CHAPTER XVII.CONCLUSION.
“It was nine years back, or more—if I don’t forget;But as to the children, Fannie, they’re all about me yet.Often they come to the door, in a pleasant kind of dream,They come and sit by my chair, they hover about my bed,—I am not always certain if they be alive or dead.”
“It was nine years back, or more—if I don’t forget;But as to the children, Fannie, they’re all about me yet.Often they come to the door, in a pleasant kind of dream,They come and sit by my chair, they hover about my bed,—I am not always certain if they be alive or dead.”
“It was nine years back, or more—if I don’t forget;But as to the children, Fannie, they’re all about me yet.Often they come to the door, in a pleasant kind of dream,They come and sit by my chair, they hover about my bed,—I am not always certain if they be alive or dead.”
“It was nine years back, or more—if I don’t forget;
But as to the children, Fannie, they’re all about me yet.
Often they come to the door, in a pleasant kind of dream,
They come and sit by my chair, they hover about my bed,—
I am not always certain if they be alive or dead.”
Aunt Emma came into the garden on the last morning of the children’s visit, and calling them into the little arbor, said,
“I feel sorry, dears, to interrupt your merry games, but I think, as you are to travel all the afternoon, it is best you should rest now, so I propose sitting with you for a quiet talk, and that you may remain inthe garden till the last moment, Celia will have lunch for us under the trees.”
“Oh! isn’t that nice, Auntie? We don’t mind one bit giving up, I Spy, and Lady Queen Annie she sits in the Sun, she sends you three letters and prays you read one,” cried Artie; and little Bear looking up eagerly said,
“Would it be too much trouble, Auntie, for you to tell us a good-bye story?”
“Certainly not, darling, but what shall it be about? You shall choose, Harry.”
“Well, I think I’d a little rather hear a story about animals than most anything I can think of.”
“Have I ever told you about Old Whitey?”
“No, indeed,” cry all, “will you do it now?”
“Some years ago, I went to board for a few weeks in a quiet mountain village in Connecticut. The Farmer’s wife, with whom I stayed, was a simple body who loved her cows, pigs and chickens next to her boys; but above all of their out-of-door pets Old Whitey Cow reigned chief. One day, I went into the barnyard, with Mrs. May, to watch the milking. Whitey’s turn always came first, but for some wise reason of her own, that morning, Madam Whitey kept out of the way, till her patient Mistress could wait no longer, so called Speckled Sides to come to her. Just as the white stream began to flow into the shining pail, Old Whitey appeared, looking very much excited. Trotting briskly up to Speckled Sides, she pushed her away with her horns, kicked over the pail of milk, andthenstood demurely before her Mistress, asif she had only done the most proper thing in the world.
“One rainy morning, as I pushed my window-curtain aside, I saw Tom May and his Brother coming up the lane, with a large umbrella over their heads, from under which Whitey’s broad flanks and bushy tail appeared. Mrs. May told me whenever the boys came into the pasture with an umbrella, Whitey would come trotting up and put her head under its shelter, and walk along as the village people used to say, ‘just like folks.’
“One day the good old creature strayed away from home and visited the village, where she surprised a fine city lady who was boarding there for the Summer, by suddenly thrusting her head under her silk sun-umbrella and showing her intention to join in the promenade. When the lady indignantlystamped her foot and scolded, Old Whitey retreated as if subdued, but, a moment after, ran up behind her, thrust her horns under the umbrella, and, to the great amusement of the lookers on, and greatly to the indignation of the umbrella’s owner, bore it triumphantly off through the principal street of the village.
“Fancy the surprise of the May family, when they saw Old Whitey coming up the lane, with her head sheltered by a silk umbrella through which her horns were sticking.
“Mrs. May tells another story about her favorite’s intelligence. She had an Irish girl living with her, who had a lover, a stable boy, living near. One day Mike visited his Biddie as she was preparing to milk Whitey, and Biddie became so engaged in her talk that she forgot her business.
“In vain Whitey whisked her bushy tail inthe milk-maid’s face; Biddie had eyes and ears for no one but Mike. At last the impatient animal turned slowly around to see what was the trouble, and immediately rushed up to poor Mike, and fairly drove him from the barn yard, then took her place before the astonished Biddie, who did not need to be again reminded of her duty.”
That is the end of the Whitey story, and there is Papa coming to join us, and Hugh follows with the table.
“Oh, isn’t this a regular Pic-Nic,” said the children, as they gathered around the little table which Celia had taken pains should be covered with her daintiest dishes.
“And Auntie dear,” said thoughtful Daisy, “I don’t think we can ever thank you enough for giving us such a lovely time. I don’t think any children ever had so much pleasure.”
“I wish,” said little Jack, with mouth full, as usual, “I wish there was out of doors in New York ’cept the Park.”
In spite of the parting so near, that was a pleasant meal. The old apple tree spread its branches protectingly over the young heads, choice flowers perfumed the air about them, and Robins, Locusts and Crickets formed an Orchestra to supply sweet music.
Papa’s watch at last told the parting near, and very sad were the little faces that Aunt Emma saw looking back from the open carriage, at the Funny House on Funny Street.
“God bless and keep my darlings,” the old Auntie murmured, “and bring us all to meet one day in that bright land where partings are unknown.”
Then the kind old Aunt, taking Charlie Leonard with her, went to see a poor sickgirl, and whilst she spoke words of comfort to the sufferer, the ache left her own heart, and all was peace and joy within.
Thrusting aside the Library curtains at 310 Madison Avenue, for we fain would have another glance at the Little Menagerie, we see them all gathered about Mamma, all so eager to tell of the rare pleasures they have enjoyed, and all so happy to be at home again, that there is no room in their young hearts for regrets for past pleasures.
Farewell, little folk! The Funny Old House on Funny Street no longer reëchoes with your merry voices and frolicsome steps, but the sunshine you brought there still seems to linger in its every apartment, but most of all in the loving hearts you have left behind.
FOOTNOTES:[A]“Oh, is it you, little one? That was a great knocking.”
[A]“Oh, is it you, little one? That was a great knocking.”
[A]“Oh, is it you, little one? That was a great knocking.”
Transcriber's Note:Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including inconsistent hyphenation. Some minor corrections of spelling and punctuation have been made.
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including inconsistent hyphenation. Some minor corrections of spelling and punctuation have been made.