"Oscar, go down cellar and get some coal," said Mrs. Preston one evening, when the fire was getting low.
"I 'm reading—you go and get it, Ralph," said Oscar, without looking up from the newspaper in his hand.
"No, I shan't," replied Ralph; "I 've done all your chores to-day, and I won't do any more."
"Tell Bridget to bring it up, then," added Oscar, his eyes still fastened upon his paper.
"Oscar," said Mrs. Preston, sharply, "I told you to get it, and do you obey me, this minute. Bridget has worked hard all day, and Ralph has already had to do several errands and jobs that you ought to have done, and that is the reason why I did not ask them to get the coal. You have done nothing but play, when you were out of school, since morning, and now, when I ask you to do a trifling thing, you try to shirk it upon somebody else. I do wish you would break yourself of your laziness, and have a little consideration for other people."
Oscar reluctantly obeyed his mother's order. Indeed, it was seldom that he was very prompt to obey, when any kind of labor was required of him. He had a peculiar knack of getting rid of work. If he was directed to do a thing, he was almost sure to try to coax Alice, or Ella, or Ralph, or Bridget, or somebody else, to do it for him. He never taxed his own legs, or hands, or muscles, when he could make use of other people's. This lazy habit was a source of no small anxiety to his mother, and was a constant annoyance to all the family.
"Well, you did make out to get it," said Mrs. Preston, in a pleasant tone, when Oscar returned with the coal. "I hope it did n't hurt you much."
"I was n't afraid of its hurting me," said Oscar "but I was reading, and did n't want to stop."
"I am afraid that is only an excuse," replied his mother. "It has really got to be a habit with you to call upon somebody else, whenever you are told to do a thing. We have all noticed it, a hundred times, and you alone seem to be blind to it. In a year or two, when you are old enough to leave school, and go to a place, what do you suppose you will be good for, if you keep on in this way? Why, the man who should take you into his employ, would have to hire another boy on purpose to wait upon you."
"It is just as mother says, Oscar," added his eldest sister, Alice. "It was only this morning that Bridget was scolding, because you wanted to be waited upon so much. She says you make her more trouble than all the rest of us together."
Oscar could not deny these charges, and so he said nothing, but appeared to be reading his newspaper very intently. Mr. Preston came in soon after, and the family sat down to tea.
"Oscar," said Mr. Preston, "next week is vacation, is it not?"
"Yes, sir," replied Oscar.
"Well, I shall want you in the store a part of the time," continued his father. "Frank is going home to spend Thanksgiving, and as it will be a busy week with us, we must have somebody to take his place."
"Why can't Henry do the errands while Frank is away?" inquired Oscar.
"Because Henry will have as much other work as he can attend to," replied Mr. Preston.
"I don't see why you let Frank go off at such a time," said Oscar, pettishly.
"It is not necessary that you should see," replied his father. "I can manage my business without any advice from you, and I don't want you to call me to account for what I do. I have given Frank a vacation, and I shall expect assistance from you—that is all it is necessary for you to know about it."
Frank was the errand-boy in Mr. Preston's shop. Henry, upon whom Oscar wished to lay the burden occasioned by Frank's absence, was a young clerk, who had formerly served as chore-boy, but was now quite useful as a salesman.
It was evident, from Oscar's looks, that he did not much relish the idea of taking Frank's place for a week. His mother, noticing this, said:
"Why, Oscar, I thought you and Frank were good friends, and I should suppose you would be willing to relieve him a few days. The poor boy has been away from his mother nearly a year, and it is natural that he should want to go home and spend Thanksgiving. If you were in his place, and he in yours, don't you think you should like the arrangement your father proposes?"
"I suppose I should," replied Oscar; "but it's hard for me to lose my vacation, for the sake of letting him have one."
"You will not lose all your vacation," said his father "If you are lively, you can do all I shall want you to do in four or five hours, and have the rest of the day to yourself."
"And I 'll help you, too," said Ralph, who was always ready to offer his assistance in such a case as this.
"Thanksgiving week" soon arrived, and the busy note of preparation for the approaching festival was heard throughout the house. Bridget was invested with a new dignity, in the eyes of the children, as she bustled about among the mince-meat and the pie-crust, the eggs and the milk, the fruit and the spices, that were to be compounded into all sorts of good things. The house was filled with savory odors from the oven, and long rows of pies began to fill up every vacant space in the closet. Mrs. Preston was busy, superintending the operations of the household; while Alice and Ella rendered such assistance as they could, in the chopping of pie-meat, the paring of apples, the picking of raisins, &c. The boys, for their share, had an unusual number of errands to run, to keep the busy hands inside supplied with working materials. Oscar, however, was released for the week from all home chores, in consideration of his engagements at the store.
Oscar did not find his duties as temporary store-boy quite so irksome or disagreeable as he anticipated. The work was light, and the novelty of it served to offset the confinement, which he had dreaded more than anything else. With some assistance from Ralph, he managed to do all that was required of him, and still have several hours each day for play. He also had an opportunity to learn some useful lessons during the week.
One morning, his father sent him up-stairs to sweep out a room which was devoted to a certain branch of the business. Happening to go into it an hour or two after, Mr. Preston observed that it was in a dirty state, and called to Oscar to get a broom and sprinkler, and come up.
"I told you to sweep this room out," said he, as Oscar made his appearance; "did you forget it?"
"Ihaveswept it," said Oscar, in a tone of surprise.
"You have?" exclaimed Mr. Preston, with an air of incredulity; "I guess you are mistaken. You may have shaken the broom at it, but I don't think you swept it. See there—and there—and there,"—and he pointed out numerous little heaps of dirt, and scraps of paper, which had escaped Oscar's broom. "Now," he continued, "let me show you how to sweep. In the first place, always sprinkle the floor a little, to prevent the dust flying, as I told you a day or two ago. You omitted that this morning, did n't you?"
"Yes, sir," replied Oscar.
"Well, just remember it hereafter, for the dust injures the goods. There 's water enough, now pass me the broom, and I 'll show you how to handle it. Look, now—that 's the way to sweep—get all the dirt out from the corners and crevices, and along the edges, and under the counters. Use the broom as though you meant to do something, and were not afraid of it. There, that 's the way to sweep clean—so—and so," and Mr. Preston continued his explanations and illustrations, until he had swept the entire floor.
"There, now, does n't that look better?" he added, after he had finished sweeping. "If a thing is worth doing at all, it is worth doing well—that's the true doctrine, Oscar. I hope you won't get in the habit of making half-way work with whatever you undertake. If I never expected to do anything but sweep chimneys or dig clams for a living, I would do it thoroughly and faithfully. Of all things, I despise a lazy, slovenly workman."
It was a very common thing with Oscar to slight his work, when he could not get rid of it entirely. This was partly the result of a want of interest in it, and partly the result of habit. The child who performs a task reluctantly, will not be very likely to do it well.
The day before Thanksgiving, as Oscar was on his way to the store, after dinner, he met Alfred Walton.
"You 're just the chap I 'm after, Oscar," said Alfred; "I'm going out to Cambridge, all alone in a wagon, and I want you to go with me. Come, jump in and go, won't you?"
This was a tempting invitation to Oscar, but he did not see how he could accept it. He was needed at the store more than ever, that afternoon, but it was too bad to lose such a fine chance to enjoy himself. Alfred was in a hurry, and could not stop long for him to consider the matter. So he concluded to run home, and ask his father's permission, while Alfred went and got the horse ready. But when he got home, his father had left. He found Ralph, however, who readily agreed to take his place at the store, for the afternoon; and on the strength of this arrangement, he hurried to the hotel and rode off with Alfred.
It was a mild, pleasant afternoon, and the boys had a fine ride. Alfred had been among horses so much, that he understood their management pretty well, and was a very good driver. He prided himself on his ability to turn a neat corner, and to steer through the narrowest and most crooked passage-ways, such as abound in the contracted and crowded streets of a city. When they reached the broad avenues of Cambridge, he allowed Oscar to take the reins awhile, at his request.
Alfred's step-father had been out to Cambridge, in the forenoon of the same day, and had purchased a horse at the cattle-market which is held weekly at that place. As he was obliged to return home by the cars, he left word that he would send out for the horse, in the afternoon. This was Alfred's errand. After several inquiries, the boys found the man who sold the horse. Having examined the new purchase, and freely expressed their opinions of the animal's "points," they hitched his halter to the wagon, and set out for home.
The sun was rapidly descending, when the boys reached the hotel stable. Oscar, who felt somewhat uneasy about his absence from the store, turned his steps in that direction, soon after he alighted from the wagon. He found all hands very busy, and for a long time no one appeared to notice him. At length his father happened to come to the part of the shop where he was, and asked him where he had been all the afternoon. Oscar proceeded to explain the cause of his absence, but Mr. Preston was in too much of a hurry to listen to his long excuses, and so he cut him short, and told him, in not very pleasant tones, that Ralph had done the work, and he (Oscar) might go home again, just as soon as he pleased—a privilege of which he quickly availed himself.
At the tea-table, that evening, Mr. Preston expressed his displeasure with Oscar's conduct in very pointed terms. Oscar now explained the circumstances of his going away—his attempt to get his father's consent, and the promise of Ralph to supply his place. But the explanation did not satisfy Mr. Preston. He said Oscar knew he was needed that afternoon, and he ought not to have asked to go away, or even to have thought of it. Even if Ralph was willing to do his work, he did not like his putting so much upon his younger and weaker brother. He then complimented Ralph for his industry, and his willingness to make himself useful, and held him up to Oscar as a pattern he would do well to imitate. He concluded his lecture to the latter, by drawing from his pocket a quarter of a dollar, and presenting it to Ralph, as a reward for his services. This touched Oscar's feelings rather more than his father's reproofs. He thought to himself that he had performed as much work in the store as Ralph, to say the least, and was therefore as much entitled to a reward as he. There was this difference, however, which he entirely overlooked: Oscar did his share of the work reluctantly and from compulsion; Ralph did his cheerfully and voluntarily, and solely for the purpose of making himself useful.
Thanksgiving-Day had come. Among the multitude of good things it brought with it, not the least important, in the eyes of the children, was a visit from their grandmother, Mrs. Lee, who arrived the evening previous. She was the mother of Mrs. Preston, and lived in a distant town in Vermont. She had not visited the family for several years, and the children and their parents were all very glad to see her once more. She was much surprised to find how the young folks had grown since she last saw them. Alice had shot up into a young lady, Oscar, who she remembered as "a little bit of a fellow," was a tall boy, Ella, too, was quite a miss, and Georgie, "the baby," had long since exchanged his frock for the jacket, trowsers, and boots, of boyhood. All these changes had happened since their grandmother's last visit; and yet she was just the same pleasant, talkative old lady that she was years ago. The children could not discover that time had left so much as one new wrinkle on her well-remembered face.
Thanksgiving Market Scene.[Illustration: Thanksgiving Market Scene.]
Thanksgiving Market Scene.[Illustration: Thanksgiving Market Scene.]
After breakfast, their grandmother proceeded to unpack her trunk. From its capacious depths she drew forth sundry articles,—specimens of her own handiwork,—which she distributed among the children, as gifts. They were all articles of utility, such as warm, "country-knit" mittens and socks for the boys, and tippets and stockings for the girls. A large bag filled with nuts, and another of pop-corn, were also among the contents of the trunk, and were handed to the children to be divided among them.
In accordance with an agreement made the day before, Oscar soon left the house, and went in search of Alfred. Having found him, they set out for South Boston, in company with two or three boys, to witness a shooting-match got up by a man who worked about the stable. The spot selected for the sport was a retired field, where there was little danger of being interrupted. On reaching the ground, the boys found a small collection of young men and lads already engaged in the cruel amusement; for the mark was a live fowl, tied to a stake. The company assembled were of a decidedly low order, and Oscar at first felt almost ashamed to be seen among them. Smoking, swearing, betting, and quarrelling, were all going on at once, interspersed with occasional shouts of laughter at some vulgar joke, or at the fluttering and cries of a wounded fowl. Sometimes a poor chicken would receive several shots, before its misery would be terminated by a fatal one. When one fowl was killed, a fresh one was brought forth. Each man who fired at the mark, paid a trifling sum for the privilege, and was entitled to the fowl, if he killed it.
Oscar and his young companions lingered around the grounds for an hour or two, familiarizing themselves with scenes of shameful cruelty, and breathing an atmosphere loaded with pollution and moral death. The repugnance which Oscar at first felt to the party and its doings was so far overcome, that before he left he himself fired one or two shots, with a rifle which was lent to him.
Oscar reached home before the hour for dinner. As he entered the sitting-room, his mother, who had missed him, inquired where he had been all the forenoon.
"I 've been with Alf," he replied.
His mother did not notice this evasion of her question, but added:
"Why do you want to be with Alfred so much? It seems to me you might find better company. I 'm afraid he is not so good a boy as he might be. I don't like his looks very much."
"Why, mother," said Oscar, "Alf is n't a bad boy, and I never heard anybody say he was. I like him first-rate—he 's a real clever fellow."
"He may be clever enough, but I do not think he is a very good associate for you," replied Mrs. Preston.
"Who ought to know best about that, you or I?" said Oscar, with a pertness for which he was becoming a little too notorious. "I see Alf every day, but you don't know hardly anything about him. At my rate, I 'll risk his hurting me."
Oscar's grandmother looked at him with astonishment, as he uttered these words. He felt the silent rebuke, and turned his head from her.
"Well," added Mrs. Preston, "if Alfred is not a bad boy himself, I do not believe that the kind of people you spend so much of your time with, around the hotel-stable, will do either you or him any good. The lessons a boy learns among tavern loungers do not generally make him any better, to say the least. I wish you would keep away from such places—I should feel a good deal easier if you would."
The subject was dropped, and dinner,—the event of Thanksgiving-day, in every New England home,—soon began to engross the attention of the household. It was a pleasant feast, to old and young. The children forgot all their little, fanciful troubles, and the traces of care were chased from their parents' brows for the hour.
The afternoon was stormy, and the children amused themselves with in-door sports. After tea, however, Oscar asked his father for some money, to buy a ticket to an entertainment that was to take place in the evening. But both his parents thought he had better stay at home, with the rest of the family, and he reluctantly yielded to their wishes, coupled with the promise of a story or two from his grandmother, about old times.
A cheerful fire was burning in the grate, when the family returned to the parlor, from the tea-table. The lamps were not yet lit, although the gray twilight was fast settling down, and the ruddy coals began to reflect themselves from the polished furniture. Mrs. Preston was about to light the lamps, when Ella exclaimed:
"No, no, mother, don't light the lamps—let's sit in the dark awhile, and then grandmother's stories will seem twice as romantic. You don't want a light, do you, grandmother?"
"No," said the grandmother, "I can talk just as well in the dark. But I don't know as I can tell you any very interesting stories. I can't think of anything now but what you have already heard. That's just the way when I want to tell a story. If I was all alone, I should think of lots of things to tell you."
"Can't you tell us something about the Indians?—I like to hear about them," said Oscar.
"You would like to know how they served naughty boys, would n't you?" inquired his grandmother; and if the room had not been quite so dark, Oscar would have seen something like a roguish twinkle in her sober gray eye, as she spoke.
"O yes, grandmother," interrupted Ella, "that will suit him, I know. At any rate, it ought to interest him—so please to tell us what they did to their bad boys, and perhaps we shall learn how to serve Oscar."
"And while you are about it, grandmother," said Oscar, "tell us what they did to naughty girls, too."
"I don't know how they punished girls," said the old lady; "but I have heard it said that when they wished to punish a boy very severely, they made him lie down on the ground, upon his back. They then put their knees on his arms, and held his head back, while they took into their mouth some very bitter stuff, made from the roots of a certain plant, and squirted it into the boy's nose. They kept repeating the dose, till the poor fellow was almost strangled, and I suppose by that time he was cured of his fault."
"Pooh, was that all?" said Oscar; "I thought something terrible was coming."
"I guess you would not like to try the Indian remedy more than once," replied his mother; "but if you think it is so pleasant to take, perhaps your father will give you a taste of it, one of these days, if you do not behave better than you have done of late."
"Did you ever get frightened by the Indians, grandmother?" inquired Ralph.
"No," replied the old lady; "there were plenty of them around, when I was a little girl, but they had got to be quite civil, and we were not afraid of them. I wish I could remember all the stories my mother used to tell me about them—they were plenty and troublesome, too, in her day. I recollect one fight that took place in our neighborhood, when she was young. One evening, a man who was returning from another settlement, happened to discover a party of Indians, making their way very quietly up the river in their canoes, towards our little village. He watched their movements as narrowly as possible, but was careful not to let them see or hear him. When they got within about half a mile of the settlement, they pulled their canoes ashore, and concealed them among the bushes. They meant to creep along very slowly and slily, the rest of the way, and then fall suddenly upon the whites, and murder and plunder them before they could know what the matter was. But the man who discovered them hurried on to the settlement, and gave the alarm. Ten men was all he could muster, for there were but a few families in the town. These men armed themselves, and by the time they were ready for action, the Indians had already begun their work of plunder.
"But the Indians were not cunning enough for the white folks, that time. The settlers formed themselves into two parties—one of seven and one of three men. The three men went down very cautiously to the Indian's landing-place, and after cutting slits in their bark canoes, they hid themselves, and awaited the result. While they were doing this, the other party made such a furious and sudden attack upon the enemy, that the Indians thought they were assailed by a force far superior to their own, and so they fled as fast as they could. When they reached the landing-place, they jumped pell-mell into their canoes, and pushed out into the stream. Now they thought they would soon be out of the reach of harm; but, to their astonishment, the canoes began to fill with water, and were entirely unmanageable. The three men in ambush now began to attack them, and pretty soon the other seven came to their aid, and in a little while the Indians were all shot or drowned, and not one of the party escaped, to inform their kindred what had befallen them. The stream on which this happened is called Laplot River. Laplot, they say, means 'the plot,' and a good many people think the river got its name from the stratagem of the settlers, but I don't know how that is."
After musing awhile in silence, Ralph called for another story.
"Let me see," said his grandmother; "did I ever tell you about Widow Storey's retreat, in the Revolution!"
"No ma'am," said Oscar; "I've read about General Burgoyne's retreat; but I never heard of Widow Storey before: who was she?"
"O, it was n't that kind of a retreat that I meant," said his grandmother; "but I will tell you who she was. She lived in Salisbury, some twenty or thirty miles from where I belong. Her husband was the first man who settled in Salisbury, but he was very unfortunate. After he had worked hard, and got a log cabin ready for his family, it took fire, and was destroyed; and he himself was killed by the fall of a tree, soon after. But his widow was a very smart woman; and though she had eight or ten small children, she moved on to the place her husband had selected; and the proprietors of the township gave her a hundred acres of land to encourage and reward her. She worked just like a man, and didn't mind chopping down trees, and cultivating the soil, with her own hands. But by-and-bye the Revolution broke out, and as there were British soldiers in the neighborhood, she was afraid they would make her a visit. She fled several times to another town, where there was less danger; but after awhile a new idea entered her head, and she proceeded to carry it out, with the aid of a man who lived near her. The idea was, to construct a hiding-place, where the British could not find them, if they should pay her a visit. They selected a spot on Otter Creek, and dug a hole right into the bank, horizontally. The hole was a little above the water, and was just large enough for a person to crawl into. It was so covered up by bushes that hung from the bank, that a stranger would not notice it. This passage led to a large lodging-room, the bottom of which was covered with straw. Good comfortable beds were prepared, and here the families found a secure retreat, until the danger was past."
"That was complete," said Oscar; "but I should think the British might have tracked them to their retreat, for it's likely they had to go home pretty often, to get food, and look after things."
"Yes," added his grandmother; "but they reached their retreat by a canoe, so that no footsteps could be seen leading to it; and they were careful not to go out or in during the day-time. I have heard my brother James tell about it. I believe he saw the very hole once, where they went in."
"Uncle James was a famous hand for telling stories," remarked Mrs. Preston. "I shall never forget what a treat it was to me, when I was a child, to have him come to our house. I used to run out and meet him, when I saw him coming, and coax him to tell me a good lot of stories before he went off. I can remember some of them even now. He used to tell a story of a crabbed old fellow, who was very much annoyed by the boys stealing his apples. So, after awhile, he got a spring-trap, and set it under the trees, to catch the young rogues. But the boys got wind of the affair, and the first night he set it, they picked it up, and very quietly put it on his door-step, and then went back to the orchard, and began to bellow as though they were in great distress. The old man heard the uproar, and started out, in high glee at the idea of catching his tormentors; but he hardly put his foot out of the door, before he began to roar himself, and he was laid up a month with a sore leg."
"That was old Zigzag," said the grandmother; "I knew him very well."
"Old Zigzag!—what a funny name!" exclaimed Ralph.
"That was n't his name, although he always went by it," added the old lady. "He was a very odd character, and one of his peculiarities was, that he never walked directly towards any place or object he wished to reach, but went in a 'criss-cross,' zigzag way, like a ship beating and tacking before a head-wind. He was a hard drinker, and was almost continually under the influence of liquor, and perhaps that was the cause of his singular habit. He was a terribly ugly fellow, when he was mad, and the boys used to tease him in every possible way; but wo to them if he got hold of them. He lived all alone, for he never had any wife or children; and he would not allow anybody to enter his house, on any account, but always kept the door locked. If his neighbors had business to transact with him, he would step into the yard and attend to them; but even in the severest weather, he would not let them cross his threshold. He never would speak to or look at a woman, and would always avoid meeting them, if possible. Poor fellow, he had a dreadful end. He was missing for several days, and at last some of the town's-people broke into his house, and found him dead, with his head badly burned. They supposed he was intoxicated, and fell, striking his head upon the andiron, which stunned him; and while he lay helpless, he was so badly burned that he soon died. And that was the last of poor old Zigzag."
"There was another story Uncle James used to tell, about the naming of Barre, in Vermont; do you recollect it, mother?" inquired Mrs. Preston.
"Yes, indeed, and I 've heard old Dr. Paddock tell it many a time. He was there, and saw it all. The people did n't like the name of their town, which was Wildersburgh, and determined to have a new one, and so they met together in town-meeting, to talk the matter over. One of the leading men came from Barre, Massachusetts, and he wanted the town to take that name. Another prominent citizen came from Holden, Massachusetts, and he insisted that the town should be called Holden. The people liked both of these names well enough, and it was finally determined that the question should be decided by a game of boxing, between these two men. So the meeting adjourned to a new barn, with a rough hemlock plank floor, and the contest commenced. After boxing awhile, one of them threw the other upon the floor, and sprang upon him at full length; but the one who was underneath dealt his blows so skilfully, that his opponent soon gave in; and rolling the Holden man out of the way, he jumped up and shouted, 'There, the name is Barre!' and Barre it hasten, to this day. The next day, the man who won this victory had to call on the doctor to extract from his back the hemlock splinters he had received while struggling on the barn floor."
Thus the evening was beguiled with stories, mingled with a few songs by Alice and Ella, and a few favorite airs upon the piano-forte. Before the hour of retiring arrived, even Oscar was quite reconciled to the loss of the evening's entertainment away from home which he had promised himself.
Mrs. Lee, the grandmother of the Preston children, remained with the family for several weeks, after Thanksgiving. Her visit was, on the whole, a pleasant one, though there were some shadows thoughtlessly cast over it by the children. Age had somewhat impaired her sense of hearing, but yet she always wanted to understand everything that was said in her presence. Often, when the children were talking to each other in a low tone, she would ask them what they were saying. Ella did not like these interruptions, and was the first to complain of them.
"O dear," said she, one day, "I do wonder what makes grandmother so inquisitive. I really believe she thinks we are talking about her all the time. I can't open my mouth, but she wants to know what I said. Don't you think she is getting childish, Alice?"
"Why, Ella!" exclaimed Alice, in astonishment, "I should think you would be ashamed to speak so of your poor old grandmother. What do you think mother would say if she knew what you said!"
"I can't help it," replied Ella; "I don't see why grandmother need be so curious about every little thing that's said. I mean to ask her some time when I have a good chance."
"I should think you had better, Miss Impudence," said Alice; "perhaps she would like to have you give her some lessons in good behavior."
Alice did not for a moment suppose that her sister meant to speak to their grandmother upon this subject. But she had miscalculated the pertness of Ella. A day or two after this, as several of the children were talking among themselves, the attention of the old lady was arrested. She could not hear distinctly what they said, but Oscar took a prominent part in the conversation; and a moment after, on his leaving the room, she asked Ella what he wanted.
"O, it was n't anything that you care about, grandma'am," replied Ella.
"Is that the way your mother teaches you to answer questions, Ella?" inquired Mrs. Lee, in a mild, reproachful tone.
"No, no, grandmother," replied Alice, with considerable earnestness; "I shall tell mother how impudently she spoke to you. A boy has given a little dog to Oscar, and that was what he was telling us about, just before he went out."
"Why, grandmother," added Ella, "I did n't mean to be impudent; but I 've noticed that you always want to hear what everybody says, even when they are not talking to you, and mother says that is n't polite."
"I am much obliged to you, my dear," replied her grandmother, very meekly; "after I have taken a few more lessons from you, perhaps I shall know how to behave."
The feelings of the old lady were more hurt by the rudeness of Ella, than her mild rebukes indicated. Alice felt bound to inform her mother of what had taken place; and Mrs. Preston was greatly mortified, on learning that her little daughter had spoken so impudently to her aged mother. She apologized for Ella, as well as she could, by saying that she was naturally forward and impulsive. At noon, when the children returned from school, she called Ella into a room by herself, and talked with her about her conduct. At first, Ella tried to justify herself; but after awhile her better nature triumphed, and she felt heartily ashamed of her treatment of her grandmother. To think that she, a girl eleven years old, should have attempted to teach her aged grandmother politeness, and in such an uncivil way, too! No wonder she hung her head in shame.
To be candid, perhaps Ella's grandmother was a little too inquisitive to know what was going on around her. But this was one of the infirmities of old age which were slowly stealing upon her, and which the young should regard with pity and forbearance, but never with a censorious spirit.
Ella was really a good-hearted girl, when her generous feelings were aroused. From that day, she treated her grandmother with marked kindness and respect; and her unfortunate attempt to rebuke the venerable woman was never alluded to again.
Among the articles which Mrs. Lee brought from the country, for the children, was a small bag of corn for popping. One evening, George happened to think of this corn, which none of them had yet tried; and partly filling one of his pockets from the bag, he slipped quietly into the kitchen, and commenced popping it by Bridget's fire. There was no person in the kitchen but himself, and putting a handfull of corn in the wire popper, it soon began to snap and jump about, the hard, yellow kernels bursting forth into light and beautiful milk-white balls. But by-and-bye the savory odor of the corn found its way up stairs, and Ella and Ralph ran down to get their share of the treat. George had put the corn upon the table to cool, as fast as it was popped; but when he heard footsteps approaching, he scrambled it into his pocket as quick as possible.
"Halloo, popped corn! Give me some, Georgie, won't you?" said Ralph.
"And me, too," added Ella.
"No I shan't, either," said George; "I popped it for myself."
"You're real stingy," replied Ella; "but no matter, Ralph and I will pop some for ourselves. Where is the bag?"
"You must find it for yourselves—I had to," was George's selfish reply, as he gathered the last of his popped corn into his pocket, badly burning his fingers, in his anxiety lest his brother or sister should get hold of a kernel or two.
Ella and Ralph commenced searching for the bag of corn, but they could not find it. They looked in every place where they supposed it might be, but in vain. Their mother had gone to bed with a sick headache, or they would have ascertained where it was from her. At length they gave up the search, and returned to the sitting-room, in no very pleasant frame of mind.
"I do declare, George," said Ella, "you are the meanest boy I ever heard of."
"Why, what is the matter with George?" inquired his grandmother.
"He 's been popping some of the corn you gave us," replied Ella; "and he won't give us a kernel of it, nor tell us where the bag is, so that we can pop some for ourselves."
"Why, George," said Mrs. Lee, "that is too bad; I would tell them where the corn is, for I intended it as much for them as for you."
"I don't care," said George; "they've called me mean and stingy, and now they may find it for themselves."
"We did n't call you mean and stingy till you refused to tell us where it was," added Ella.
"If I could find it, I guess you would n't get another kernel of it," said Ralph, addressing George; "I'd burn it all up first."
"No, no, Ralph, that is wrong," replied his grandmother. "The corn is n't worth quarrelling about. If George wants to be selfish, and keep it all to himself, I 'll send down some more for the rest of you, when I go home. But I guess Georgie does n't mean to be selfish," she added, coaxingly; "he only wants to plague you a little, that's all. He 'll tell you where he found the corn, pretty soon."
George, who was growing uneasy under this combined attack, now retreated to bed, leaving his grandmother more astonished than ever at his obstinacy.
"There," said Alice, "it's of no use to try to drive or coax him out of his selfishness. Mother says he 'll outgrow it by-and-bye, but I don't see as there is any prospect of it. You know what made him so selfish, don't you, grandmother?"
"I am afraid he has been humored too much," replied Mrs. Lee.
"Well, he has been," added Alice; "but you know when he was little, he was very sick for a whole year, and the doctor said he must n't be crossed any more than we could help, for crying and fretting were very bad for him. So he had his own way in everything, and if we children had anything he wanted, we had to give it to him, and let him break it to pieces, for he would scream as loud as he could, if we refused him. This was the way he got to be so selfish; and now he thinks we must humor him just as we did when he was sick."
"There is some little excuse for him, if he fell into the habit when he was very young and sick," observed Mrs. Lee; "but he is old enough and well enough now to know better, and ought to be broken of the fault."
"Father and mother have tried to break him of it," replied Alice, "but they have not succeeded very well yet. They have talked to him a good deal about it, but it does no good."
The next day, the children found the bag of corn, and their mother told George she should punish him for his selfishness by not letting him have any more of it. The corn was accordingly divided among the other children, and thus George, in trying to get more than his share, actually got less than the others did.
It was about this time that Oscar came into possession of the pup which Alfred Walton had promised him two or three weeks before. He at first had some difficulty in obtaining the consent of his mother to bring it home. She thought it would be troublesome, and tried to dissuade him from taking it; but Oscar's heart was so strongly set upon the dog, that she at length reluctantly assented to its being admitted as an inmate of the family.
Fastening a string to the neck of the dog, Oscar led him to his new home, where he received every attention from the younger members of the family. Quite a grave discussion at once ensued, as to what the name of the new-comer should be. Each of the children had a favorite name to propose, but Oscar rejected them all, and said the dog should be called "Tiger;" and so that became his name, but it was usually abbreviated to "Tige."
Tiger's Countenance.[Illustration: Tiger's Countenance.]
Tiger's Countenance.[Illustration: Tiger's Countenance.]
Tiger had grown very rapidly, and was now about twice as large as he was when Alfred promised Oscar one of his litter of pups. He was a handsome fellow, especially about the head, as you may see by his portrait. At times, he looked as old and grave as his mother; but for all that, he was a great rogue, and there was very little dignity or soberness about him. He was brim-full of fun, and would play with anybody or anything that would allow him to take that liberty. He would amuse himself for hours with an old shoe or rag that he had found in the street, and it seemed as if he never would get tired of shaking, and tearing, and biting it. This disposition sometimes led him into mischief, in the house; but he was always so happy, so good-natured and so affectionate, that it was difficult to blame him very hard for his misconduct. If Oscar's grandmother happened to drop her ball of yarn, when Tige was about, he would seize it in an instant, and she would have to work hard to get it away from him. She kept her work in a bag, which she usually hung upon the back of a chair; but one day, the little rogue pulled the bag down upon the floor, and had its various contents scattered all about the room, before the old lady noticed what he was doing.
These mischievous pranks were very amusing to Oscar, and he set all the more by Tiger, on account of this trait in his character. The other members of the family, too, seemed to enjoy the sport he made; and it was easy to see that even old Mrs. Lee, though she pretended to be angry with the dog for his mischievousness, was in reality pleased with the attentions he bestowed upon her and her knitting-work.
Oscar's grandmother usually retired to her chamber, soon after dinner, to take a short nap. One noon, after she had been scolding, with assumed gravity, about the dog's mischievousness, Oscar thought he would play a joke upon the old lady; so, on rising from the dinner-table, he carried Tiger up to her bed-room, and shut him in. He wanted to conceal himself somewhere, and witness the surprise of his grandmother, when she should open the door, and the dog should spring upon her; but it was time to go to school, and he could not wait.
It so happened that Mrs. Lee did not take her nap so early as usual that day. When she did go to her chamber, Tiger, impatient of his long confinement, sprang out so quickly, that she did not observe him. But such a scene as met her gaze on entering the chamber! The first thing that caught her eye, was her best black bonnet lying upon the floor, all crumpled up and torn into shreds, looking as though it had been used for a football by a parcel of boys. She entered the room, and found a dress upon the floor, with numerous marks of rough handling upon it; while towels and other articles were scattered about in confusion. The cloth upon the dressing-table had been pulled off, and the articles that were kept upon it were lying upon the floor, including a handsome vase, which, in the fall, had been shattered to pieces. There was in the chamber a stuffed easy-chair, the covering of which was of worsted-work, wrought by Mrs. Preston when she was a young girl. This chair, which was highly valued as a relic of the past, was also badly injured. A part of the needle-work, which had cost so many hours of patient toil, was torn in every direction, and some of the hair, with which the cushion was stuffed, was pulled out, and scattered about the floor.
As soon as Mrs. Lee had fully comprehended the extent of the mischief, she went to the stair-way, and called her daughter. A glance satisfied Mrs. Preston that Tiger must have been there; and she was confirmed in this belief by Bridget, who remembered that the dog came down into the kitchen, just after Mrs. Lee went up. But they could not tell how the little rogue got shut into the room. They concluded, however, that some of the children did it by accident, or that the dog slipped in unperceived when Mrs. Lee came out from the chamber before dinner.
Oscar did not go directly home from school, but as soon as he entered the house, he learned what Tiger had done, from the other children. He felt sorry that what he intended as a harmless joke, should end in so serious a matter; but he determined that no one should know he had a hand in it, if he could prevent it. He regretted the destruction of property, but this feeling did not cause him so much uneasiness as his fear of losing his dog in consequence of this bad afternoon's work. His mother, as soon as she saw him, inquired if he had been to his grandmother's chamber that noon. He replied that he had not. She inquired if he let Tiger into it, and he answered in the negative. His mother questioned him still further, but he denied all knowledge of the matter.
It was not very hard work for Oscar to tell a lie, now, for practice makes easy. He could do it, too, in such a plausible and seemingly innocent way, that it was difficult to believe he was deceiving you. His falsehoods, in this instance, were readily believed; and as all the other children denied having any knowledge of the affair, it was the general conclusion that Tiger must have obtained admittance to the chamber accidentally and unperceived.
When Mr. Preston came home to tea, and saw what the dog had done, he was very angry with poor Tiger, and told Oscar he must sell him or give him away, for he would not have such a mischievous animal about the house another day. A day or two after, Mrs. Preston replaced the articles belonging to her mother that had been injured, and the excitement about the dog soon died away. Oscar did not try to get rid of his pet; but he was careful not to let him stay in the house much of the time especially when his father was at home.
"Oscar," said his grandmother a day or two after as he came into the kitchen with Tiger, "I thought your father told you he would n't have that dog around here any more."
"O, he did n't mean so," replied Oscar; "he was mad when he said that, but he 's got over it now. Besides, I don't let Tige stay in the house much."
"A good dale ye cares for what yer father says," remarked Bridget, who was never backward about putting in a word, when Oscar's delinquencies were the subject of conversation.
"You shut up, Bridget,—nobody spoke to you," replied Oscar.
"Shet up, did ye say? Faith, if ye don't git shet up yerself where ye won't git out in a hurry, afore ye 're many years older, it 'll be because ye don't git yer desarts. Ye 're a bad b'y, that ye are, an'—"
"There, there, Biddy," interrupted Mrs. Lee, "I would n't say anything more—it only aggravates him, and does no good. But, Oscar," she added, "I 'm sorry you don't pay more attention to what your father says. It's a bad habit to get into. I knew a disobedient boy, once, who came to the gallows; and I 've known several others who made very bad men."
"But you don't call me disobedient, do you, grandma'am?" inquired Oscar.
"I don't know what else to call it," she replied, "if your father tells you to do a thing, and you take no notice of it."
"But father does n't want me to give Tige away—I don't believe he 's thought of it again since that night."
"Then, if I were you," replied his grandmother, "I would ask his consent to keep the dog. If he did n't mean what he said, that night, you will be safe enough in asking him."
But this was a kind of reasoning that Oscar could not appreciate. If he could carry his point just as well without his father's formal consent, he thought it was useless to ask any such favor. As long as he could keep his dog, it was all the same to him whether his father withdrew his command, or silently acquiesced in his disobedience of it.
But grandmother Lee's visit was drawing to a close, and early one bright, cool morning, in the latter part of December, the coach called, to take her to the railroad depôt; and after a few kisses, and words of affectionate advice, and lingering good-byes, she departed on her homeward journey. Of those she left behind, next to her own daughter, the saddest of the group was little Ella, who, for many days, missed the pleasant face of her good old grandmother.