CHAPTER XI.
“Here blooming fields and fertile hills appear.Below the harbor, bay and islands lay,And there the ocean rolls wide-stretching to the sky.”
“Here blooming fields and fertile hills appear.Below the harbor, bay and islands lay,And there the ocean rolls wide-stretching to the sky.”
“Here blooming fields and fertile hills appear.Below the harbor, bay and islands lay,And there the ocean rolls wide-stretching to the sky.”
“Here blooming fields and fertile hills appear.
Below the harbor, bay and islands lay,
And there the ocean rolls wide-stretching to the sky.”
Mr. Havens and his aunt were sitting in the garden on their return from their country excursion; the little ones were sound asleep in their nests, and Artie and his sister were chasing fire-flies to put under glasses, when suddenly a loud ring at the front door was followed by Hugh’s appearance with a letter for Mr. Havens, who, after reading it, called the young folk to him—
“Children, do you think you could possibly manage to endure another day’s frolic?”
“Oh, yes, Papa, we are not one bit tired,”they eagerly replied; “we could run all night long.”
“I don’t intend to try you; but listen to this letter I have just received, and see if you can make anything out of it.”
“Dear old Friend and College Mate:I learned to-day that you and yours were in the city; but, unluckily for me, had gone this afternoon to the old Brown Farm. The last train for Bristol is almost due, so I write hurriedly, to ask you with your good Aunt, nurses, and little folk, to come to us to-morrow afternoon, by the boat, to spend the Fourth. I have invited a few gentlemen to pass the day on my yacht, but Gertrude will be at home as care-taker, and the bairns will have a merry time.”
“Dear old Friend and College Mate:
I learned to-day that you and yours were in the city; but, unluckily for me, had gone this afternoon to the old Brown Farm. The last train for Bristol is almost due, so I write hurriedly, to ask you with your good Aunt, nurses, and little folk, to come to us to-morrow afternoon, by the boat, to spend the Fourth. I have invited a few gentlemen to pass the day on my yacht, but Gertrude will be at home as care-taker, and the bairns will have a merry time.”
“Now, children, wait till we hear what Aunt Emma says.”
“I think, John, it will be a delightful excursion for you all, and am only sorry I cannot join your merry party, but my old friend, MaryGraham, always passes that day with me, and I do not like to disappoint her.”
“Miss Mary Graham! Oh, Auntie, I remember her nerves, and it will be a great mercy to her, if I remove my noisy collection from the house before she comes, so I will telegraph ‘yes,’ at once. Now, children, you can run back to your fire-flies.”
“Oh, papa,” said Daisy, “I can only stand still and pinch myself, to see if it is truly myself. It seems to me as if everything was getting to be just like fairy-land. Such loads of pleasure coming all at once!”
“And think of it, Daisy, duck, that’s the very same jolly old place Mamma has told us about so many, many times, rainy nights, around the Library fire, where they have no end of pets, and water running close to the house, and clam-bakes and everything.”
“And Alice, and Kit, and May, and Gracie, and good Jem that’s such a hand at telling funny stories! Oh, Artie, man, how ever shall we live till to-morrow? I feel as if I should fly to pieces this instant.”
“I will tell you, Daisy, daughter, the best way to prepare for to-morrow’s pleasure is to run off your excitement now, so take another fire-fly chase and then to bed for a good sleep.”
Mr. Haven’s dreams were disturbed at early dawn by two half-dressed figures leaning over him, coughing violently, and as soon as he opened his sleepy eyes, the figures asked,—
“Papa, had we not better begin to pack now, and dig our worms for bait?”
“Pack yourselves off to bed, you night-walkers,” said the voice from the high pillow,and the command was enforced by a huge shot in the form of a pillow that sent the laughing children upon their knees. Thence, they started off to the Nursery, when Daisy remembered Papa had said “the little ones were to know nothing yet of the plan lest they should grow restless,” so they wisely concluded to sit and read till it was time to dress for breakfast.
As the children were hurrying from the breakfast-room, Papa said,—
“Artie and Daisy, I did not read you the postscript to my letter, last night, lest you should have been entirely upset by it, so here it is:
“‘Can you not bring down your Aunt’s pet, the little Leonard boy? “The more the merrier,” and Gertrude’s motherly heart, as well as house, has always room for one more.’
“So, children, you may carry this note from me to Mr. Leonard, to see if he is willing Charlie should go with you.”
Mr. Leonard was just coming down the steps of his house, and stopped to read the note, then looking up, much pleased, said,—
“Will you thank your Papa for me, for so kindly offering to take care of my lonely little boy? I shall be very glad to have him enjoy such a treat. His Aunt Julia came on from New Orleans last night, and you will find them both in the front room, in the second story.”
Arrived at the door of Mr. Leonard’s parlor, Artie did, indeed, try to give a genteel knock, but somehow the nervous little fist tightened itself into a young sledge-hammer, and the sound startled the inmates of the room and dyed Daisy’s face with crimsonblushes, as the French maid opened the door with a surprised look, as she said,—
“Oh, est-ce-vous, petits? Voila un grand tappage!”[A]
Aunt Julia came to meet them, with a pleasant smile, for Charlie had talked to her of little else besides “his new splendid New York friends.” Then Charlie laughed out his merry greeting, and showed them his treasures from Aunt Julia’s trunk. A regular fort, with soldiers and cannon, and dried-peas-cannon balls, and a scrap-book, and heaps of colored pictures to paste in, and Charlie screamed with laughter, as he showed them how he had cut off Louis Napoleon’s head with Nannette’s big scissors, when Artie’s heavy knock startled them so, and Artie apologized, saying—
Charlie Leonard’s Scrap Book. Page 166.
Charlie Leonard’s Scrap Book. Page 166.
Charlie Leonard’s Scrap Book. Page 166.
“I did not mean to give such a banger, but somehow, the fun in my mind seemed to run right down into my fist, for only think, Charlie, we have come to invite you to go with all of us, to stay two nights and the Fourth of July at Bristol, where there’s an Indian pony and used to be true Indians in King Philip’s time, and is now a bay for fishing and clam-bakes, and two squirrels and a cart, and your father said you might.”
Charlie looked bewilderingly from one to the other, but when Daisy explained the grand plan, in her more quiet manner, Charlie’s delight became intense, and to the children’s great surprise, he ran and hid his head on his Aunt’s shoulder, and they were still more astonished when, a moment after, his Aunt loosened her clasp about him, to see tears in both their eyes, for how could they know thatthe little fellow’s great joy made him long for the dear Mamma, who had passed away with the coming of the June roses she had longed for; a Mother who was never too feeble to sympathize in his child-joys, or help him bear his child-griefs.
A good old poet has truly said—
“The tear down childhood’s cheek that flows,Is like the dew-drop on the Rose;When next the summer breeze pass by,And wafts the bush, the flower is dry;”
“The tear down childhood’s cheek that flows,Is like the dew-drop on the Rose;When next the summer breeze pass by,And wafts the bush, the flower is dry;”
“The tear down childhood’s cheek that flows,Is like the dew-drop on the Rose;When next the summer breeze pass by,And wafts the bush, the flower is dry;”
“The tear down childhood’s cheek that flows,
Is like the dew-drop on the Rose;
When next the summer breeze pass by,
And wafts the bush, the flower is dry;”
so in a few moments, the three children were having a merry game of Fort-siege, pelting down with their fatal pea-shot, the brave little soldiers who never winced or offered to run away.
Nannette has returned, with Aunt Emma’s permission, for the children to spend the morning, which was hailed with great delight, forsieging forts is the work of time, and the young folk thought they could well afford to lose their Croquet and garden sports, to capture such booty as the fort promised.
Three o’clockdidcome that afternoon, though there seemed to be every reason to suppose itneverwould, for the hands of Aunt Emma’s tall, old-fashioned clock, which stood in the upper hall, seemed to have grown, suddenly, stiff and rheumatic; the “here she goes, and there she goes,” of the old pendulum, were, surely, never before so deliberate, and as for the old moon-face above the dial, it seemed to take such pleasure in the children’s impatience, that Artie fairly forgot his reverence for old Father Time’s faithful servant, and shook his fist at it, and was just about to assist the old pendulum to take a higherflight, when the barn-yard mischief and Papa’s stern face came to mind, and he turned away for a slide down the bannisters instead, when he remembered Mamma had forbiddenthat, so the boy sat down on the stair landing, leaned his elbow on his knee, his cheek on his hand, and tried hard to think—
“Whatever under the sun there was a boycouldsafely do?” and the only thing seemed to be “to behave!”
As we have said before, three o’clock did come at last, and found Charlotte and Harry in the ladies’ saloon, Papa on the upper deck, holding Jack on his knee, watching the rest of the party, under Nan’s protection, at the side of the boat, holding on with both hands to their hats, which the stiff sea-breeze seemed coaxing away very hard. Whatever sea-breezes want of straw hats is a mystery to us. Thesaucy fellows don’t stop for small boys’ hats alone, but Narragansett sailors do tell of a party of grave and learned clergymen coming from a Newport meeting, how the careless, saucy sea-breezes teased those reverend gentlemen, and at last, when fairly out of port, the boldest of them helped himself to the Bishop’s hat, and then ran off to “blow” about it. What that Bishop did, History doesn’t say; whether he made a soldier-cap of hisProvidence Journal, or a night-cap of his pocket-handkerchief, we cannot confidently say; but, you may rest assured, he made the best of it.
Charlie Leonard, as the most experienced sailor of the party, is explaining to them the nature of the foaming water about them.
“You see, Daisy, you think it’s all for fair white soap-suds, but you see it isn’t so, but the bottom of the bay is all white salt, andwhen the keel of the boat rubs it, you see it makes that white salt water, just like when you rub your wet hands on soap. One time, when I was quite small, I thought just as you do, but I found out afterward the truth of it myself.”
Charlie seemed a little disappointed, when Mr. Havens called the group to him and explained—
“Children, you recollect when you blow through your bubble-pipe into your soap and water, how many bubbles are formed by the air rushing through the water; just so the paddle-wheel of the boat acts as your pipe; it agitates or puts in violent motion the water, dashing air down into the water and dashing water up into the air, thus forming multitudes of bubbles which, when driven together, look, as Charley says, like ‘for-fair soap-suds.’ Ifyou could see the paddle-wheel, you would find it covered with those bubbles.”
“But, Papa,” said Artie, “why do we have to put soap in the water to make our bubbles?”
“Anything which thickens or makes the water firmer, makes the bubbles last longer, Artie; and the oil in your soap does that. You have often seen men along the streets with those bright-colored balloons you are so fond of; those are gum-elastic bubbles, and the sides of which are quite firm.
“I have given you quite a lecture, now you can go back to your ‘soapy waves.’”
“I will be boat-manager,” said Charlie, proudly, “and tell you all the places as we go along. You see that wire bridge? well, in a minute our whistle will scream to it to swing round the half of it, and you see whenwe get to it, we will go through just as easy!
“That large, white house is where they make good boys out of bad ones, and the name of it is the ‘Reform School.’ That high frame on the shore is a ‘Grain Elevator.’ It takes the grain right out of the boats and swings it up into stores; that great brick building, with the smooth lawn, is the ‘Hospital.’ I have been there with Aunt Emma to take some toys to a poor little boy who had to have his leg cut off.”
The suspension bridge was passed through, just “as easy” as Charlie had predicted,—the dingy docks and gloomy coal vessels were left behind; and stiffer, bolder sea-breezes loudly-flapped awnings, made sport of women’s and girls’ dresses, and, at last, fairly drove the merry party into the shelter of the uppersaloon, from whence they could safely admire the pretty villages and country-seats which dotted both sides of Narragansett Bay.
Charlie pointed out “Squantum Club-House,” famous for its weekly summer clam-bakes, where the wise men, the rich men, the learned men, and the witty men of Providence meet to eat so many clams, and make so many jokes, that the clams which were so happy as to survive those bakes, had swallowed so many of their crumbs of worldly wisdom and knowledge that, it is said, last summer they formed themselves into a manufacturer’s club, and a literary club, too. One learned Doctor gained such an intimate acquaintance with them that they let him into some of their secrets, and lent him some verses they had composed, which were read at the next learned clam-bake,—and all were clamorous for copies.
Rocky Point’s high tower now loomed up in the distance, and as the boat passed, Charlie told off the swinging boats, the miniature railway, the flying horses, and cages of monkeys, which attracted such hosts of men and women, boys, girls, and babies, day after day. Then the bay grew wider, and little islands rose out of its waters, and one little rock, with a stone light-house, where, Mr. Havens told them, the Keeper, whose business it was always to keep the lamp lighted at night, to warn vessels off the rocks, lived with his little son, in a small house; and one severe winter night the water rose and the ice carried away little house, man, and boy, who were fortunately rescued by a life-boat.
The children’s attention was next arrested by a school of black porpoises, see-sawing on the waves’ tops, and Jack asked—
“Why they went to school, when they had no heads nor book-straps?”
Papa explained, as well as he could, “That they went to school to learn to catch small fish, and Dame Nature was their teacher;” at which the children laughed merrily, and were interested in Papa’s account of some gentleman’s experience in raising and training fish. How they would come to get their dinner when the bell was rung for them, and of little gold rings being fastened on their fins when they were tiny fish, which were found long after upon large fish, caught in nets, showing what good sailors they were that, after going off to strange waters, they were able to find their way back to their own homes again.
The pretty villas of Newport Harbor were now visible, then the steeples of Fall River,and very soon the boat slackened its speed,—the bell rung,—the sailors rushed to throw the huge cables over the dock’s posts, and the children see Papa waving his hat to a gentleman in a large beach wagon, on the wharf, who returns the salute with such a bright, pleased look, as promises well for the longed-for visit at Bristol.