CHAPTER X.
“Wee folk, old folk,Chatting altogether.”
“Wee folk, old folk,Chatting altogether.”
“Wee folk, old folk,Chatting altogether.”
“Wee folk, old folk,
Chatting altogether.”
Aunt Emma and good Mrs. Brown sat in the cool cottage parlor talking, when, suddenly, the door was thrown hurriedly open, and the two little boys dashed in, whilst Roly-poly Rosy followed near.
The three flushed, young faces, with their coronet of hay straws, looked as if they had something very startling to tell, but their poor little breaths had to be recovered first. Then came—
“Oh, dear! oh, dear! Aunt Emma.”
“Mrs.—eh,—eh,—Brown—eh,—eh,—in a minute I’ll get my breath.”
Waiting for a Pinch of Salt. Page 149.
Waiting for a Pinch of Salt. Page 149.
Waiting for a Pinch of Salt. Page 149.
“Miss, good Miss Brown, I—I—I mean Artie, Daisy and ——”
“Wait a moment, dearies,” interrupted the kind farmer’s wife, feeling relieved from her fears that Artie had fallen into the duck-pond or Daisy from the hay-mow, “you’ve run all the little breaths out of your pipes. Just rest yourselves, and then tell your Auntie and me.”
“Can’t wait, Ma’am, we’re losing time,” said Charlie.
“Oh, good Mr. Brown’s wife, won’t you please to give me, I mean Artie and my sister Daisy, a peck of salt?”
“No, Jack, ’tis a pinch of salt to put on the horse’s,—oh, dear! I mean”—and Rosie stopped.
“She means Artie’s and Daisy’s birds’ tails they are catching; that is, they are going to, when they get the salt.”
“Yes, yes, Pets, I understand,” and in less time than it takes me to tell it, the children were off, with generous “pinches” of salt, on the way to a large tree in the next meadow, where Artie and Daisy were guarding a little song sparrow.
The pinches must have fallen a little short of the tail, or else the wary song sparrow had another engagement, and couldn’t wait, for when the breathless little messengers returned, they found the state of things quite changed, for the sparrow on his airy perch, on a neighboring tree-top, was pouring out a defiant little song, and the elder brother and sister quite out of sight. The little Salt Hunters agreed,—
“Best thing to do was just to pile up the pinches under this plantain leaf, and maybe the birds’ tails will get in ’out theirknowing it, and they’ll be just catched same as Artie and Daisy would have done, if they had did it.”
Daisy just now approaches, with an anxious face, and a sad tale she has to tell,—
“Artie had come across a French boy, who could not speak any American words but bad ones, whose father was dressed in dirty shirt-sleeves and no stockings, hoeing corn, and the French boy had a long branch, and he said he was going to de duck-pond for thrash it to scare de bull frogs.”
Artie had immediately seized the idea, and a long stick, too, and said he would indeed go in for such a “jolly lark,” and when the little Frenchman had explained that after the poor bull-frogs had been driven, from very fright, out upon the duck-pond’s banks, they were to have their “back legs” choppedoff at the wood-pile to make a savory supper for the young Frenchman and his “dirty shirt-sleeved” Father; then Daisy hesitated no longer to warn Artie against such shameful, cruel sport. Master Artie had naughtily retorted,—
“He should do as he liked, and not be tied to a girl’s apron-string,”—which was insulting, indeed, as Daisy’s dress was made with a Polonaise, and aprons, she had long laid aside. Now, Daisy was hurrying on to Charlotte, and trying not to hear some odious words, the soft breezes were wafting across that sweet meadow from a young rebel’s mouth, words which sounded very much, I am sorry to say, like—
“Tell-tale, tell-tale; hurry home before your shoes wear out.”
The welcome sound of a loud bugle’sclear notes, which told of a waiting supper, rescued Artie from the Tempter’s snare, saved the duck-pond its “thrashing,” and the poor little bull-frogs their back legs. The young rebel runs off his ill-humor, and overtaking his little sister-monitor, links his arm in hers, and hurries with her to the old farm-house porch. Clean towels and spring water brought to light a group of merry young faces, around the table, spread under the old Elm, whilst Papa, and the good Farmer and his Wife, look “happy as happy can be.”
Bear says, “It is a funny dining-room, it is papered with blue, and got a green carpet on, and live crickets to put our feet on.”
Then the wee folk clapped their hands loudly. Mrs. Brown looked admiringly towardAunt Emma, and Farmer Brown “thought he should have died,” but did not, or he would have lost many a little joke from the younger folk, and some so big from Papa, that even solemn Hugh was obliged to lean against the tree to hold himself together, whilst the tea-cups he carried on a waiter rattled out faint applause. There was something besides joking to be done, for Celia had provided for country appetites, and some Fairy’s wand had changed Mrs. Brown’s promised “molasses cake and milk” into glass bowls of strawberries, with creamy cottage cheese, and blocks of currant cake.
“A dainty feast enough, I ween,To set before a King or Queen.”
“A dainty feast enough, I ween,To set before a King or Queen.”
“A dainty feast enough, I ween,To set before a King or Queen.”
“A dainty feast enough, I ween,
To set before a King or Queen.”
Whereabouts those little folk stowed away “such a many” plates of cream and berries, and yet found room for ham, biscuit, and cake,is beyond my ken; nor do I know how long that feast would have continued, had not a sudden explosion taken place, and one of Jack’s waist-buttons flew over into Papa’s cup, which frightened Mr. Havens so much that he sprang like a squirrel up into the tree above; and soon after down upon the children, table, ground, Mrs. Brown’s cap, and Hugh’s shining bald head, came a most startling shower of torpedoes. That was a signal indeed, and away flew the screaming magpies across the meadow to take another look at the sty where dwelt the pigs that gave the ham that Farmer Brown might well be proud of.
Then they paid a visit to the old back shed, where from her high perch, old Madam Poll Parrot eyed them carefully, first turning her head on one side, and then on the other, and finally, startling them all by saying,—
“Polly wants her supper. Had yours?”
Little Jack was so entirely surprised by the salutation, that he demurely answered, “Yes, ma’am, thank you,” which threw the children into fits of laughter. Madam Poll laughed too, and mortified poor Jack by screaming long after he had got out of her sight:
“Ha! ha! ha! Silly boy! Ha! ha! ha!”
A stranger, on the road, was attracted by the group about Poll, and calling them to him, said,
“I can tell you, children, of a more wonderful Parrot than that. A Clergyman once went on board a ship which had just made the return voyage from Cuba, to try to get a Parrot for his children.
“The Captain said he knew of one man in the forecastle, who had a very unusually imitative bird, so the Clergyman went in search of the sailor, and offered him quite a liberal price for his pet. To his surprise the sailor replied:
“‘I want to sell her bad, but she won’t suit the like of you, sir.’
“‘Oh,’ said the other, ‘I am the best judge of that, and am ready to take all risks.’
“‘But, indeed, your reverence, if you must have the truth out of me, you know we sailors are apt, the more shame for us, to let slip bad words often, and you see the bird has got into our ways.’
“‘That is indeed a sad thing,’ said the Clergyman, ‘but I will engage soon to cure him ofthatfault.’
“The bargain was concluded, and Poll soon found, instead of being laughed at and admired when she said her bad words, she was instantly plunged into a cold bath, from which she cameout so uncomfortable that she had to fly to the warm kitchen, and sit in the chimney-corner.
“One day a poor, shivering little chicken sought shelter in the kitchen from a heavy shower. Poll was there, too, in disgrace, and, as she caught sight of the dripping feathers, she said to her companion bird, ‘You say bad words, too?’
“Now, children, I have been told that this story is true; but, however that may be, never utter a word you would shrink to hear this poor, soulless creature repeat after you.”
The children thanked the traveller for his story, and ran off for another chat with Poll.
Mr. Havens, in the meantime, has lighted his cigar, and is talking on the porch steps with Farmer Brown, whose wife is showing Miss Emma her poultry-yard and dairy, whilstHugh, Nan, Charlotte, and Norah are enjoying their meal under the tree.
Then the deepening twilight reminds Papa it is time for the homeward flitting; the bugle sounds its loud notes, the horses, refreshed by their country supper, come gayly prancing up to the cottage door; kisses and kind words are exchanged,—neglected dollies, recovered from their resting-place under the bushes, the “two nurses, two girls, three dollies, and two boys,” are again packed in; the coachman’s whip makes its airy circles, then a crack, and homeward hie the chattering party, just as the silvery moon’s face, peeping from behind the piled-up summer clouds, seemed to say to those fairy lanterns, the fire-flies twinkle, “You may go now, there is no further occasion for you.”