This solo, so cunningly sung by the pudgy little mite, “brought down the house,” and little Katie and her family were delighted with the praise which she received. Still the little girl stood upon the platform until the audience began to think that she wished to sing another verse.
“Go on, Katie,” called her brother Jack, “what yer waiting for?”
“I forgot somefin and I dunno what. Oh, yes, I do. It’s dis,” and, making a comical little bow, this very conscientious little soloist left the platform, feeling that now her performance was complete.
Every one laughed and gave Katie more praise, and she curled up in her mother’s lap, feeling her wee self to be a very successful singer.
“We will now look at a tableau called ‘Titian’s Daughter,’” announced Jotham.
Away flew the curtain and Jemima Babson stood in the fine pose, copying to perfection the engraving of that subject. Jemima was resplendent.
“Oh! oh!” ejaculated every one. A glint of bright light shone in her eyes. She had liked that picture better than any which Miss Dayton had shown the girls when they had called for the first rehearsal, and was delighted when Helen chose it for her tableau.
Next came her sister Belinda as the “Magdalene.” Belinda always wore her yellow hair in braids, but to-night it shone like rippling gold over her shoulders. With her blue eyes uplifted, and the shimmering mass of yellow hair, who could believe that the “Magdalene” was Belinda Babson, the girl who climbed every apple tree in her father’s orchard, and laughed at chance passers-by from the highest branches.
“A solo by Miss Dayton will close the entertainment.”
Helen had sung at church with the congregation, but until to-night no one, not even Randy, had heard her sing a solo.
Ah, how sweet and clear sounded hervoice as, looking across at old Sandy McLeod, she sang “The Bluebells of Scotland.”
The proverbial pin could have been heard had it been dropped. As the last notes ceased, old Sandy arose, and, stoutly thumping on the floor with his cane, shouted, “Well, noo, that’s bonny, say I, Sandy McLeod.”
“That’s so,” said little Reuben Jenks, under his breath, for he sat quite near old Sandy and was a bit afraid of him. The old Scotchman owned a large farm on the outskirts of the town and was reported to have a deal of money, which most people said he never spent. He lived alone and was said to be rather crusty.
One day, when out for a walk, Helen, in passing his door, saw old Sandy sitting on his door-stone, trying to thread a needle. Helen paused for a moment, saying kindly, “Please let me thread it for you.”
The old man scowled and hesitated, then surrendered the needle. Helen threadedit; then, after a few pleasant words, resumed her walk.
The old fellow mumbled something, possibly thanks, and ever after that morning pulled off his cap to Helen when he met her.
Mrs. Gray laughed when Helen said she intended to invite him to the entertainment, saying that he would never come. He came, however, very promptly, and it was for him she sang the old Scotch ballad.
“Now,” said Helen, “let us all sing, ‘Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot,’” and with a will they sang it, old Sandy joining in the chorus.
It was now quite late, but good old Parson Spooner rose and proposed three cheers for the young lady who had planned such a beautiful entertainment. They were given heartily, and then every one crowded around Helen to clasp her hand and thank her again, and of all the merry party no one was happier than she.
Turning to Mrs. Gray, after the lastguest had departed, Helen said, “I have often helped to entertain, with some success, but in the city one does not always feel the thanks so enthusiastically expressed to be sincere, but who could doubt the genuineness of the kind words spoken to-night?”
“Randy, wake up!”
“Yes, oh yes, in a minute,” Randy answered, drowsily.
“No, now, Randy, wake up now! I want to talk about those tab things what we had last night,” and two little soft arms wound their way about sleepy Randy’s neck.
Randy rubbed her eyes, laughing as she said, “Do call them tableaux, Prue, can’t you remember that? Tableaux, Prue, say so.”
“Tabby-lows!” shouted Prue. “How’s that?”
“Better,” said Randy, still laughing.
“Well, whatever you call ’em, yours was the prettiest, Randy dear, the very prettiest, and Jotham said so, too, so ofcourse it’s true,” said little Prue, who had been sitting up in bed in order to see her sister’s face when she repeated the compliment.
“Now, Prue,” said Randy, “did he say that because you asked him?”
“Why, no,” said the child, whose smiling face now assumed an injured expression. “He didn’t say it to me ’tall. He said it to his mother; I heard him, and she said she thought so, too, I heard her; she sat just behind us. Now, Randy Weston, I thought it was real nice to tell you, and that’s what I waked you up for.”
“It’s all very nice,” Randy answered, “that you liked my picture best; and do you know, little sister, I would rather have you pleased than almost any one, next to father and mother.”
“Why?” questioned the little girl, in genuine surprise.
“Because,” said her sister, “you’re a little girl who means just what she says.”
“Yes, I do mean it, Randy dear; you didlook just the best of any one, but you’d ought to seen Jotham,” she continued, “he meant it, too. He meant it justtremenjous!”
“Well, Jotham’s kind, too,” said Randy; then, with a happy little sigh, she turned a smiling face to little Prue as she said, “’most every one’s good, I do believe.”
“Not near as good as you, Randy,” said Prue, thoughtfully; but, she added, brightening, “I mean to be good all day, ’cause why do you s’pose, Randy? ’Cause I had such a good time last night.”
“That’s a good reason,” said Randy. Soon Randy proposed dressing, and at the breakfast table Prue resumed the conversation with which she had awakened Randy.
All agreed that it had been just a lovely evening, but the little girl was not quite satisfied.
“Well, now, we did have a splendid time,” said she, “but I want you to say my Randy was just the best of all.”
“Why, of course, we say so,” said herfather, laughing; “but who sang a nice little song?”
“Oh, I ’most forgot, I sang a little tune and so did Katie Buffum.”
“So you did, so you did,” said her father, “and your mother and I thought you little girls did your parts well.”
“I think they all did wonderful,” said Mrs. Weston. “I was jest proud of my girls, and my neighbors’ children, too. I do declare, I believe Miss Dayton can do anything. Last evening jest did me good. Well, this won’t do for me,” she added, “there’s a sight to do to-day.”
“We’ll help,” said Randy and Prue together.
“I guess I’ll have to have you help me, Randy, if you’re a mind to.”
“Me too, me too,” cried Prue.
So Randy filled a large pan with hot water and Prue armed herself with a long towel, and the two commenced work as if their lives depended upon it.
Mrs. Weston was an energetic womanand soon her pies were made and baked, and standing to cool upon the table. The children had worked bravely all the forenoon, Randy doing a great deal to be helpful, and Prue assisting in many small things. Randy was just thinking that she would surely scorch if she remained in the hot kitchen another minute, when such an interesting thing happened.
Up the well-trodden path to the kitchen door came Mrs. Hodgkins, “the best woman in town and the newsiest,” as Silas Barnes had described her.
The children were always delighted to see her coming, as a call from Mrs. Hodgkins meant numberless scraps of gossip, and in a small country town where neighbors are few and far between, anything in the shape of news is welcome.
Laboriously the good woman stepped from door-stone to threshold, and voluminously filling the wooden rocker which Mrs. Weston offered her, she fanned herself with her handkerchief, ejaculating between gaspsfor breath, “Lor’ me! How hot it is! Ef I ever get my breath again, I’ll try ter talk a spell.” But it would have been something greater than shortness of breath that could have completely silenced Mrs. Hodgkins. A few energetic movements of the palm-leaf fan which Randy offered her, a few moments of jerky rocking in the old wooden rocker, and she was ready to begin.
“Well there, Mis’ Weston, I b’lieve I can talk now,” said she. “Joel was goin’ over to the barn raisin’, an’ I told him I didn’t care nothin’ ’bout seein’ it; but ef he’d a mind to drive me as fur as your house, I’d call in an’ look at yer a spell, ’n’ I can’t spare the time to talk ’n’ not do somethin’ at the same time,” and she drew from a capacious bag an old woollen stocking, saying, “I thought I’d bring my knittin’ along and p’haps git this stockin’ footed down while I was talkin’.”
“Why, that’s a woollen stocking,” said little Prue.
“Lor’ yes, child, it’s one of Joel’s winter stockin’s. I was up attic yesterday huntin’over my rag bag, ’n’ I came across a lot of his old winter stockin’s that I’d ’bout decided to throw away, ’n’ I says to myself, ‘Sophrony Hodgkins, that’s downright wasteful,’ ’n’ I’ve just set myself a task to foot ’em down ’fore winter.” Her needles clicked furiously, and she knit around several times before she spoke again. With her brows contracted she worked until she felt sure that her knitting was “straightened out,” then she paused for a chat.
“Did you know,” she commenced, “that Phœbe Small was a beggin’ an’ a teasin’ her pa to send her to boardin’ school? Well, she is, ’n’ none of the girls could find out what put it in her head ter want ter go ’til Jemima Babson teased it out of her. Seems at the picnic Miss Dayton, in some story she was tellin’ the children, let out that she went away from home ter school, ’n’ Phœbe got the idee that ter go away ter school would jest be the makin’ of her. Jemima don’t care what she says,an’ she up an’ told Phœbe that it ‘would take more ’n boardin’ school to make her as sweet as Miss Dayton,’ all of which was true, but not ter Phœbe’s likin’.”
“Isshe going to boarding school?” asked Randy.
“Land, no! Her ma told her to wait ’til she’d learned all there was ter learn at our deestric’ school ’fore she talked ’bout goin’ anywhere else; and that ’bout finished it.”
Here Mrs. Hodgkins, who had said all this without stopping, paused to take breath. “I shouldn’t like my girls to be away at boardin’ school,” said Mrs. Weston, “and I think Mrs. Small would feel ’bout as I do.”
“An’ there’s Mrs. Buffum,” continued Mrs. Hodgkins, “with all her children, ’n’ she says they’ve got to be where she can see ter them, an’ git their larnin’ ter home, and now I’ll tell yer the joke. It seems Miss Dayton laughed when she heard about it, for she wasn’t at boardin’ school at all; she was at school, and was boardin’ at abig hotel with her aunt, ’n’ the hotel was near the school. But there, ye know Phœbe Small never gits anything more ’n half right.
“But I’ll tell ye somethin’ worth tellin’. Old Sandy McLeod’s comin’ to meetin’!”
“You don’t say!” ejaculated Mrs. Weston, lifting her hands, and letting them fall upon her lap, thereby showing the surprise which Mrs. Hodgkins thought this piece of news deserved.
“Well, you see, it was this way,” continued the bearer of this pleasant bit of gossip; “it commenced with Miss Dayton’s doin’ a few little things fer him. Nobody b’lieved fer a minute that he’d come to Mrs. Gray’s, to the entertainment; but Miss Dayton asked him in her pretty way, and he hadn’t the heart ter refuse ter come, ’n’ he had such a nice evenin’, and heard her sing that Scotch song, and all, ’n’ he says now he’s made a great mistake stayin’ off by himself so long. An’ he’s been to Parson Spooner and, ef you’ll believe it, hireda whole pew, sayin’ he could well afford to; en’ he says that as there’s only one in his family, any one that wants ter can sit in his pew, any time.
“He says he always went ter church, though he calls it ‘kirk,’ or something like that, when he was a young man and lived in Scotland; an’ he says, rain or shine, we’ll see him in his place every Sunday, after this. When somebody asked him what made him think of goin’ ter church again, he drew that great rough hand of his across his eyes, and jist said, ‘It’s all the doin’ of that lass,’ meanin’ Miss Dayton. And let me tell yer somethin’ queerer than that! Did ye notice old Nathan Lawton the other night?
“My! how his eyes twinkled when the children were singin’. Ye know he’s dreadful fond of children; but ye know, too, ef ye know anything, that he’s tighter ’n the bark of a tree. Well, Miss Dayton heard say what a bad room fer heatin’ that schoolroom was, and how the littlebuildin’ was kind er fer off fer most of the children.
“Wal’, after we’d seen all the pictures, or what yer call ’ems, and she’d sung her song so sweetly, old Nathan spoke ter her, an’ thanked her for the pleasant evenin’, sayin’ he’d do most anythin’ ter obleege her, in return, as ye might say, fer his enjoyment; and I had ter laugh softly ter myself when she put her little white hand on his arm and said she thought nothin’ would please her so much as ter think, when she went home, that the children here would start ter school in a comfortable, warm room, ’specially ef it could be one that was handy for them all; and she asked him, as one of the see-lect-men, ter manage it some way.
“He just took one look at the smilin’ face lookin’ up at him, and then and there offered the use of that front room of his’n, and promised ter keep it roastin’ warm all winter, from his own woodpile. His house is just about the handiest ter every one ofany house in town, and I do say that was a han’some offer.
“Any other folks might have asked him ’til they got tired askin’; but he couldn’t refuse her, ’n’ I don’t wonder. She’s just done us a world of good this summer, ’n’ in such an easy, pretty way that we’ve just enjoyed it.
“And now I’ve come ter what fetched me here ter day. Mrs. Gray said ter me that Miss Dayton never went to an apple-bee; and I was thinkin’ she got up that picnic, and that splendid evenin’ with the music,”—“and tab things,” said Prue,—“an’ I’ve been thinkin’ it’s ’bout time we got up somethin’ fer her,” said good Mrs. Hodgkins, and she beamed upon Mrs. Weston and Randy as she waited for their approval.
“I think so too,” said Randy and her mother together; “but do you think that she would enjoy an apple-bee?”
“Well, we couldn’t get up anything fine,” said Mrs. Hodgkins; “but they dosay that our apple-bees are ’bout the best that they have anywhere ’round here.”
Mrs. Weston thought a moment, then said: “Our house is the biggest in the neighborhood, an’ Miss Dayton has been so kind to Randy and Prue that I’ll say we’ll have the apple-bee here, and I think we’ll try extry hard to make it a pleasant one. I’m real glad you thought of it, Mrs. Hodgkins. I think we’ll all enjoy it, an’ if Miss Dayton does, that’s all we’ll ask for.”
“Well, ef here ain’t Joel,” said Mrs. Hodgkins, “an’ I’ll have ter be goin’; but I’ll come over an’ help ye git ready for the apple-bee, so good-by ’til I see ye again,” and she hastily took her departure, puffing down the walk like a small engine, and clambering into the wagon beside her husband. “Good-by, I’ll be over ter help ye,” she cried, looking back; then they jogged off down the road.
Randy and her mother turned from the doorway and walked back into the kitchen. “Look at that clock, Randy!” exclaimedMrs. Weston; “I guess it’ll be a funny dinner to-day,” and she commenced to make hasty preparations for the noon meal.
Mr. Weston laughed good-naturedly when he heard of the forenoon caller, and in consequence the “picked-up dinner.” “Lots of folks haven’t as good a dinner as this, mother,” said he, “and I must say, I’m glad she came in ter talk ter ye and so make ye stop workin’ a spell. Where is Prue?”
Sure enough, the little girl who was always eager to tell a part of any happening was, for once, not in evidence. So busy had Randy and her mother been, preparing the dinner, that Prue had not been missed.
“She went out when Mrs. Hodgkins went, don’t you remember, mother?” said Randy. “She ran down the path, waving her hand and saying good-by when they drove away.”
“Well, Randy, run out and find her, and tell her ter come in ter dinner. Dear me! I hope she hasn’t got inter some scrape.She’s been out of sight long enough fer anything.” Out rushed Randy, calling loudly, “Prue! Prue! where are you?”
“I’m right here, and I’m very busy,” came an answering shout from behind the house.
Around the house ran Randy, and such a funny sight she saw!
“Why, Prue Weston, you naughty girl!” said Randy in dismay.
“I ain’t naughty,” said the child.
“You are, too,” responded Randy, “to plague kitty like that. You just take her out of that rain-water tub this minute! If she wasn’t the best old cat in the world, she would have scratched you well for ducking her like that.”
Prue tried to lift pussy out, and Randy ran to help her.
Poor pussy! If Randy had been a few minutes later, she must surely have been drowned, for, just as Randy arrived, Prue was holding Tabby’s head under water “to let it soak,” she said.
“What ever made you do such a thing?” questioned Randy, when the cat was once more on dry land; “don’t you know that in a few minutes more you would have drowned her?”
“Drowned!” said Prue in a horrified whisper, “drowned, did you say, Randy?”
“Why, of course,” said Randy, impatiently; “don’t youknowshe’d drown with her head under water?”
“Why, Randy, that’s awful!” said Prue. “I didn’t mean to hurt Tabby. I only meant to help her. She comed down from the field what’s been burned over, and she was all smutty, and I thought I’d give her a good washing; so I put her in the tub, but the smut sticked awful, and I thought I’d soak her and p’rhaps she’d wash easier; and, Randy, whatever you say, sheisn’tdrowned one mite. Just see her washing herself dry in the sun.”
“Oh, Prue, Prue!” said Randy, “what shall I do with you? You do the queerest things! Go tell Tabby you’re sorry thisminute. If kitty had died, just think how you’d felt.”
“Now, don’t you make me cry, Randy,” said Prue, “’cause you know I love Tabby, and I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
The cat was an unusually placid animal, or she never would have permitted a little girl to do such a thing. Prue had always used her for a doll, dressing her up in all sorts of things, and sometimes dragging her about in a wooden box which she called a “carriage.” This alleged vehicle was an old soap box, beautifully padded with a woollen shawl. It had neither wheels nor springs, and as little Prue dragged it along, it thumped over twigs and stones with the most surprising jolts. Pussy, however, seemed to have a species of lethargy, for she slept through it all; so Prue insisted that she liked the ride. The family declared the cat to be absolutely without vim; but that deficiency in her make-up made her a delightful plaything for Prue.
After dinner Mrs. Weston talked long and seriously with her little daughter, telling her that as pussy was so gentle and willing to be played with, she ought to be very kind to her and never do anything that Tabby would not like.
“But I wanted Tabby to be clean in time for the folks to see her when we have the apple-bee,” said Prue.
“Oh, she’ll be clean as clean can be by that time,” said her mother, smiling. “She’ll have a whole week to wash in. I think that when you wish to do something to kitty different from what you’ve done before, you’d better come and ask me first.”
“I will,” said the little girl, promptly, and Mrs. Weston knew that pussy was safe from any new torment, for Prue always kept her word, and she loved Tabby dearly.
Early in the afternoon, as Mrs. Weston sat by the window mending, another wagon stopped at the door; and this time a tall,angular woman came up the path with nervous haste. The door was open, and without waiting to knock, the caller walked in and seated herself.
“There, I guess you’re s’prised to see me, Mis’ Weston, but I jest had ter come.”
“Well, I am surprised,” responded Mrs. Weston; “but I’m just as pleased ter see ye. Take off yer bunnit.”
“I’ll take it off jest ter show it ter ye,” said Mrs. Jenks. “I thought I’d had a change of heart years an’ years ago, but I guess I’ve jest got it now.”
“Do tell! Why, Mrs. Jenks, how ye talk,” and in blank amazement Mrs. Weston stopped mending, the stocking, however, still drawn over her hand.
“Well, ye might as well stop mendin’ an’ listen, fer I’ve come ter tell ye quite a story. It all began with this bunnit. I stepped over ter Mis’ Gray’s one mornin’ of an arrant, an’ I chanced to say something about not havin’ a decent bunnit fer Sunday, an’ I said I had a bunnitI’d bought down ter Barnses and quite a lot of old ribbon that was plenty good enough to trim it with; but, says I, I’ve no more idee how to trim it than a cat. Miss Dayton was just comin’ in the door with a lot of wild flowers and green stuff, and she offered, so sweetly, to call over in the afternoon and jest tack the ribbons on fer me that, some way, I had ter let her do it.
“Well, she came over and I got out my ribbon—it was that I had on a blue dress of mine once—and she sat down to trim it. It took some time, and to this day I don’t know how it came about, but the first thing I knew she was a-makin’ me see how much better it was to give rather than receive. Now I’ve been pretty ‘near’ and savin’, but I never meant ter be mean; but she led me to talk of the time when Reuben was little, and ’fore I knew it I was tellin’ that girl how I used to leave my work jist ter look at him in the old wooden cradle. I told her what I’d most forgot myself:how I could never let him lay there, but jest had ter take him up and hug him jest a minute an’ then go on with my work. I’ve never meant ter be hard with the boy, but p’r’aps I forgit sometimes that he’s pretty young still.
“Well, Miss Dayton looked up from the bows she was makin’ pretty, and says she, ‘Reuben’s a nice little fellow, and I think, if you were to try it, you’d find he liked petting still. I’ve talked with him many times since I’ve been here, and I find that his one idea seems to be to grow up as fast as possible so as to be able to help father and mother.’
“I tell ye, Mis’ Weston, I was all took back to find a sweet young girl who was ’most a stranger to us had learned my boy’s good traits ’fore I had. Well, when Reuben came in jist ’fore supper-time with his jacket with a big tear in it, I was jist ready ter say somethin’. He took the jacket off and hung it on my chair ter be mended; and layin’ his hand on my shoulder, he said,‘I wish I didn’t get my things tore quite so often, mother, but this time I couldn’t help it.’
“It took lots er resolution, but I jest kissed him on his forehead, and the s’prised look on his face made me realize how long it had been sence I’d kissed him before.
“‘Reuben,’ says I, ‘no matter what I say when I speak hasty, just remember that yer mother thinks the world of ye!’
“‘F you’ll believe me, that boy flew at me, and puttin’ his arms round my neck he said, ‘Why, mother, a minute ago I was awful sorry, and now I’m almost glad I tore my jacket.’
“‘So be I,’ says I, and then we both laughed, but we were jest as near cryin’, and I tell you, Mis’ Weston, I ain’t never goin’ ter have such a distance, so to speak, between my boy and me as there has been; I guess we understand each other now.”
“Well, I don’t know when I’ve heard any better news,” said Mrs. Weston, taking off her glasses and slowly wiping them.“I think pretty well of little Reuben, and I b’lieve, properly encouraged, he’ll make a good man.”
“Well, now, it beats all how Miss Dayton does things,” said Mrs. Jenks. “Some folks would have blundered about it in a way that would have made me mad, but to this day, I do say, I don’t know how she done it. And look at that bunnit,” continued enthusiastic Mrs. Jenks, “didn’t she make them bows pretty? I declare, there ain’t a prettier bunnit in the meetin’-house than that.”
“’Tis pretty,” assented Mrs. Weston; “just as pretty as it can be.”
“So I say,” said Mrs. Jenks, “and now this mornin’ I met Mis’ Hodgkins and her husband. ‘They’d just come from here,’ they said, ‘and,’ says Mis’ Hodgkins, ‘we’re goin’ ter have the first apple-bee ter Mis’ Weston’s and,’ says she, sorter smilin’, ‘I ain’t sure’s you’ll be very anxious ter help, but we’re all goin’ ter do our part ter help make a grand time fer Miss Dayton;’ andsays I, ‘If it’s fer Miss Dayton, I’ll agree to contribute anything you like toward the supper, and I’ll go right over now an’ tell Mis’ Weston so.’ My, but didn’t she look at me! I laughed ter myself, an’ I said right out loud, as I drove off, ‘Matilda Jenks, this is the last time any one will have a chance ter call ye stingy.’
“I commenced this mornin’ by givin’ Reuben a lot of maple sugar to treat the boys with, and I tell you Miss Dayton’s ’bout right, it does feel good to give. We’ve been prospered, and from this time forth I ain’t goin’ ter be foolish with this world’s goods; but IvowI won’t be mean; so I’ve come ter say that if there’s anythin’ I can offer ter help make the bee a success, jest say the word an’ you shall have it.”
“Mrs. Jenks,” said Mrs. Weston, kindly, “I always said ye hadn’t but one fault, and now you’ve overcome that, seems to me you’re pretty near perfect.”
“I guess there’s room fer improvement,” said Mrs. Jenks, grasping her friend’s extended hand,“but I’ve started in the right direction. Now, I must be goin’, and remember I’ll do anything ter help along that bee.”
Mrs. Weston promised to remember, and as rapidly as she came Matilda Jenks strode down the path and drove away.
A few minutes later Randy came running in at the door. “Oh, mother,” said she, “I ran out to look for Prue again, while Mrs. Jenks was talking, and, mother, she’s doing the cunningest thing. She’s playing read. She’s lying on the grass back of the house, with the fairy book in front of her. She’s making b’lieve read to Tabby. Do come and see her.”
Softly they made their way around the house and, sure enough, there lay Prue, the wonderful fairy book before her, her elbows on the book, and her chin in her hands. Soon they were near enough to hear what she was reading, and yet not to be observed.
Prue and Tabby reading the Fairy BookPrue and Tabby reading the Fairy Book
“Now, Tabby,” she was saying, “youmustn’tgo to sleep when I’m reading to you. Now you listen: The princess—that’s Miss Dayton, Tabby—is very beautiful, and so I know there must be a prince, somewhere, that she knows; ’cause, Tabby, in the fairy tales the princesses always has princes; and, Tabby, I’ll tell you truly, Miss Dayton is prettier than any picture in this book. And, Tabby, she loves little girls and big girls, like my Randy, and she loves big womens and old womens and old mens, like Sandy McLeod; and, Tabby, I b’lieve, I most b’lieve she loves you, and I’m going to ask her.
“She prob’ly does love you; she seems to love everybody. This isn’t all in the book, Tabby, but what I tell you that isn’t in the book is true. I’m most glad the fairy stories ain’t true; for if things did happen like what’s in the book, maybe you’d turn into a frog, and then, Tabby, I couldn’t hug you.”
Here Tabby rubbed her head against Prue’s little arm. “There,” said the child,“youknewwhat I said, didn’t you?” and she sprang up, catching Tabby in her arms to “love her,” as she called it.
“Oh, did you hear me reading to my kitty?” shouted Prue, as she caught sight of her smiling audience.
“We heard ye, and I guess some of it was full as pretty as what was in the book,” said Mrs. Weston, and together the three wended their way back to the house, followed by Tabby.
The apple-bee was to occur on Thursday evening, and Mrs. Weston and Randy, with little Prue for “errand boy,” had been busily employed in preparation for the delightful event. Prue made a fine little page, so delighted was she to be useful.
“Bring me the yellow mixin’ bowl, Prue,” called Mrs. Weston. Into the closet darted Prue, and over to the table with the big bowl she hastened. “Now what shall I do to help the apple-bee?” said she.
“Perhaps the apple-bee would like to have you pull all the stems off these raisins,” said her mother, laughing. So Prue sat down upon the large braided rug near the door and began to stem the raisins with all her might. Soon Mrs. Hodgkinsarrived and imperiously ordered her husband to “lug in that crock from the wagon.”
“For mercy’s sake!” ejaculated Mrs. Weston, “whatever have you got there?” as, puffing and blowing, Joel Hodgkins landed an immense stone crock upon the kitchen table.
“Well, I’ll tell ye,” said Mrs. Hodgkins; “I know this is no donation party, but I had this big crock er doughnuts, and I says, says I, ‘Somebody will eat ’em ef I take ’em over,’ so here they be.”
“Sophrony wouldn’t think she was takin’ part in the bee if some of her prize doughnuts wasn’t in the treat.”
Every one laughed at Joel Hodgkins’s speech, and the doughnuts were very kindly received.
“We all know that your doughnuts are the best in town,” said Mrs. Weston, “and I guess everybody’ll be glad to have one, I’m sure—” but the remark was left incomplete as she hastened to the door to admit Mrs. Jenks.
“How are ye, Mrs. Weston? I had Reuben drive me over, and I’ve brought a lot of those big red apples, ef ye don’t mind havin’ ’em. Reuben an’ I have rubbed and polished ’em ’til they shine like everything. I thought maybe they’d make the table look pretty,” and she flushed as she offered this first contribution of her life.
“They will look handsome,” said Mrs. Weston. “I declare it was real thoughtful in you to bring them. Why, for goodness’ sake! How many did ye bring?” as Reuben arrived with basket after basket, which he placed in a row upon the table, and then commenced to make another row upon the swing table on the opposite side of the room.
“I’ve no idee how many there is,” said Mrs. Jenks. “Reuben an’ I commenced rubbin’ and polishin’ ’em right after breakfast, and we never stopped rubbin’ ’til we was ready to start. Then we packed in the baskets, and here we be.”
Meanwhile the neighbors had removedbonnets and shawls, and three energetic housekeepers, with the help of Randy and little Prue, succeeded in “keeping things moving,” as Mrs. Jenks had expressed it.
Suddenly, Jotham Potts’s dark face peeped in at the door, with, “Say, Mrs. Weston, I’m a master hand at chopping, so any time I can help, just give me a chopping knife and tray, and I’ll work like a major.”
“I’ll bear ye in mind, and call ye when I want ye,” answered Mrs. Weston, and Prue rushed to the door to offer him a handful of raisins, saying, “I give them to you, Jotham, ’cause you’re the biggest and the nicest boy I know.”
“Thank you, pussy. Hey! where are you now?” and he swung the child lightly up on his shoulder.
“May I go with Jotham ’stead of picking any more raisins?”
“Yes, run along,” said her mother, glad to have her in the care of some one whom she could trust to keep her out of mischief.
So busily did every one work that by Wednesday night the cooking for the spread was completed. Old and young had helped with a will to make the evening a success, and at last Thursday arrived, although Prue confided to Randy that she “b’lieved it never would.”
When the final decorations for the apple-bee were in place, everything needed for the sumptuous spread ready, there was absolutely nothing to do but wait patiently for the evening to come.
The apples were to be cut, cored, and strung in the kitchen, the spread was to be in the “settin’ room,” and all the rooms were decorated so gayly that they appeared festive indeed. Randy had decorated the “best room,” making it gay with branches of autumn leaves, in gorgeous colors, and sprays of scarlet privet berries.
The Babson girls had had a bright idea in regard to trimming the “settin’ room.”
“What’s the reason we can’t tie the corn husks together at the tip ends, and keep ontying ’til we get enough to go around the room, and then hang up the long string of ears and husks just above the pictures?” queried Belinda Babson.
“Oh, Belinda!” screamed Randy, “that’s such a bright idea, what ever made you think of it?”
“I just did think of it, that’s all,” said Belinda, much pleased that her design for decoration met with approval. So the girls rushed out to the barn to find Mr. Weston and ask permission to use the corn.
“Land, yes,” he said when approached, “use anything within reach, I say, so long as it helps to make the house look pooty;” so, laughing gayly, the girls filled their aprons with corn, and running to the house commenced, in furious haste, to tie the husks together.
All the young friends had called that morning in a body to offer their help to Randy, and she had most gladly accepted it.
While the girls were tying the cornhusks, Jotham Potts and Reuben Jenks were making themselves very useful, for by this time the girls had discovered that it required a great many ears of corn with which to garland or festoon the room. The boys brought the corn in wheelbarrow loads and then offered to help do the tying.
“Oh, boys couldn’t do this,” said Phœbe Small, who was much piqued to see that whenever Jotham sat down to rest, he sat near Randy.
“That’s one of your pleasant speeches, Phœbe,” said Reuben Jenks, before his friend Jotham could reply; whereat Phœbe tied a hard knot in a corn husk with such unnecessary vim that it broke.
Reuben laughed slyly; and Randy with her usual kindness, appearing not to notice the tilt, praised Phœbe’s pretty arrangement of red and yellow ears, and thus smoothed “ruffled feathers.”
Jotham looked at Randy with real admiration. “I b’lieve she always does the right thing,” thought the boy; so Phœbe’s spiteonly strengthened the admiration of Randy’s young cavalier.
“I think I’ve got a first-rate notion for decorating,” said Jotham, “and if you’ll let me and Reuben do it I tell you we can make that front walk as light as day, and as handsome as a picture for to-night, Randy,” and Jotham looked at the girl with eyes that sparkled with enthusiasm.
“Of course I’ll let you do it, if it’s fine,” said Randy.
“Now you needn’t ask questions, for it’s a secret; and Reuben an’ me’ll do it, without telling anybody but your pa,” said Jotham, and out rushed the boys to hold a whispered conclave on the back stairs.
“My, won’t that be prime!” ejaculated Reuben, amazed at the brilliancy of Jotham’s plan, and proud to be taken into a secret by a boy three years older than himself.
Mr. Weston laughed long and loudlywhen the boys unfolded their plan, and declared that he’d do his part of it now. Accordingly, he soon appeared in the path which led from the road to the door, and began to drive long stakes into the ground on either side of the walk.
“What are you doing, father?” called Randy.
“Drivin’ stakes, ain’t I?” he responded, and with that she was obliged to be contented. The boys were out of sight, and the girls wondered what they were doing; but when at night a line of brilliant lights glowed on each side of the walk, they willingly declared the decoration a success.
Mr. Weston had driven the stakes quite near together and every one was capped with a jack-o’-lantern made from a great golden pumpkin, so that, from road to doorway, a line of grinning goblins served to give a flaming welcome.
At last everything was in readiness and the guests began to arrive. Reuben’s mother had listened with much interest tothe boy’s scheme, and had insisted on donating all the pumpkins required.
And now the wagons began to arrive, and great praise was bestowed upon the boys for their novel lighting of the walk. The pumpkins made very fine lamps, and one giant of its kind, fastened high above the door, smiled broadly upon each new arrival.
Team after team drove up to the door, and shouts and laughter rang out on the crisp evening air as the guests first saw the gleaming lantern rows.
At last nearly every one had arrived, and the rooms were bright with happy faces. In one corner a group of old ladies were chatting about the bees and huskings which they had enjoyed in their youth.
The farmers and their wives were buzzing away over the latest bit of village gossip, the women telling it as they “b’lieved it was,” and the men using convincing arguments to show that they had heard it “straight” at the store at the four corners.
Girls and boys tried to out-talk each other, and everywhere the children ran in and out, playing “hide-and-seek” behind the sturdy forms of their elders.
Helen had coaxed Randy to refrain from brushing back every curling lock, telling her that her hair was made to curl; and thus convinced, Randy appeared at the bee with a soft fluff of her light brown hair making a halo about her face.
“I must say Miss Dayton’s right; I like the looks of it,” said Mrs. Weston, when Randy appeared before her with her hair dressed in the manner which Miss Dayton had suggested; so with much impatience Randy waited to see the look of approval on Helen’s face when she should arrive. And others were looking for Helen in whose honor this festival was planned.
At last a resounding “Whoa! Be still, can’t ye?” announced the arrival of old Sandy McLeod, and great was the surprise when, as Randy opened the door, Helen—smiling, radiant Helen—came in, saying,“Good evening, friends,” and followed by her ancient cavalier, old Sandy.
“The lass is late because too many lads wanted to bring her,” said Sandy, his old eyes twinkling.
“That is true,” said Helen, laughing, “too many lads, so I gave my choice to the eldest. Now for my bundle,” and stepping out into the centre of the room Sandy showed, for the first time, that he held a large parcel.
“I have a little surprise for you, dear friends,” said Helen; “I wished to offer my mite toward the evening’s pleasure, so I will ask Mrs. Weston to allow Mr. McLeod—”
“Call me Sandy, lass,” said the old man, gently.
“To allow Sandy,” corrected the girl, “to place this box on the centre of the supper table, to be opened when we are all seated around the spread.”
So the big box held its place of honor, and great was the curiosity concerning it.
The children now commenced to play“the needle’s eye,” an old game popular among the country children, which is very similar to “London Bridge.”
“The needle’s eye it doth complyWith the thread which runs so true.It has caught many a very fine lass,And now it has caught you.”
Little Hitty Buffum found herself a prisoner. However, she was soon kissed and released, and through the arch formed by clasped hands and uplifted arms trooped the children, keeping time to the sing-song chant of the queer verse. They saw nothing funny in the verse, however, and played the game with great enthusiasm.
Meanwhile the apples were being pared by industrious hands and soon the “stringing” began. Merrily the work went on with jokes and lively chatter, and before it seemed possible the task was completed.
The boys now gathered up the parings, carried them away, and once more the room was in order.
“Now, friends,” said Randy’s father, “let’s all have supper.” No one waited for a second invitation, and a cheery, happy party made a complete circle around the long table. What a spread that was! Hot baked beans and brown bread, mince pies, pumpkin pies, gingerbread and doughnuts, nuts and apples, made a “treat for a king,” said old Sandy McLeod.
“Now, Mr. Weston,” said Helen, “please open my box;” and when the cover was removed a chorus of “Ohs” and “Ahs” greeted the sight disclosed. Helen had sent to Boston for an immense box of bonbons, and to those simple country people, who knew naught but home-made confections, the rose and violet tinted dainties looked like a fairy gift. But if they were unacquainted with such candies, it took a fabulously short time to learn to like them, and soon the bottom of the box appeared.
Happy Helen, to have given so much pleasure! And now the table which had been so bountifully spread was beginningto look bare, for everybody had had a most excellent appetite, and had done full justice to the meal. The chairs were pushed back and old Sandy asked to have a bit of music. “The little lassies who sang the other night, canna they sing?” said he, looking kindly at Prue and Katie, who were playing “bean porridge hot” together.
“Ain’t any pi-ano here,” said Katie.
“Never mind that,” said Helen; “I think if you and Prue sing the little songs which you sang the other evening so sweetly, Sandy will, in return, make some music for you.”
“That I will,” responded the old man, heartily; “but there’s naught so blithe as the sound of a bairnie’s voice.”
So wee Katie was mounted upon a chair, in lieu of a platform, and she sang the little solo, “Once there was a little mouse,” giving all the verses, and even remembering to make a little bow as Helen had taught her. Indeed, she bowed so vigorously that she barely escaped losing her balance. Then she hopped down, and little Pruesprang up in her place, singing, “Sometimes I am a daisy bloom,” just as she had sung it at Mrs. Gray’s on the evening of the tableaux. When she had finished the last lines,
“And next to those I love the bestI love each one of you,”
she kissed her little finger tips to her admiring audience, as Helen had taught her to do.
Every one applauded, and old Sandy called the children to him, saying, “I’ll make the music for ye now, I wad na hae the heart to refuse,” and rising hastily he left the room. Every one was surprised at this abrupt movement and wondered if the childish voice had moved him too deeply, awakening the memories of his Scottish home and friends.
Silent he had ever been in regard to home and kindred, answering questions in a manner which invited no further queries; but since Helen’s stay in the village he hadwarmed wonderfully toward his neighbors, and seemed quite unlike the silent old man whom they had known.
But while they were wondering about his absence, Sandy reappeared. What a change! Arrayed in all the bravery of a Scottish chieftain, old Sandy stood before them, a picture indeed.
Over a kilt of tartan he wore the red coat and plaid, and on his head, crowning his white locks, sat a genuine Scotch “bonnet,” with an eagle feather black as night. In his hands he carried the bagpipes, and while the children stared, open-mouthed, Sandy commenced to play. “Scots Wha Hae” rang out with a wonderful skirl, followed by “Bonnie Prince Charlie,” “Jock o’ Hazeldean,” and a half dozen more, until old Nathan Lawton declared that there was no keeping still with such music, and when at his request the pipes commenced to play a rollicking reel, old Nathan remarked that he used to cut “pigeon wings” and he guessed he could now, took his position inthe centre of the floor, and proceeded to cut them in a wonderful manner.
If the children were delighted, so were their elders, for was this not a treat of which they had not dreamed? and, best of all, two old people who had been so cold and forbidding now were warmed and charmed into a friendly feeling with all their neighbors.
When Sandy and Nathan Lawton stopped to rest and regain their breath, the young people crowded around them to thank them and to examine the fine Scotch costume which Sandy wore.
“That’s a pretty dress and jacket,” said little Prue, admiringly, “and you’ve got such a long sash, too.”
The child’s admiration for his costume pleased the old man, and it was of small consequence to him that she called his kilt a dress. Lifting Prue upon his knee, he stroked her short fair curls, telling her how like the little lass she was who used to be his playmate in bonnie Scotland.