,A little white one, meek and mild,And the little boy looked up and smiled.
“One day he found a little child,
A little white one, meek and mild,
And the little boy looked up and smiled.
“‘Oh, don’t you know it’s wrong,’ said he,‘To eat a little child like me?And God won’t love you then, you see.
“‘Oh, don’t you know it’s wrong,’ said he,
‘To eat a little child like me?
And God won’t love you then, you see.
“‘And don’t you know if you’re not good,And don’t do everything you should,And eat up children in the wood,
“‘And don’t you know if you’re not good,
And don’t do everything you should,
And eat up children in the wood,
“‘You will not then to Heaven go,But you will suffer down below,And wonder why you did do so?’
“‘You will not then to Heaven go,
But you will suffer down below,
And wonder why you did do so?’
“The cannibal was softened through,And said to him, ‘Forgive me, do,And I will go to Heaven with you.’
“The cannibal was softened through,
And said to him, ‘Forgive me, do,
And I will go to Heaven with you.’
“If little children only knewAll the good that they could do,They’d be missionaries, too.”
“If little children only knew
All the good that they could do,
They’d be missionaries, too.”
“Oh, it’s lovely!” exclaimed both little girls, as Cricket finished her very rapid recitation.
“Cricket! how could you make that all up?”
“Some parts of itwerehard,” answered Cricket, modestly. “I couldn’t get the rhymes right at first, and I had to change it some. I wanted to say——
“The cannibal fell on his knees,And said to him, ‘Forgive me, please,’
“The cannibal fell on his knees,And said to him, ‘Forgive me, please,’
“The cannibal fell on his knees,And said to him, ‘Forgive me, please,’
“The cannibal fell on his knees,
And said to him, ‘Forgive me, please,’
but I couldn’t think of another rhyme to match it.”
“Well, it’s beautiful,” said Eunice, drawing a long breath of admiration.
“Aren’t you rested now?” asked Cricket, jumping up. “Let’s dump some more stones over. Oh—oh! look at the brook!”
They had been resting for half an hour, under a tree, with their backs to the brook. Now, as they approached it, they were amazed to see how much their work had deepened the water. Instead of a narrow trickle that they could easily jump over, it had widened to a deep pool just above the stones.
“Oh-h!” squealed the children, in delight. Cricket plunged forward to plug up a tiny little hole in their dam. Of course she stopped on an insecure stone, and of course, in attempting to get her balance, she stumbled forward, and stepped into the water up to her knees.
“There; I knew Cricket would do that,” said Hilda, calmly.
Cricket scrambled out.
“My feet are wet,” she remarked, with much surprise. Both the other girls shouted with laughter.
“Did you think the water wasn’t wet?” asked Hilda.
Going home for dry stockings and shoes never occurred to Cricket. It would have beenaltogether too much trouble. She pulled off her soaked shoes and stockings, and spread them on a sunny stone to dry, and danced around in her little bare feet.
But the stones hurt her tender skin, and the hot sand blistered it. So she sat down on the bank, further up, and dabbled her feet in the clear, running water. The others immediately desired to follow suit, when Cricket “set the Psalm,” as their old nurse used to say, and in a few minutes six little bare feet were paddling about.
“It’s very strange,” said Cricket, at last, after a brief fit of silence, “that Eunice never falls in the water, nor tears her clothes, nor anything. I b’lieve my mother’d just think herself in luck if she had two like you, ’stead of me. I’m the most misfortunate girl always.”
Eunice was a careful little girl, and not nearly so much of a romp as Cricket was. She seldom did have the accidents that so constantly befel her heedless little sister.
“You do so many more things than I do,” Eunice hastened to explain. “You do things that I’m afraid to do.”
“I’m afraid this minute,” remarked Hilda.
“Afraid! why, what of?” exclaimed both the others, in chorus.
“’Fraid we’ve got to go home. It’s twelve o’clock, for there’s the whistle.”
“Oh, is that all! I thought you must have seen a snake, at least,” laughed Cricket, drawing on her damp stockings and stiff shoes. “Ugh! these stockings feel just like frogs.”
“We must come back to-morrow,” said Hilda, as they trudged off, “and see how deep this water is, and we will get some boards and make a raft, and have piles of fun.”