When I got home I found my bundle and the tin box rolled up in that new jacket, with all that good jelly in it. Old Wonder Boy peeped in and says he, “O, there’s quite some jelly in there, isn’t there?” He says downin Jersey they make nice quince-jelly out of apple-parings, and said ’t was true, for he’d eaten some. Dorry said he knew that was common in Ireland, but never knew ’t was done in this country. Dorry says you must keep us posted about the last of the piggies. Keep your pretty blue boots nice for Brother Billy to see, won’t you? Thank you for hemming that pretty handkerchief. I’ve counted my handkerchiefs a good many times, but counting ’em don’t make any difference.
From your affectionate Brother,William Henry.
The course of true love it seems did not always ran smooth with Dorry and William Henry.
My dear Grandmother,—
This is only a short letter that I am going to write to you, because I don’t feel like writing any. But when I don’t write then you think I have the measles, else drowned in the pond, and I’ll write a little, but I feel so sober I don’t feel like writing very much. I suppose you will say,—what are you feeling so sober about? Well, seems if I didn’t have any fun now, for Dorry and I we’ve got mad at each other. And he don’t hardly speak to me, and I don’t to him either; and if he don’t want to be needn’t, for I don’t mean to be fooling round im, and trying to get him to, if he don’t want to.
Last night we all went out to coast, and the teachers and a good many ladies and girls, and we were going to see which was the champion sled. But something elsehappened first. The top of the hill was all bare, and before they all got there some of the fellers were scuffling together for fun, and Dorry and I we tried to take each other down. First of it ’t was all in fun, but then it got more in earnest, and he hit me in the face so hard it made me mad, and I hit him and he got mad too.
Then we began to coast, for the people had all got there. Dorry’s and mine were the two swiftest ones, and we kept near each other, but his slewed round some, and he said I hit it with my foot he guessed, and then we had some words, and I don’t know what we did both say; but now we keep away from each other, and it seems so funny I don’t know what to do. The teacher asked me to go over to the stable to-day, for he lost a bunch of compositions and thought they might have dropped out of his pocket, when we went to take that sleigh-ride. And I was just going to say, “Come on, Old Dorrymas!” before I thought.
But ’t is the funniest in the morning. This morning I waked up early, and he was fast asleep, and I thought, Now you’ll catch it, old fellow, and was just a going to pull his hair; but in a minute I remembered. Then I dressed myself and thought I would take a walk out. I went just as softly by his bed and stood still there a minute and set out to give a little pull, for I don’t feelhalf so mad as I did the first of it, but was afraid he did. So I went out-doors and looked round. Went as far as the Two Betseys’ Shop and was going by, but The Other Betsey stood at the door shaking a mat, and called to me, “Billy, where are you going to?”
“Only looking round,” I said. She told me to come in and warm me, and I thought I would go in just a minute or two. Lame Betsey was frying flapjacks in a spider, a little mite of a spider, for breakfast. She spread butter on one and made me take it to eat in a saucer, and I never tasted of a better flapjack. There was a cinnamon colored jacket hanging on the chair-back, and I said, “Why, that’s Spicey’s jacket!” “Who?” they cried out both together. Then I called him by his right name, Jim Mills. He’s some relation to them, and his mother isn’t well enough to mend all his clothes, so Lame Betsey does it for nothing. He earns money to pay for his schooling, and he wants to go to college, and they don’t doubt he will. They said he was the best boy that ever was. His mother doesn’t have anybody but him to do things for her, only his little sister about the size of my little sister. He makes the fires and cuts wood and splits kindling, and looks into the buttery to see when the things are empty, and never waits to be told. When they talked about him they both talked together, and Lame Betsey let one spiderful burn forgetting to turn ’em over time enough.
When I was coming away they said, “Where’s Dorry? I thought you two always kept together.” For we did always go to buy things together. Then I told her a little, but not all about it.
“O, make up! make up!” they said. “Make up and be friends again!” I’m willing to make up if he is. But I don’t mean to be the first one to make up.
From your affectionate Grandson,William Henry.
My Dear Grandmother,—
I guess you’ll think ’t is funny, getting another letter again from me so soon, but I’m in a hurry to have my father send me some money to have my skates mended; ask him if he won’t please to send me thirty-three cents, and we two have made up again and I thought you would like to know. It had been ’most three days, and we hadn’t been anywhere together, or spoken hardly, and I hadn’t looked him in the eye, or he me. Old Wonder Boy he wanted to keep round me all the time, and have double-runner together. He knew we two hadn’t been such chums as we used to be, so he came up to me and said, “Billy, I think that Dorry’s a mean sort of a chap, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “He don’t know what ’t is to be mean!” For I wasn’t going to have him coming any Jersey over me!
“O, you needn’t be so spunky about it!” says he.
“I ain’t spunky!” says I.
Then I went into the schoolroom, to study over my Latin Grammar before school began, and sat down amongst the boys that were all crowding round the stove. And I was studying away, and didn’t mind ’em fooling round me, for I’d lost one mark day before, and didn’tmean to lose any more, for you know what my father promised me, if my next Report improved much. And while I was sitting there, studying away, and drying my feet, for we’d been having darings, and W. B. he stumped me to jump on a place where ’t was cracking, and I went in over tops of boots and wet my feet sopping wet. And I didn’t notice at first, for I wasn’t looking round much, but looking straight down on my Latin Grammar, and didn’t notice that ’most all the boys had gone out. Only about half a dozen left, and one of ’em was Dorry, and he sat to the right of me, about a yard off, studying his lesson. Then another boy went out, and then another, and by and by every one of them was gone, and left us two sitting there. O, we sat just as still! I kept my head down, and we made believe think of nothing but just the lesson. First thing I knew he moved, and I looked up, and there was Dorry looking me right in the eye! And held out his hand—“How are you, Sweet William?” says he, and laughed some. Then I clapped my hand on his shoulder, “Old Dorrymas, how are you?” says I. And so you see we got over it then, right away.
Dorry says he wasn’t asleep that morning, when I stood there, only making believe. Said he wished I’d pull, then he was going to pull too, and wouldn’t that been a funny way to make up, pulling hair? He’s had a letter from Tom Cush and he’s got home, but is going away again, for he means to be a regular sailor and get to be captain of a great ship. He’s coming here next week. I hope you won’t forget that thirty-three. I’d just as lives have fifty, and that would come better inthe letter, don’t you believe it would? That photograph saloon has just gone by, and the boys are running down to the road to chase it. When Dorry and I sat there by the stove, it made me remember what Uncle Jacob said about our picture.
Your affectionate Grandson,William Henry.
My dear Grandmother,—
The reason that I’ve kept so long without writing is because I’ve had to do so many things. We’ve been speaking dialogues and coasting and daring and snowballing, and then we’ve had to review and review and review, because ’t is the last of the term, and he says he believes in reviews more than the first time we get it. I tell you, the ones that didn’t get them the first time are bad off now. I wish now I’d begun at the first of it and got every one of mine perfect, then I should have easier times. The coast is wearing off some, and we carry water up and pour on it, and let it freeze, and throw snow on. Now ’t is moonshiny nights, the teacher lets all the “perfects” go out to coast an hour. Sometimes I get out. And guess where Bubby Short and Dorry and I are going to-night! Now you can’t guess, I know you can’t. To a party! Now where do you suppose the party is to be? You can’t guess that either. In this town. And not very far from this school-house. Somebody you’ve heard of. Two somebodies you’ve heard of. Now don’t you know? The Two Betseys! Suppose you’ll think ’t is funny for them to have aparty. But they’re not a going to have it themselves. Now I’ll tell you, and not make you guess any more.
You know I told you Tom Cush was coming. He came to-day. He’s grown just as tall and as fat and as black and has some small whiskers. I didn’t know ’twas Tom Cush when I first looked at him. Bubby Short asked me what man that was talking with Dorry, and I said I didn’t know, but afterwards we found out. He didn’t know me either. Says I’m a staving great fellow. He gave Dorry a ruler made of twelve different kinds of wood, some light, some dark, brought from famous places. And gave Bubby Short and me a four-blader, white handled. He’s got a fur cap and fur gloves, and is ’most as tall as Uncle Jacob. He told Dorry that he thought if he didn’t come back here and see everybody, he should feel like a sneak all the rest of his life.
We three went down to The Two Betseys’ Shop with him, and when he saw it, he said, “Why, is that the same old shop? It don’t look much bigger than a hen-house!” Says he could put about a thousand like it into one big church he saw away. Said he shouldn’t dare to climb up into the apple-tree for fear he should break it down. Said he’d seen trees high as a liberty-pole. And when he saw where he used to creep through the rails he couldn’t believe he ever did go through such a little place, and tried to, but couldn’t do it. So he took a run and jumped over, and we after him, all but Bubby Short. We took down the top one for him.
The Two Betseys didn’t know him at first, not till we told them. Dorry said, “Here’s a little boy wants to buya stick of candy.” Then Tom said he guessed he’d take the whole bottle full. And he took out a silver half a dollar, and threw it down, but wouldn’t take any change back, and then treated us all, and a lot of little chaps that stood there staring. Lame Betsey said, “Wal, I never!” and The Other Betsey said, “Now did you ever? Now who’d believe ’t was the same boy!” And Tom said he hoped ’t wasn’t exactly, for he didn’t think much of that Tom Cush that used to be round here. Coming back he told us he was going to stay till in the evening, and have a supper at the Two Betseys’, us four together, but not let them know till we got there. He’s going to carry the things. We went to see Gapper Sky Blue, and Tom bought every bit of his molasses candy, and about all the seed-cakes. When I write another letter, then you’ll know about the party.
Your affectionate Grandson,William Henry.
P. S. Do you think my father would let me go to sea?
My dear Grandmother,—
We had it and they didn’t know anything about it till we got there, and then they didn’t know what we came for. Guess who was there besides us four! Gapper Sky Blue and little Rosy. Tom invited them. We left the bundles inside and walked in. Not to the shop, but to the room back, where they stay. They told us, “Do sit up to the fire, for ’t is a proper cold day.” They’d got their tea a warming in a little round tea-pot, a black one, and their dishes on a little round table, pulled up close to Lame Betsey; seemed just like my sister, when she has company, playing supper. The Other Betsey, she was holding a skein of yarn for Lame Betsey to wind, and said their yarn-winders were come apart. Dorry said, “Billy, let’s you and I make some yarn-winders!” Now what do you think we made them out of? Out of ourselves! We stood back to back, with our elbows touching our sides, and our arms sticking out, and our thumbs sticking up. Then Dorry told her to put on her yarn, and we turned ourselves round, like yarn-winders.
Pretty soon Gapper Sky Blue and Rosy came. Then we brought in the bundles and let ’em know what was up, and they didn’t know what to say. All they could say was, “Wal, I never!” and “Now did you ever?”
The Other Betsey said if they were having a party they must smart themselves up some. So she got out their other caps, with white ruffles, and put on her handkerchief with a bunch of flowers in the back corner, but put a black silk cape on Lame Betsey that had a muslinruffle round it, or lace, or I don’t know what, and a clean collar, that she worked herself, when she was a young lady, and a bow of ribbon, that she used to wear to parties, wide ribbon, striped, green and yellow, or pink, I can’t tell, and both of ’em clean aprons, figured aprons,—calico, I think like enough,—with the creases all in ’em, and strings tied in front. I tell you if the Two Betseys didn’t look tiptop! Then they unset that little round table, and we dragged out the great big one, that hadn’t been used for seventeen years. The Other Betsey’s grandfather had it, when he was first married. When ’t isn’t a table, ’t is tipped up to make into a chair, and had more legs than a spider. Little Rosy helped set the table. She never went to a party before.
O, but you ought to ’ve seen the plates! You know your pie-plates? Well, these were just like them. All white, with scalloped edges, blue scalloped edges. Only no bigger round than the top of your tin dipper. The knives and forks—two-prongers—had green handles. And the sugar-bowl and cream pitcher were dark blue. Tom brought a good deal of sugar, all in white lumps, and a can of milk. He bought pies and jumbles and turnovers and ginger-snaps and egg-crackers and cake and bread at the bake-house, and butter and cheese and Bologna sausage—I can’t bear Bologna sausage—and some oranges, that he brought home from sea. And the sweetest jelly you ever saw! Don’t know what ’t is made of, but they call it guava jelly, and comes in little boxes. I believe I could eat twenty boxes of that kind of jelly, if I could get it. Dorry says he don’t doubt they make it out of apple-parings down in Jersey.
The Other Betsey stood up in a chair and took down her best china cups and saucers, that used to be her grandmother’s, and hadn’t been took down for a good many years, and wiped the dust off. Little mites of things, with pictures on them. We boys didn’t drink tea, only Tom Cush; we had milk in mugs. Mine was a tall, slim one, not much bigger round than an inkstand, and had pine-trees on it, blue pine-trees. Dorry had a china one that was about as clear as glass, that Lame Betsey’s brother brought home when he went captain, and Bubby Short’s had “A gift of affection” on it. That was one her little niece used to drink out of that died afterwards, when she was very little.
I tell you if that supper-table didn’t look like a supper-table when ’t was all ready! They set Lame Betsey at the head of the table, because she couldn’t get up, and Dorry said the one at the head must never get up, for it wasn’t polite. We took her right up in her chair to set her there. Then there was some fun quarrelling which should sit at her right hand, because that is a seat of honor. Tom said Gapper ought to, for he was the oldest. But he said it ought to be Tom, because he was the most like company. But at last she said ’t wouldn’t make any difference, because she was left-handed. The Other Betsey brought some twisted doughnuts out.
Now I’ll tell you how we sat.
Lame Betsey at the head, and the Other Betsey at the other end; Gapper Sky Blue and Rosy and Bubby Short on the right side, and Tom and Dorry and I on the left. And if we didn’t have a bully time! The Two Betseys and Gapper used to know each other, and to goto school together, and they told such funny stories, made us die a laughing, and when I get home you’ll hear some. Then Gapper told Tom Cush that now he was a sailor he ought to spin us a yarn. When I come home I’ll tell you the yarn Tom spun. ’T was all about an alligator he saw, and about going near it in a boat, and what the Arabs did, and what he did, and what the alligator did. Wait till I come, then you’ll hear about it. Both Betseys kept putting down their knife and fork, and looking up at him, just as scared, and kept saying, “Wal, I never!” “Now did you ever!”
Tom acted it all out. First he cleared a place for a river. Then he took a twisted doughnut for the alligator and a ginger-snap for a boat. I’ll tell you about it sometime. Guess ’t wasn’t all true, for you can put anything you’ve a mind to in a yarn. He told us about the beautiful birds, and when I told him about one my sister used to have, he said he’d bring her home a Java sparrow.
Then he told us about drinking “Hopshe!” I’ll tell how, and I want all of you to try it.
Now suppose Hannah Jane was the one to try it.
First, she takes a tumbler of water in her hand, then you all say together, Hannah Jane and all, quite fast,—
“A blackbird sat on a swinging limb.He looked at me and I at him.Once so merrily,—Hopshe!Twice so merrily,—Hopshe!Thrice so merrily,—Hopshe!”
“A blackbird sat on a swinging limb.He looked at me and I at him.Once so merrily,—Hopshe!Twice so merrily,—Hopshe!Thrice so merrily,—Hopshe!”
Now I shall tell where the fun comes in.
While all the rest say, “Once so merrily,” Hannah Jane must drink one swallow quick enough to say the“Hopshe!” with them. Then another swallow while they say, “Twice so merrily,” and another while they say, “Thrice so merrily,” and be ready to say the “Hopshe” with them, every time. We tried it, and I tell you if the “Hopshe’s” didn’t come in all sorts of funny ways! The Two Betseys told about some funny tricks they used to try, to see who was going to be their beau.
From your affectionate Grandson,William Henry.
P. S. I saw a dollar bill in Gapper Sky Blue’s hand after Tom Cush bade him good by. Dorry says how do I know but ’t was more than a dollar bill, and I don’t.
W. H.
There was a good deal left for the Two Betseys to eat afterwards. I had a letter from Mr. Fry.
Dear Aunt,—
There is going to be a dancing-school, and Dorry’s mother wants him to go, and he says he guesses he shall, so he may know what to do when he goes to parties, and his cousin Arthur, that doesn’t go to this school, says ’t is bully when you’ve learned how. Please ask my grandmother if I may go if I want to. Dorry wants me to if he does, he says, and Bubby Short says he means to too, if we two do, if his mother’ll let him. Dorry’s mother says we shall get very good manners there, and learn how to walk into a room. I know how now to walk into a room, I told him, walk right in. But he says his mother means toentera room, and there’smore to it than walking right in. He don’t mean an empty room, but company and all that. I guess I should be scared to go, the first of it; I guess I should be bashful, but Dorry’s cousin says you get over that when you’re used to it. Good many fellers are going. Mr. Augustus, and Old Wonder Boy, and Mr. O’Shirk. Now I suppose you can’t think who that is! Don’t you know that one I wrote about, that kicked and didn’t pay, and that wouldn’t help water the course? The great boys picked out that name for him, Mr. O’Shirk. The O stands for owe, and Shirk stands for itself. I send home a map to my grandmother, I’ve just been making, and I tried hard as I could to do it right, and I hope she will excuse mistakes, for I never made one before. ’T is the United States. Old Wonder Boy says he should thought I’d stretched out “Yankee Land” a little bigger. He calls the New England States “Yankee Land.” And he says they make a mighty poor show on the map. But Mr. Augustus told him the brains of the whole country were kept in a little place up top, same as in folks. So W. B. kept still till next time. Dorry said he’d heard of folks going out of the world into Jersey. If I go to dancing-school, I should like to have a bosom shirt, and quite a stylish bow. I think I’m big enough, don’t you, for bosom shirts? I had perfect this forenoon in all. I’ve lost that pair of spotted mittens, and I don’t know where, I’m sure. I know I put them in my pocket. My hands get just as numb now with cold! Seems as if things in my pockets got alive and jumped out. I was clapping ’em and blowing ’em this morning, and that good, tiptop Wedding Cake teacher told me tocome in his house, and his wife found some old gloves of his. I never saw a better lady than she is. When she meets us she smiles and says, “How do you do, William Henry?” or Dorry, or whatever boy it is. And when W. B. was sick one day she took care of him. And she asks us to call and see her, and says she likes boys! Dorry says he’s willing to wipe his feet till he wears a hole in the mat, before he goes in her house. For she don’t keep eying your boots. Says he has seen women brush up a feller’s mud right before his face and eyes. My hair grows darker colored now. And my freckles have ’most faded out the color of my face. I’m glad of it.
From your affectionate Nephew,William Henry.
My dear Billy,—
We are very much pleased indeed with your map. Dear me, how the United States have altered since they were young, same as the rest of us! That western part used to be all Territory. You couldn’t have done anything to please your grandmother better. She’s hung it up in the front room, between Napoleon and the Mourning Piece, and thinks everything of it. Everybody that comes in she says, “Should you like to see the map my little grandson made,—my little Billy?” You’ll always be her little Billy. She don’t seem to think you are growing up so fast. Then she throws a shawl over her head, and trots across the entry and opens the shutters, and then she’ll say, “Pretty good for a little boy.” Andtells which is Maine, and which is New York, and points out the little arrow and the printed capital letters. Folks admire fast as they can, for that room is cold as a barn, winters. The last one she took in was the minister. Your grandmother sets a sight o’ store by you. She’s proud of you, Billy, and you must always act so as to give her reason to be, and never bring her pride to shame.
We are willing you should go. At first she was rather against it, though she says she always meant you should learn to take the steps when you got old enough, but she was afraid it might tend to making you light-headed, and to unsteady your mind. This was the other night when we were talking it over in your kitchen, sitting round the fire. Somehow we get in there about every evening. Does seem so good to see the blaze. Your father said if a boy had common sense he’d keep his balance anywhere, and if dancing-school could spoil a fellow, he wasn’t worth spoiling, worth keeping, I mean. I said I thought it might tend to keep you from toeing in, and being clumsy in your motions. Your Uncle J. said he didn’t think ’t was worth while worrying about our Billy getting spoiled going to dancing-school, or anybody’s Billy, without ’t was some dandyfied coot. “Make the head right and the heart right,” says he, “and let the feet go,—if they want to.” So you see, Billy, we expect your head’s right and your heart’s right. Are they?
The girls and I have turned to and cut and made you a couple of bosom shirts and three bows, for of course you will have to dress rather different, and think a little more about your looks. But not too much, Billy! Nottoo much! And don’t for gracious sake ever get the notion that you’re good-looking! Don’t stick a breastpin in that shirt-bosom and go about with a strut! I don’t know what I hadn’t as soon see as see a vain young man. I do believe if I were to look out, and you should be coming up my front yard gravel path with a strut, or any sort of dandyfied airs, I should shut the door in your face. Much as I set by you, I really believe I should. Lor! what are good looks? What are you laying out to make of yourself? That’s the question. Freckles are not so bad as vanity. Anybody’d think I was a minister’s wife, the way I talk. But, Billy, you haven’t got any mother, and I do think so much of you! ’T would break my heart to see you grow up into one of those spick-and-span fellers, that are all made up of a bow and a scrape and a genteel smile! Though I don’t think there’s much danger, for common sense runs in the family. No need to go with muddy boots, though, or linty, or have your bow upside down. You’ve always been more inclined that way. Fact is, I want you should be just right. I haven’t a minute’s more time to write. Your Uncle J. has promised to finish this.
Dear Cousin Billy,—
This is Lucy Maria writing. The blacksmith sent word he was waiting to sharpen the colt, and father had to go. He’s glad of it, because he never likes to write letters. I’m glad you are going to dancing-school. Learn all the new steps you can, so as to show us how they’re done. Hannah Jane’s beau has just beenhere. He lives six miles off, close by where we went once to a clam-bake, when Dorry was here. Georgiana’s great doll, Seraphine, is engaged to a young officer across the road. He was in the war, and draws a pension of a cent a week. The engagement isn’t out yet, but the family have known it several days, and he has been invited to tea. He wore his best uniform. Seraphine is invited over there, and Georgie is making her a spangled dress to wear. The wedding is to come off next month. I do wish I could think of more news. Father is the best hand to write news, if you can only get him at it. Once when I was away, he wrote me a letter and told me what they had for dinner, and what everybody was doing, and how many kittens the cat had, and how much the calf weighed, and what Tommy said, and seemed ’most as if I’d been home and seen them. Be sure and write how you get along at dancing-school, and what the girls wear.
Your affectionate Cousin,Lucy Maria.
My dear Aunt,—
Thank you for the bosom shirts and the ones that helped make them. They’ve come. I like them very much and the bows too. They’re made right. I lent Bubby Short one bow. His box hadn’t come. He kept running to the expressman’s about every minute. We began to go last night. If we miss any questions to-day, we shall have to stay away next night. That’s going to be the rule. O, you ought to ’ve seen Dorry and me atit with the soap and towels, getting ready! We scrubbed our faces real bright and shining, and he said he felt like a walking jack-o’-lantern. I bought some slippers and had to put some cotton-wool in both the toes of ’em to jam my heels out where they belonged to. I don’t like to wear slippers. My bosom shirt sets bully, and I bought a linen-finish paper collar. I haven’t got any breastpin. I don’t think I’m good looking. Dorry doesn’t either. I know he don’t. That’s girls’ business. We had to buy some gloves, because his cousin said the girls wore white ones, and nice things, and ’t wouldn’t do if we didn’t. Yellowish-brownish ones we got, so as to keep clean longer. But trying on they split in good many places, our fingers were so damp, washing ’em so long. Lame Betsey is going to sew the holes up. When we got there we didn’t dare to go in, first of it, but stood peeking in the door, and by and by Old Wonder Boy gave me a shove and made me tumble in. I jumped up quick, but there was a great long row of girls, and they all went, “Tee hee hee! tee hee hee!” Then Mr. Tornero stamped and put us in the gentlemen’s row. Then both rows had to stand up and take positions, and put one heel in the hollow of t’ other foot, and then t’ other heel in that one’s hollow, and make bows and twist different ways. And right in front was a whole row of girls, all looking. But they made mistakes theirselves sometimes.
First thing we learned the graces, and that is to bend way over sideways, with one hand up in the air, and the other ’most way down to the floor, then shift about on t’ other tack, then come down on one knee, with one hand way behind, and the other one reached out ahead as if’t was picking up something a good ways off. We have to do these graces to make us limberer, so to dance easier. I tell you ’t is mighty tittlish, keeping on one knee and the other toe, and reaching both ways, and looking up in the air. I did something funny. I’ll tell you, but don’t tell Grandmother. Of course ’t was bad, I know ’t was, made ’em all laugh, but I didn’t think of their all pitching over. You see I was at one end of the row and W. B. was next, and we were fixed all as I said, kneeling down in that tittlish way, reaching out both ways, before and behind, and looking up, and I remembered how he shoved me into the room, and just gave him a little bit of a shove, and he pitched on to the next one, and he on to the next, and that one on to the next, and so that whole row went down, just like a row of bricks! Course everybody laughed, and Mr. Tornero did too, but he soon stamped us still again. And then just as they all got still again, I kept seeing how they all went down, and I shut up my mouth, but all of a sudden that laugh shut up inside made a funny sort of squelching sound, and he looked at me cross and stamped his foot again. Now I suppose he’ll think I’m a bad one, just for that tumbling in and shoving that row down and then laughing when I was trying to keep in! He wants we should practise the graces between times, to limber us up. Dorry and I do them up in our room. Guess you’d laugh if you could see, when we do that first part, bending over sideways, one hand up and one down. I tried to draw us, but ’t is a good deal harder drawing crooked boys than ’t is straight ones, so ’t isn’t a very good picture. The boys that go keep practising in the entries and everywhere, and theother ones do it to make fun of us, so you keep seeing twisted boys everywhere. Bubby Short was kneeling down out doors across the yard, on one knee, and I thought he was taking aim at something, but he said he was doing the graces. I must study now. Bubby Short got punished a real funny way at school to-day. I’ll tell you next time. I’m in a hurry to study now.
Your affectionate Nephew,William Henry.
P. S. Dorry’s just come in. He and Bubby Short and I bought “Seraphine” some wedding presents and he’s done ’em up in cotton-wool, and they’ll come to her in a pink envelope. Dorry sent that red-stoned ring and I sent the blue-stoned. We thought they’d do for a doll’s bracelets. Bubby Short sends the artificial rosebud. He likes flowers,—he keeps a geranium. We bought the presents at the Two Betseys’ Shop. They said they’d do for bracelets. Dorry says, “Don’t mention the price, for ’t isn’t likely everybody can make such dear presents, and might hurt their feelings.” We tried to make some poetry, but couldn’t think of but two lines.
When you’re a gallant soldier’s wife,May you be happy all your life!
When you’re a gallant soldier’s wife,May you be happy all your life!
Dorry says that’s enough, for she couldn’t be any more than happy all her life. “Can too!” W. B. said. “Can be good!” “O, poh!” Bubby Short said; “she can’t be happy without she’s good, can she?” But I want to study my lesson now.
W. H.
Those bosom shirts are the best things I ever had.
W. H.
Although it would have been a vast sacrifice, I think I would have almost given my best pair of shoes for a chance of seeing Billy when dressed to go to the dancing-school. A boy in his first bosom shirt is such an amusing sight. You can easily pick one out in a crowd by his satisfied air, and stiff gait; by the setting back of the shoulders, and the throwing out of the chest,—as if that smooth, white, starched expanse did not set out enough of itself! Some have a way of looking up at gentlemen, as much as to say,Wewear bosom shirts! But of course those of us boys and men who have passed through this experience remember all about it.
Dear Cousin,—
That famous wedding came off yesterday afternoon. There were fifteen invited. I do wish I had time to tell you all about it. Mother made a real wedding-cake. Georgie has hardly slept a wink for a week, I do believe, thinking about it. The young soldier wore his epaulets, having been made General the day before. The bride was dressed in pure white, of course, with a long veil, of course, too, and orange blossoms, real orange blossoms that I made myself. The presents were spread out on the baby-house table. Perhaps you don’t know that Georgie has a baby-house. It is made of a sugar-box, set up on end papered with housepaper inside, and brown outside. It has a down below, an up stairs, and garret. I do wish I had time to tell you all about the wedding, but Matilda’s a churning, and I promised to part the butter and work it over, if she would fetch it. I do wish you could hear her singing away,—
“Come, butter, come! come, butter, come!Peter stands at the gate, waiting for his buttered cake.Come, butter, come!”
“Come, butter, come! come, butter, come!Peter stands at the gate, waiting for his buttered cake.Come, butter, come!”
Besides the baby-house table, the presents were laid on the roof of the baby-house. There were sontags, shoes, hats and feathers, and all sorts of clothes, the rosebud, your jewelry, and more besides, also spoons, dishes, gridirons, vases and everything they could possibly want, to keep house with, even to flatirons and a cooking-stove. The hands of the happy couple were fastened together, and they stood up (there was a pile of books behind them). Then the trouble was, who should be the minister? At last we saw that funny Dicky Willis, your old crony, peeping in the window, and made him come in and be the minister. He was just the right one for it. He charged the bridegroom to give his wife everything she asked for, and keep her in dry kindlings, and let her have her own way, and always wipe his feet, and not smoke in the house, and never find fault; and charged her to sew on his buttons, and have plum-pudding often, and let him smoke in the house, and never want any new clothes, and always mind her husband, and let him bring in mud on his feet, and always have a smiling face, even if the baby-house was a burning down over their heads, and then pronounced them man and wife. I could fill up half a dozen sheets of paper, if I had time, but I’m afraid of that butter. Everybody shook hands with them, and kissed them, and the wedding-cake was passed round, and then the children played
“Little Sally Waters, sitting in the sun,Crying and weeping for her lost one.”
“Little Sally Waters, sitting in the sun,Crying and weeping for her lost one.”
In the midst of everything Tommy came in with Georgiana’s atlas, and said he’d found “two kick-cases.” He meant those two black hemispheres, that are pictured out in the beginning. Mother put a raisin in his mouth, and hushed him up. The happy couple have gone on a wedding tour to Susie Snow’s grandmother’scountryseat. It is expected that they will live half the time with Georgie, and half at the General’s head-quarters. But their plans may be altered; this is a changing world, and a young couple can’t always tell what’s before them. I do wish you’d write how you get on at dancing-school, and what the great girls wear, about my age. O dear what an age it is! ’T is dreadful to think of! ’Most eighteen! Did you ever hear of anybody being so old? Now truly I’m ’most ashamed to own how old I am. Eighteen next month! Hush, don’t tell! Keep it private! I do wish I could grow backwards, and grow back into a baby-house if ’t were nothing but a sugar-box. I do long to cut my hair off and go in a long-sleeved tier, and I’ve a good mind to. We don’t think you made a very good beginning. Guess your Mr.—I can’t think of his name—thought there was need enough of your learning to enter a room. Mother’s going to put a note in this letter. I’ve made her promise not to scold you, but she’s got something particular to say. Father will too. I told him ’t would be just what you would like, one of his letters. Matilda says the butter has sent word it’s coming. Write soon.
From your affectionate Cousin,Lucy Maria.
I was very sorry not to be able to attend the wedding. Mypresent was half a dozen holders. The woman with whom I board said I couldn’t give a bride anything more useful. Her little daughter made them for me, at the rate of two cents apiece. They were an inch wide, and all had loops at the corners.
How are you, young man?
I am very glad you go to dancing-school. Boys, as a general thing, are too fond of study, and ’t is a good plan to have some contrivance to take their minds off their books. I suppose you’d like to know what is going on here at home. Your grandmother sits by the fire knitting some mittens for you to lose, so be sure you do it. [She says, tell him to be sure when he goes to dancing-school to wear his overcoat.] Your aunt Phebe is making jelly tarts. Says I can’t have any till meal-time. [Tell him to be sure and get cooled off some before he comes away.] Your grandmother can’t help worrying about that dancing-school. Matilda is picking over raisins for the pies. She won’t sit very close to me. Now Tommy has come in, crying with cold hands. Lucy Maria is soaking them in cold water. I don’t doubt he’ll get a tart. Yes, he has. First he cries, and then he takes a bite. [Tell him not to go and come in his slippers.] Aunt Phebe says, “Now there’s William Henry growing up, you ought to give him some advice.” But I tell her that a boy almost in his teens knows himself what’s right and what’s wrong. Now Georgiana has come in crying. Says she stepped her foot through a puddle of ice. Grandmother has set her upto dry her foot. Now she’ll get a tart, I suppose! Yes she has. [Tell him to look right at the teacher’s feet.] That’s good advice if you expect to learn how. Now your aunt says I’m such a good boy to write letters she’s going to give me this one that’s burnt on the edge. [Tell him to brush his clothes and not go linty.] More good advice. I guess now I’ve got the tart I won’t write any more. Of course we expect you to do just about right. If you neglect your studies and so waste your father’s money, you’ll be an ungrateful scamp. If you get into any contemptible mean ways, we shall be ashamed to own you. Do you mean to do anything or be anything now or ever? If you do, ’t is time you were thinking about it.
Uncle Jacob.
All between the brackets are messages from your grandmother.
J. U.
Dear Billy,—
When you get as far as choosing partners, there’s a word I want to say to you, though, as you’re a pretty good dispositioned boy, maybe there’s no need; still you may not always think, so ’twill do no harm to say it. There are always some girls that don’t dance quite so well, or don’t look quite so well, or don’t dress quite so well, or are not liked quite so well, or are not quite so much acquainted. Now I don’t want you to all the time, but sometimes, say once in an evening, I want you to pick out one of these for your partner. Iknow ’t isn’t the way boys do. But you can. Suppose you don’t have a good time that one dance. You weren’t sent into the world to have a good time every minute of your life! How would you like to sit still all the evening? I’ve been spectator at such times, and I’ve seen how things go on! Why, if boys would be more thoughtful, every girl might have a good time, besides doing the boys good to think of something besides their own comfort. If I were you I wouldn’t try to make fun, but try to learn, for though your father was willing you should go, and wants to do everything he can for you, he has to work hard for his money. Lucy Maria is waiting to hear how you get on.
Your affectionateAunt Phebe.
Dear Cousin,—
I was going to write to you before, how I was getting along, but have had to study very hard. We’ve been five times. The girls wear slippers and brown boots and other colors, and white dresses and blue and all kinds, and long ribbons, and a good many pretty girls go. If girls didn’t go, I should like to go better. I mean till we know how, for I’d rather make mistakes when only boys were looking. And I make a good many, because he says I don’t have time and tune. He says my feet come down sometimes right square athwart the time. So I watched the rest, and when they put their feet down, I did mine. But that was a stroke too late, he said. Said “time and tune waits for no man.” I liketo promenade, because a feller can go it some then. We learn all kinds of waltzes and redowas and polkas. I can polka with one that knows how. Whirling round makes me light-headed just as Grandmother said. But I get over it some. We are going to do the German at the last of it. The worst of it is cutting across the room to get your partners. He calls out when we’re all standing up in two rows, “First gentleman take the first lady!” Now, supposing I’m first gentleman, I have to go way across to first lady with all of ’em looking, and fix my feet right way, one heel in the other hollow, and then make my bow, and then she has to make that kind of kneeling-down bow that girls do, and then we wait till all of ’em get across one by one. Then we take the step a little while, and then launch off round the hall, polking, or else get into quadrilles. And if we do we make graces to the partners and the corners. I like quadrilles best, because you can hop round some and have a good time, if you have a good partner. You can dance good deal better with a good partner. Last time I had that one the fellers call “real estate,” because you can’t move her she don’t ever get ready to start, and when ’t is time to turn stands still as a post.
Dorry and I practise going across after partners, up in our room. You ought to ’ve seen us yesterday! Dorry was the lady. If he didn’t look funny! He fixed the table-cloth off the entry table, to make it look like his mother’s opera-cape, and fastened a great sponge on for a waterfall, and fizzled out his hair, and had a little tidy on top his head, and that red bow you sent me right in front of it. Then he stood out by thewindow, and kept looking at his opera-cape, and smoothing it down, and poking his hair, and holding his handkerchief, the way girls do, and kept whispering, or making believe, to Bubby Short, the way girls do. Then I went across and made my bow, and he made that kneeling-down bow, and then we tried to polka redowa, but our boots tripped us up, and we couldn’t stand up, and laughed so we tumbled down, and didn’t hear anybody coming till he knocked, and ’t was the teacher, come to see what the matter was. Not Wedding Cake, but Old Brown Bread, and he said dancing mustn’t be brought into our studies, and scolded more, but I saw his eyes laughing, looking at Dorry. One of the boys tumbled down stairs, doing the graces in the entry, too near the edge, and it’s forbidden now. Some of the first-class fellers put up a notice one night in the entry, great printed letters.