DISH-WASHING.DISH-WASHING.
DISH-WASHING.
The boys sleep in wooden buildings, which are roofed over, but thoroughly ventilated, and the lads seem cozy enough lying curled up in army blankets or on mattresses placed on the floor. They may, if they wish, take a dip in the lake before breakfast,and no one who has not tried it can realize the brightening, bracing, "wakening-up" effect of that morning dip! How it clears the brain and invigorates the body, making one feel equal to all things, strong and ready to do! The regular morning swim does not take place until later,—about eleven o'clock, after the camp work is completed. All through the week the boys may wear shoes and stockings, or they may go barefoot, just as they happen to fancy, and the camp costume consists of a gray flannel shirt and short trousers.
On Sundays, however, they all wear, in addition, scarlet stockings, and scarlet caps, while their gray shirts are laced with scarlet cords. A bonny crew they look, as they push off in the "church boat" at three o'clock, to meet, at Cox's beach, half a mile away, any visitors from the neighboring hotel or farm-houses who may wish to join in the Sunday services. These are conducted in a lovely spot called the "chapel," on the farther side of the island. Rustic seats are ranged around an open space, in the center of which, above a rock forming a natural altar, rises a large cross made of white birch. This altar is dressed with leaves and flowers by the boys, before the service begins; and after the little congregation is assembled, one hears in the distance clear young voices singing some processional hymn, and along a path through the woods, with the sunlight dancing in and out among the branches, the boys come nearer and nearer. Then they take their places at the place appointed for the choir, whilst Mr. Ernest Balch takes his on the other side of the flower-decked rock, and reads the service.
THE SUNDAY SERVICE AT THE 'CHAPEL.'THE SUNDAY SERVICE AT THE "CHAPEL."
THE SUNDAY SERVICE AT THE "CHAPEL."
The offertory made at these services goes to the different charities contributed to by the camp, and more than one sick boy or girl in different hospitals have whiled away hours of loneliness and suffering by readingSt. Nicholas,which those happy, healthy boys at Camp Chocorua have sent them as a solace in their pain. Sunday afternoon is devoted to writing letters to home-folk, and in the evening, at prayers, Mr. Balch has a quiet talk with the boys in the chapel.
The summer sports take place in August, and consist of fancy swimming and diving, canoe and boat racing, base-ball and tennis. Last year the parents and friends of the boys, to the number of one hundred, accepted the invitation of the camp, and dined there at the conclusion of the sports,which lasted two days. A few weeks later some little plays were acted by the boys. These were very clever productions, and they were excellently performed. The price of admission was modestly placed at fifteen cents, but the visitors gave more than that, since the object of the entertainment was to add to money already collected which was to be devoted to endowing a bed in a children's free hospital, so soon as the required amount could be raised. A huge bonfire was burning brightly on the shore, and dozens of red-capped boys darting about in its ruddy blaze, proved a picturesque contrast to the great white moon as it rose slowly above the mountains and threw a broad band of silvery light across the lake, while from boat to boat cheery "good-nights" rang over the water as the guests who had enjoyed the evening's festivities were rowed to shore.
THEIR FIRST APPEARANCE UPON ANY STAGE.—A CHARITY PLAY INTHEIR FIRST APPEARANCE UPON ANY STAGE.—A CHARITY PLAY IN THE WOODS.
THEIR FIRST APPEARANCE UPON ANY STAGE.—A CHARITY PLAY IN THE WOODS.
These charities at Camp Chocorua mean, in the purest sense of the words, "helping others out of one's own store," for the money contributed by the boys is their own, fairly earned by them to do with as they please. Once in camp, an equal weekly allowance is given to every boy, no matter what may be the difference in their parents' means. This allowance is small, and if more money is desired, either for candy, or soda water, or as a contribution to the charities, or to buy materials for a new canoe, or to purchase a canoe already built,—for any extra luxury in fact,—the boy with such desires is obliged to earn the money needed, and work which is paid for at the regular rate of wages for labor will always be furnished him whereby he can earn it. Contracts can be taken for leveling paths, or building walls, or anything else which is needed at the camp, and the money earned by such work is deposited in the Chocorua Bank by the boy earning it. Against this amount on deposit, he draws his check in strict business fashion, which check is duly honored and cashed. If at the end of the term any surplus remains to his credit, he has entire right to dispose of it as he may choose, but no money from home is granted a boy exceeding the original sum stipulated as his weekly allowance. Just as men work and make money, and learn how to use that money in the outer world, so do theseboys work, and make money and use it in this miniature world at Camp Chocorua. By the time they are ready to enter a larger sphere in life, they know and appreciate the worth of money honestly earned, and understand the true art of spending it.
Lest the boys should in truth become very water-sprites, they go, toward the end of the term, for a week's tramp over the hills. A large canvas-topped wagon, drawn by oxen, carries blankets and provisions, and any boys who grow tired and foot-sore can have a lift when they feel like it. They camp out at night and have many amusing adventures by day; and at the different farmhouses to which they come in their wanderings, fresh milk is willingly furnished to the jolly, brown-faced, red-capped lads, who make the hills ring cheerily with their songs and laughter. Each year the youngest boy of the whole party is called the camp "infant," and is accorded several extra privileges, not the least of which is the right of tasting the ice-cream whenever it is made, without having been obliged to assist in making it.
Were I a boy, the life at Camp Chocorua would be my idea of a thoroughly good time, combining as it does plenty of fun, and a free, open-air life, with the acquisition of much useful knowledge for one's self, and the habit of exercising a thoughtful helpfulness for others.
"Under the greenwood tree,Who loves to lie with me,And tune his merry noteUnto the sweet bird's throat;Who doth ambition shun,And loves to live in the sun,Seeking the food he eats,And pleased with what he gets,—Come hither, come hither, come hither,Here shall he seeNo enemy."—
"Under the greenwood tree,Who loves to lie with me,And tune his merry noteUnto the sweet bird's throat;Who doth ambition shun,And loves to live in the sun,Seeking the food he eats,And pleased with what he gets,—Come hither, come hither, come hither,Here shall he seeNo enemy."—
"Under the greenwood tree,
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note
Unto the sweet bird's throat;
Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live in the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleased with what he gets,—
Come hither, come hither, come hither,
Here shall he see
No enemy."—
These lines from Shakspere's "As You Like It" came to me again and again as Papa finished the reading of a circular which a friend had handed him.
"Camp Harvard," so the circular declared, "is located on the shore of one of New Hampshire's most picturesque lakes, about equidistant from Winchendon, Mass., and Rindge, N. H. The design of the camp is to furnish boys with a rational and healthy outdoor life during the summer months, where, under competent care and supervision, they can learn to swim, row, fish, do some tramping and mountain-climbing, and engage in other manly sports; form and cultivate good habits, and build up their bodily strength. The cabins are of wood, roofed, floored, commodious, and weatherproof. Each member has a cot. The best of wholesome food is provided."
"I know one of the two young men who established Camp Harvard," said Papa, as he concluded the reading of the circular. "They are students at the Cambridge Theological Seminary. I have made some inquiries, and I shall be glad to have you spend the summer in the woods with them. I presume the other boys will be much younger than yourself, but you would, doubtless, find many of them companionable; and life in the open air, for a couple of months, would, I think, be pleasant and beneficial to you."
It was a long time before I fell asleep that night. I had always been anxious to camp out, and here was a glorious opportunity.
Then followed busy days. The circular said: "Boys are recommended to bring, in addition to the clothes they travel in, two gray flannel shirts, two pairs old trousers, knickerbockers (one pair corduroy), long rubber coat, swimming trunks, two pairs heavy blankets (dark), strong shoes (one or two pairs with rubber soles), old overcoat, ordinary underclothing, stout red belt, high stockings (two pairs dark red), slippers, night-shirts orpajamas, brush and comb, sponge, towels, soap-case, two tooth-brushes, tennis racquet, skull-cap, belt-knife, and an old jacket."
Mamma saw that I was supplied with all these things, and on the morning of July 1, I took my place on a railroad train, bound for Rindge. As we approached Rindge, I spied a large mountain-wagon with four horses drawn up alongside the shanty which served as a depot. I was confident that this was for the campers, for it already contained five boys. Ten boys left the train. The divinity student, who was one of the "masters" of the camp, and whom I had already met in the city, welcomed me, and we all took seats in the wagon. Up hill and down we traveled, and the horses seemed to enjoy it as much as we did. Mountain drivers have a way of slowing up their horses going downhill, and sending them up on a gallop. Now the road wound along a narrow ledge beside Monomonock and thence onward through a dense forest, where tall, straight sugar maplesraised their leafy crowns high in air; smooth beeches, with round, gray trunks, stood like massive pillars; and great yellow birches, with shaggy, curling bark and gnarled limbs, rose like monarchs above the lesser trees. Finally, a sudden turn in the road brought us face to face with the words, "CAMP HARVARD," in large red letters on a sign suspended from a noble oak. The gate-bars were down and a ride of less than half a mile farther brought us to a pretty grove where clustered the cabins that composed the camp.
ARRIVAL OF THE MAIL.)ARRIVAL OF THE MAIL. (SEE PAGE610.)
ARRIVAL OF THE MAIL. (SEE PAGE610.)
Who has not felt the pleasures of life in the forest? It is quite impossible to put them into words, or to make one who has never experienced them understand what they are.
There is a sense of freedom and freshness every hour. A round of simple, natural toils and amusements fills up each day. The ear soon becomes attuned to the surroundings, and it begins to hear a gentle sound, like the dropping of ceaseless rain. It is the pattering of the minute particles falling from spruce and pine and hemlock, to mingle with decaying roots and underbrush and form the rich, dark forest-mold on which every step falls so softly. Then there is a rustling of leaves, a pattering of quick, light feet, and a red squirrel runs along a fallen trunk, peers at one curiously, and, half in fear, half in audacity, gives its sharp, shrill bark. A little bird which one can not see pierces the air with a slender, long-drawn note. A woodpecker beats his sounding tattoo on a hollow tree, and, growing bolder, comes nearer and nearer, until perhaps he ventures to try the very trunk against which you are leaning.
Everything about the camp was examined by us with great interest. First the cookhouse, where a man was preparing dinner. This cabin contained a range, two long tables, a refrigerator, and a great quantity of cooking utensils. All the dishes, cups, saucers, and platters were of tin and shone like mirrors. Adjoining, was the storehouse, which was the base of table supplies. The sleeping cabin was about fifty feet in length and oblong, with a slanting roof. The upper half of sides and rear were "flaps," swinging on hinges. These were open during the day, but usually closed at night. Above the flaps was an open space of fourteen inches all around, and overthis the eaves projected. Cots were ranged about the sides of the cabin, and choice of these was decided by lot. At one end was an open veranda, where the dining-tables stood. Large reflecting lanterns were placed at intervals, and several small lights hung in a row near the entrance.
There were an ample medicine chest and other useful camp features, and over one end of the cabin was a loft for trunks. Fifty feet from the cabin was the beach. The pretty lake showed scarcely a ripple upon its fair surface. It was three miles long and at some points a mile wide, with many coves and inlets. Part of it seemed like a succession of small lakes. Along the shore, were boats in great variety, from the flat-bottomed fishing-boats to the racing gig with its outriggers and delicate lines. The silent hills beyond lifted themselves toward heaven in the glory of enduring strength, while old Monadnock towered aloft as commander over all.
CAMPING OUT ON MOUNT MONADNOCK.CAMPING OUT ON MOUNT MONADNOCK. (SEE PAGE611.)
CAMPING OUT ON MOUNT MONADNOCK. (SEE PAGE611.)
The tooting of a horn summoned us back to headquarters. Trunks were put in place, blankets and the camp toggery brought forth; we exchanged our city clothes for the latter, and life at Camp Harvard began. Consulting the bulletin, I found myself assigned to duty as "table-boy," with one of the fellows who came up on the train as my associate. It was new work for me, but one of the masters took hold with us. The table was soon set and a steaming hot dinner was brought from the cookhouse. Grace was said by one of the masters, the company all standing with bare heads; then caps were resumed and hungry appetites began to be appeased. Great milk-cans, each holding ten quarts, were brought up from the icehouse. The supply of bread, vegetables, or meat needed constantreplenishing. When dinner was over and the table had been cleared and the floor swept, my duties ceased until supper-time. The camp work was done by detachments of boys whose assignments varied with each day. A bulletin containing the assignments for the following day was posted each evening, so that every boy knew in advance what was required of him. All campers, masters included, shared the daily labors. The plan succeeded admirably. Each boy grew to be particular in the discharge of his duties, for neglect was seen to be a boomerang. For instance, if the boy whose special care happened to be drinking-water, failed to keep up a fresh supply, the other fellows who had to suffer for his shortcomings made life a burden to him; and so the whole camp acted as a sort of police force to keep each member up to the mark. This arrangement transferred much responsibility from the masters to the boys themselves, and a sense of responsibility is a good thing for anybody.
After supper, a roaring camp-fire was built, and by this time we all were very well acquainted, and gradually came out of our shells. The masters were plied with questions, and yarns were spun. Perhaps the pleasantest feature of camp life was the evening gathering around the blazing logs, and the nine o'clock horn always seemed to toot ahead of time. The brother of one of the masters had spent a year among the mines and ranches of Colorado, and his graphic descriptions and thrilling tales were admirably adapted to our willing ears. Songs we always had. They may not have ranked high as literary productions; any lack in this respect, however, was more than made up by their spirited rendering. Here is one, to the tune of "It's a way we have at old Harvard":
"It's a way we have at Camp Harvard,It's a way we have at Camp Harvard,It's a way we have at Camp Harvard,To pass the time away.If I'd a son or a ward, sir,A 'dig,' a prig, or a bard, sir,—I'd send him to Camp Harvard, sir,To pass the time away."For we'd like to have you know, sir,That shirking is no go, sir;First work, then play, and so, sir,We pass the time away."Now if you really wish, sir,An epicurean dish, sir,Just wait till we bake this fish, sir,To pass the time away."
"It's a way we have at Camp Harvard,It's a way we have at Camp Harvard,It's a way we have at Camp Harvard,To pass the time away.If I'd a son or a ward, sir,A 'dig,' a prig, or a bard, sir,—I'd send him to Camp Harvard, sir,To pass the time away.
"It's a way we have at Camp Harvard,
It's a way we have at Camp Harvard,
It's a way we have at Camp Harvard,
To pass the time away.
If I'd a son or a ward, sir,
A 'dig,' a prig, or a bard, sir,—
I'd send him to Camp Harvard, sir,
To pass the time away.
"For we'd like to have you know, sir,That shirking is no go, sir;First work, then play, and so, sir,We pass the time away.
"For we'd like to have you know, sir,
That shirking is no go, sir;
First work, then play, and so, sir,
We pass the time away.
"Now if you really wish, sir,An epicurean dish, sir,Just wait till we bake this fish, sir,To pass the time away."
"Now if you really wish, sir,
An epicurean dish, sir,
Just wait till we bake this fish, sir,
To pass the time away."
—and so on through several stanzas.
By ten o'clock every night, we wrapped ourselves up in our blankets, lights went out, and silence reigned. I didn't chafe much under this rule, for the true camper is always asleep as soon as he lies down. The next thing I heard was a buzzing sound—the alarm clock had rung, it was half-past six, and the sunlight was streaming in upon the campers. Several of us jumped into the lake for a bath; later in the season this morning plunge became general, and every fellow had to report with soap and tooth-brush. After breakfast, there came the usual camp work,—lanterns to be filled, the sleeping cabin to be swept out, various "police" duties to be attended to, and fuel to be provided; at eleven, there was instruction in swimming. And so the days went by. The work was so systematized as not to fall heavily upon any one person, unless he shirked; and there was ample time for base-ball, cricket, tennis, fishing, boating, and other amusements. When the days were very warm, hammocks were very popular. The Fourth of July was celebrated with appropriate exercises. The Stars and Stripes floated gayly from our staff, and the cabins were decked with bunting and small flags. At night, the farmers and woodsmen, with their sisters, cousins, aunts, and sweethearts, began to swarm down upon us and lined the lake shore. Our fireworks were set off from a scow anchored one hundred yards from land, and the effect was fine.
Sunday morning breakfasts were after the most approved New England fashion,—baked beans, brown bread, fishballs, and chocolate. Everybody was expected to write a letter home during the forenoon. After dinner came the choir rehearsal, followed by four o'clock service in a picturesque little opening in the woods which nature seemed to have designed for a chapel. There rough benches had been made under the shadowy trees, and the sylvan chancel had been carpeted with moss. At the back of the chancel, stood a great rude cross, outlined boldly against the somber background of dense forest; and directly before us was a rustic pulpit. Our Sunday service in this woodland sanctuary was attended by large numbers of strangers, many driving a distance of twelve or fifteen miles. The master who acted as minister wore a white surplice and read the service of the Episcopal Church. The chants and a familiar hymn were sung to a violin accompaniment. Then came a short address.
A collection was always taken up in behalf of the Charity Fund, which, at the end of the season, the boys voted to divide between the Sheltering Arms Nursery of Brooklyn, and the Boys' Home in Boston.
The mail arrived at noon and sunset each day, being brought by "the captain," an aged member of an historic New Hampshire family. The captain was often accompanied by his good wife. She was a motherly creature, and both were prime favorites at camp. The captain had served his country in the war, and had many a yarn to spin.
The camp dog was a splendid Newfoundlandnamed Duke, and he was the champion swimmer. Two of the campers had cameras and took photographs, which they sold at good profit.
We were often visited by city people boarding at some one of the farmhouses within a radius of ten or twelve miles. Some of these visitors came often, and apparently found considerable satisfaction in observing the details of camp life. Some of us knew a number of Boston and New York people at one of the most popular of these boarding-houses, and one day these friends gave us a most enjoyable entertainment, consisting of a lawn-party, a tennis tournament, and a supper. At another time, we went to a sheet-and-pillow-case party at the same place. Later on, some friends at another boarding-house delighted us with a series of tableaux and charades, followed by supper.
THE MORNING PLUNGE IN THE LAKE.THE MORNING PLUNGE IN THE LAKE.
THE MORNING PLUNGE IN THE LAKE.
Several business partnerships were formed among the boys. Contracts for work were awarded to the firms making the lowest bids. The successful bidders would hire other boys to help them. The specifications had to be strictly observed. Among other things, a new wharf was built, one of the cabins shingled, and another covered with tar-paper.
Boys could do as they pleased with money earned in this way. Idleness was not popular.
One fine day, we took a long tramp up Mount Monadnock. An early start was made, and by noon we had covered more than half the distance. Halt was ordered in a shady grove, and before long our wagon arrived with blankets, rubber coats, cooking utensils, provisions, and various tools. We had a substantial lunch while resting on the banks of a pretty brook, before we resumed our march.
We soon reached the base of the mountain, and then the climb began. But it is a long lane that knows no turning, and rest came at last. We drove stakes in a picturesque glen on a plateau just below the summit,—a well-chosen spot, shielded from the wind. A bountiful supply of fuel and of pine boughs for bedding was immediately secured. A fireplace was built, and our supper soon began to stew in the great kettle which hung from a tripod. One of our favorite dishes was flapjacks. Numerous visitors came from the fashionable hotel down the mountain, where, the next evening, an impromptu entertainment was given to us. We were on the mountain three days, and they were full of incident and pleasure. At night, we slept around the blazing logs, and two boys were assigned to stand watch each hour, so that no one was deprived of much sleep. Every fellow washed his own plate, cup, knife, and spoon after each meal, and submitted them for inspection to one of the boys who acted as assistant-master. We all were sorry to leave the old mountain. But it was good to plant foot once more upon our native heath. And Camp Harvard was always dearer than ever when we returned to it after such an expedition.
Until he could swim a certain distance, no camper was allowed in the boats. All of the boys were soon quite at home in and on the water. One of the Philadelphia boys made the best mile record. There were various organizations in camp, such as cricket, base-ball, tennis, and rowing clubs,and a society of naturalists. Then there were various committees. The steward of the Charity Fund was very energetic, and before we broke up camp, he had collected a great quantity of used clothing, which we voted to divide between the newsboys of New York and Boston.
On August 13 and 14 came the annual athletic meeting. There were all sorts of exercises, with first and second prizes in each, and entries closed on the 12th. Crowds of visitors came each day. The tennis tournament was hotly contested in both singles and doubles, but the boat races and tug-of-war were the most exciting events. Long and short distance walking and running; sack and obstacle races; throwing the hammer; climbing; running, standing, and broad jumps; diving; swimming contests,—all were included in the programme. On the night of the 14th, we entertained a large company of visitors at supper, and a lady very gracefully presented the prizes. Then followed fireworks and music. I had won either first or second prizes in several events, and experienced the proud distinction of having my name telegraphed to a Boston paper, whose editor was rusticating near by. Some of the records were very good, considering that the boys, with the single exception of myself, were only from ten to fourteen years old.
There was not a single case of serious accident or illness for the camp diary to record. We were all healthily bronzed, and were as hardy as only life in the open air can make boys; and I am sure that camp life enabled us all to do better work at school during the winter.
We broke camp on the morning of September 1. The night before, we had as guests our neighbors for miles around. Our good friends the Deacon and the Captain each made touching speeches, and the camp resounded again and again with three times three "'rahs" for them and other summer friends, each named in turn. The night was very cold, but every heart was warm. Sky-rockets shot through the air, bombs, flower-pots, and other fireworks exploded, and Lake Monomonock looked almost like a sheet of fire. Then amid this blaze of glory our guests departed to the tune of our favorite song. Lake Monomonock settled down to its somber stillness; old cloud-capped Monadnock loomed above us like the great pyramid, and now came a realizing sense of the sad parting which the morrow threatened to bring us.
Morning came at last. The wind blew fresh and made the air as clear as crystal. Four-horse teams were in readiness, horns were produced, and with one long last look, off we started. Our woodland home never seemed so fair as when we turned our faces away from it. Those fragrant pine-trees had heard boys cheer before, but never until now with such lusty vigor and manifest feeling had come forth that inspiring watch-cry of:
"'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! 'rah! 'rah! 'rah! 'rah! 'rah! 'rah! CAMP HARVARD!"
Robin on the tilting bough,Red-breast rover, tell me howYou the weary time have passedSince we saw and heard you last."In a green and pleasant land,By a summer sea-breeze fanned,Orange-trees with fruit are bent;There the weary time I've spent."Robin rover, there, no doubt,Your best music you poured out;Piping to a stranger's ear,You forgot your lovers here."Little lady, on my word,You do wrong a true-heart bird!Not one ditty would I sing,'Mong the leaves or on the wing,In the sun or in the rain;Stranger's ear would list in vain.If I ever tried a note,Something rose within my throat.'Twas because my heart was trueTo the North and spring-time new;My mind's eye a nest could seeIn yon old, forked apple-tree!"
Robin on the tilting bough,Red-breast rover, tell me howYou the weary time have passedSince we saw and heard you last.
Robin on the tilting bough,
Red-breast rover, tell me how
You the weary time have passed
Since we saw and heard you last.
"In a green and pleasant land,By a summer sea-breeze fanned,Orange-trees with fruit are bent;There the weary time I've spent."
"In a green and pleasant land,
By a summer sea-breeze fanned,
Orange-trees with fruit are bent;
There the weary time I've spent."
Robin rover, there, no doubt,Your best music you poured out;Piping to a stranger's ear,You forgot your lovers here.
Robin rover, there, no doubt,
Your best music you poured out;
Piping to a stranger's ear,
You forgot your lovers here.
"Little lady, on my word,You do wrong a true-heart bird!Not one ditty would I sing,'Mong the leaves or on the wing,In the sun or in the rain;Stranger's ear would list in vain.If I ever tried a note,Something rose within my throat.
"Little lady, on my word,
You do wrong a true-heart bird!
Not one ditty would I sing,
'Mong the leaves or on the wing,
In the sun or in the rain;
Stranger's ear would list in vain.
If I ever tried a note,
Something rose within my throat.
'Twas because my heart was trueTo the North and spring-time new;
'Twas because my heart was true
To the North and spring-time new;
My mind's eye a nest could seeIn yon old, forked apple-tree!"
My mind's eye a nest could see
In yon old, forked apple-tree!"
(NOTE.—It is said that the robin does not sing during its winter stay in the South.)
LITTLE MISS MABEL
———
———
Little Miss Mabel,Brimming with play,Turned into GrandmammaAll in a day."Now, children, you seeHow I look," said she,"And Grandmamma HarrisLooked just like me.They always do; it's the natural way.All children take after their Grandmas, they say."
Little Miss Mabel,Brimming with play,Turned into GrandmammaAll in a day."Now, children, you seeHow I look," said she,"And Grandmamma HarrisLooked just like me.They always do; it's the natural way.All children take after their Grandmas, they say."
Little Miss Mabel,
Brimming with play,
Turned into Grandmamma
All in a day.
"Now, children, you see
How I look," said she,
"And Grandmamma Harris
Looked just like me.
They always do; it's the natural way.
All children take after their Grandmas, they say."
Mr. Atherton has been the master of the Centreville Academy ever since I can remember. A few months ago, however, he was offered a better position in the city, and he decided to leave Centreville. We were very sorry, for we all liked him; and now that he has left, it really seems as if a part of the building itself had been taken away.
We were to have a public examination during the last two days of his stay, and Florence Grantley had thought of a beautiful project. She always has good ideas, though I must say they are generally rather expensive. But then her father is rich, and I suppose she never has to think twice before spending a dollar, as some of us are obliged to do. Her plan was to buy an album, put all our pictures in it, and present it to Mr. Atherton before the company, after he had closed the school. The girls wished me to make the presentation address. Of course I was enthusiastic about it, and went home thinking over what I should say and should wear, and all that. There are fifteen girls in our class, and Florence said she knew of a lovely album, one we wouldn't be ashamed to give him. It would cost only eleven dollars and twenty-five cents; and that, you see, would be only seventy-five cents apiece. I went in to dinner full of the new project, and began to talk about it at the table.
But Father vetoed it at once. He said he didn't believe in the idea at all. It would be too expensive for some of us, and he did not wish to hear another word about it.
When Father takes that tone, of course there's no more to be said. I am too old to cry before everybody, but I didn't wish any more dinner, and as soon as possible I went up to my room and had a good cry.
Mother came upstairs as quickly as she could. I knew she would. Mother is a born comforter. Oh, what do girls do who have no mother? She told me I must remember how hard Father had to work for every dollar, and that although what he said sometimes sounded harsh, it was only because his business troubles made him worry, and it added to them to have us wish for things he felt he couldn't afford. Dear Mother! I wonder if she ever wishes for things she doesn't get.
Then I told Mother all about it; that it was not merely that one plan, but that I could never join in any project that came up. All the other girls had birthday parties and I went, but never gave one in return. "Of course I don't expect that," said I, feeling a little conscience-stricken, as I saw the look on Mother's face. "Birthdays are so common in this family, of course we can't notice them; but I thought this time we had found something Father could sympathize with. He so often speaks of Mr. Atherton, and the respect he has for him—but of course that's all over now. If I can't, I can't; itdoesseem hard though never to do as the others do."
"I know it, child," Mother said, softly touching my hair. "Many things are hard. You are old enough now to know a little of the life of your elders," she went on; "and you must remember that it is absolute necessity, and not lack of sympathy, that forces Papa to say no, as he sometimes does."
"Well, if he would only soften it a little," I couldn't help saying. "A blunt no is a great deal harder to bear."
"I know, dear," Mother said, with a sigh; "but Father thinks he does what is best."
"But what can I say, Mother. I must let them know I can't contribute. This very afternoon they'll all be talking of it."
"Tell them nothing positively. Say as little as possible; and give me time to think."
At this, my mind was relieved immediately. I was sure the trouble would somehow end in just the right way, though I knew Mother couldn't squeeze the money from the housekeeping allowance, even if she could think it right to do so after what Father had said. But I had faith that Mother would manage for me, so I went to school, feeling very confident, and said as little as possible.
That night Mother came to my room and told me to invite all of my class to spend Thursday evening with us. "You know Grandpa sent us a barrel of apples," she said, "a bushel of nuts, and some corn to pop. May be I'll make a cake or two, and the coffee will not cost much. Fortunately, we have dishes enough. That will offset the birthday parties a little, and make you have a good time, too. If you know any really nice boys, invite them, and may be Papa'll get out his violin, and you can have a little dance."
You see, Mother was a girl herself once. She doesn't forget her feelings, and she talks over such things with me just as though she were another girl. Of course I was only too delighted to obey, but still, I must confess, although it was very nice, it didn't help me out of the real difficulty a bit. It gave the girls something fresh to talk about, however; and as it would be three weeks before Mr. Atherton would leave, the subject of his present dropped out of sight for a few days.
But that matter of the boys troubled me a great deal. We girls are all about fourteen and fifteen, and really, while we are almost young ladies, boys at that age are very boyish. They don't know what to do with their hands, nor how to ask one to dance, nor to do anything nicely. I mean the generality of boys; of course my brothers do, but then they have had Mamma to train them, and sisters to practice with ever since they were little, which, of course, makes a difference. If it were not that I hated to give up the dancing, and if it wasn't such a bother to dance with a girl with a handkerchief tied on her arm—because she keeps forgetting she is a boy, and taking the wrong hand and everything is put out—I should have given up the idea of asking any boys.
Again I flew to my never-failing refuge in time of trouble, and Mother drew out her needle slowly from the stocking she was darning, and began to consider the matter.
"You see, Mother, it isn't a grand affair, but I want it to be as pleasant a time of its kind as possible, and a lot of awkward boys would just spoil it."
"Now, don't decry the boys, my dear; they are a very good institution in their place."
"Yes, indeed, but their place is sliding downhill, or skating, not in a girls' party trying to be agreeable; and they have sense enough to know it. You know yourself how impossible it is to get Joe to go anywhere with me, and he is a model of politeness, compared with most of his associates."
"Well, it wouldn't be quite fair to punish the boys, and girls, too, in trying to amuse them," Mother replied. "There are boys enough who would be interested in this little gathering of yours. There are those three lads at the minister's, who are fitting themselves for college. They are not more than sixteen years old, and ought not to be above a little informal party. Besides, Mrs. Grey told me she wished they knew some people who would make their stay pleasanter for them. Then there is young Mr. Adams, at Dr. Preston's, I know he would come, and his mother wrote me, asking me to be good to him."
"Oh, what a dear mother you are,thatputs the success of the thing beyond doubt!"
"There are four good names, then, to start with," said Mother; "and those, with John and Sam, Father's young friends, will be a good beginning. As for the rest, let the girls themselves invite them; there's nothing like making people responsible for the success of a thing."
Well, the next day being Wednesday I took the class into my confidence, and between us all we made out a list of gentlemanly and agreeable boyfriends; but the four that Mother took it upon herself to invite were the best of all.
Well, every one came; not one of the thirty was missing. Through all Father's troubles, we had kept our house, because Mother's father gave it to her when she married. It was a large old-fashioned house with a wide hall that went right through it; two sets could dance there and one in each parlor. When I was tired, Mother took my place at the piano; and with Father at the violin we had as good music as one could wish for dancing. All the girls wore their best dresses but without finery, and everything went off beautifully. At eleven we had our simple refreshments. Mother had cut up a sheet of mottoes and scattered them among the popped corn, and they made ever so much fun. When that was over and we were standing about before beginning anything else, Father suddenly spoke up, saying that there was a little matter to which he would like to call attention; he supposed that the masculine portion of his audience would hardly be thrilled, but the girls, he knew, would be deeply interested. Then he went on to say that there had been some talk among the young ladies of getting up a surprise present for their teacher, and that an album had been spoken of; but he said he had a scheme that seemed to him much better. Then he brought out a sheet of Bristol board, beautifully ornamented with scroll work, and handsomely engrossed upon it was a set of resolutions saying how sorry we were that Mr. Atherton was going to leave, how much we had profited by his stay with us, and expressing our best wishes for his future. I don't, of course, give all this in Father's words, but after he had read the testimonial, he made a capital, witty speech. Then he called on us all to sign the testimonial if we approved it. He told us, too, that he could have the sheet nicely framed for three dollars, which would involve a cost of only twenty cents to each subscriber; and he would venture to say that Mr. Atherton would be even better pleased with the testimonial proposed than with something more expensive.
Of course it "took" immediately; all the girls were delighted and signed it there and then, in their very best handwriting, and most of them paid their twenty cents at once. We empowered Father to have it framed, and they voted that I should make the presentation. But the fact that Father had entered into it so well and done so much just for my pleasure touched me more than all. I knew that he had given a great deal of attention to ornamental penmanship, but I had no idea he could make so handsome a scroll as that testimonial. I always knew, of course, that Father loved his children. If any of us are sick, he is as tender as a woman; and he daily makes all manner of sacrifices for us; but here he showed that he had a great deal of sympathy with all our hopes and plans.
Of course, with the cake and coffee and everything, the entertainment cost more than my contribution and picture would have done, but it seems that Mother had been planning for some time to do something for me which should help me pay my party obligations, and that was not the only time when she proved that she has "the happy faculty of common sense," as Father says.
I do believe my little party was more talked about than those of many of the other girls, though they cost many times as much money as did mine.
Well, examination day came, and when I presented the testimonial to Mr. Atherton, though I said only a word or two, he could hardly speak at all, and he told Father afterward that we couldn't have pleased him better. It seems that he had heard some whispers about a present, and had a fear that it was going to be something expensive, and felt troubled about it; for, as he told Father, he couldn't refuse a thing before it was offered him, and he didn't know what to do; but the testimonial he could accept with real pleasure and satisfaction.
You can hardly imagine what a different position I have occupied in school since that affair. I was never really unpopular, but I was seldom appealed to. Now, however, I am consulted about everything, and my opinion has a great deal of weight with the girls.—But I know where the honor really belongs, and I always say it is because Father so well carried out Mother's idea.
Iwas just graduated from college, when I received a letter from my uncle Ralph, which surprised me very much, as I had never known him except by name. I had always been told by my mother that he was very eccentric, and certainly the letter was queer; for it read:
"Nephew Dick (if that's your name):"I want an assistant in my laboratory. I will pay you well. Answer at once."Uncle Ralph."
I was puzzled what to say in reply. I had no profession in view, and didn't like to throw away what might be a good chance. I talked it over with my mother, and she said she thought it would be worth trying and could certainly do no harm. So, not to be outdone in brevity, I answered:
"Dear Uncle Ralph:If terms suit, I'll try."Your nephewDick."
I think he was pleased with the answer, for he received me very cordially, though he didn't say much. My salary was quickly and satisfactorily settled, and I took a room near my uncle's house and began my work.
At first I had so much to learn that I couldn't have earned my salt; but before very long I began to see my way clearly, and I really think I made myself useful—still I could not be sure.
Strangely enough, I never could tell what my uncle was trying to accomplish. I made many mixtures of chemicals, prepared all sorts of apparatus, but was never allowed to see what my uncle was about. Whenever I had prepared any materials, he would carry them off into a little private room of which he always kept the key upon his watch-chain. No one was allowed to enter this room, and I soon learned that it was wisest to say nothing concerning it. Not being inquisitive, I did not pry into the mystery, but did whatever I was told to do, without asking any questions.
As time went on, I could see that my uncle was becoming very nervous and irritable over his work. Always a silent man, he now seldom spoke a word.
One day he sent me to buy him some chemicals, giving me a list which he had written out for me. Upon examining the list I found that the articles would make a large package, so I picked up my little traveling-bag and started out.
Some of the substances required were rare, and I was obliged to ask at a number of places before I succeeded in finding them; and it was dusk when I reached the house.
I heard my uncle calling me as I came in, and found him very impatient.
"Did you get them all?" he asked, as soon as he saw me.
"Yes; after some trouble," I replied.
"Where are they?" he inquired.
"Here," I said, and I handed him the bag.
He took it without a word, and immediately retired into his private room.
During his absence, I busied myself in the laboratory in putting everything in order. I worked away for a long while—how long I can not exactly tell—when suddenly I heard an explosion in my uncle's little room, followed by a cry.
I rushed to the door and knocked.
"What is it?" he growled.
"What is the matter?" I cried.
"Nothing! Don't be foolish!" said my uncle. "Nothing can hurt me!"
I went back to the laboratory, and, having nothing further to do, sat down to wait for his coming.
Again came the explosion, followed by the same cry.
I started up and, before I thought, I cried aloud, "You're not hurt, are you?"
The door opened suddenly, and my uncle came out, looking very much excited.
"Dick!" said he, "go home. Here is your bag. I shan't need your help to-night."
I took what I thought was my bag, and went home to my room.
When I lighted my student-lamp I saw that, instead of my traveling-bag, my uncle had given me an old, dusty, wrinkled and battered leather satchel, which looked as though it might be a century old.
I laughed, and tried to open it. It was locked. After puzzling over the lock until I was tired, Iopened my closet door and flung the satchel upon the highest shelf.
"To-morrow," said I, "I'll exchange it for my own bag."
I am afraid Uncle Ralph's treatment was beginning to affect my temper. I didn't like the way he had treated me that night. Then he hadn't paid me my salary for a long time, and my bills were coming in faster than I could pay them.
It is very discouraging to do other men's work, especially when you are not allowed to see the results of your labor; and I had worked some months without a single hint of what I was about. I began to believe I had made a mistake. What good would it do me to work away in the dark, learning little or nothing, and without hope of doing better? My uncle would tell me nothing, and was provoked by being even questioned.
I became very much discouraged over my prospects, and wondered whether I ought not to confess I had made a mistake, and to begin the study of some regular profession.
How long I sat thinking, I can not tell; but I was aroused by the faint flicker of my fire as it went out, leaving me in perfect darkness.
As I groped about my room, looking for matches, I heard a rustling which seemed to come from the other side of the room. Then came tiny knockings, irregularly, and muffled shouting, as though far away.
By listening more intently I heard the sounds plainly enough to distinguish the squeaking of mice and—could I be mistaken?—a scream; very faint, it is true, but still a scream of fright.
"Ah!" said I to myself, "there must be mice in the closet! But what can the scream be?"
I went to the closet, and, opening the door, was amazed to see that the upper part was faintly lighted, as though by a big fire-fly. Puzzled at this, I brought a chair, and, climbing upon it, saw—a grand battle. Upon one end of the shelf was a flying host of mice. How they scurried away! Some jumped to the floor; some seemed to merely vanish, and they were gone!
While smiling at their panic, what was my surprise to hear from the other end of the shelf some one addressing me in a piping, little voice.
"Eh?" I exclaimed; "did any one speak?"
"I had the honor!" the voice replied.
Turning, I saw upon the shelf a diminutive figure carrying a little lantern in one hand, and something like a needle in the other.
Before I could recover from my astonishment, and not before I had been asked sarcastically whether I should know him the next time we met, the little man went on:
"This is a pretty way to treat me,—isn't it?"
"What in the world—what can this mean?" I blundered out.
"Well! I like that," replied the pigmy in a scornful tone; "asking what this can mean, after having kept me shut up in that old leather satchel for over two thousand years!—Why, I should have been starved before long; my provisions were almost gone, I can tell you! Perhaps you think I'm not hungry now? Oh, no! of course not!—and you want to know what this means?"