CHAPTER V--DOWN AT MISS LIZA'S
"Here is your tin pail, Susan. Try not to lose the cover, child."
"Yes, Grandmother."
"And I've put your slippers in this little bag. Be sure to bring themhome again with you."
"Yes, Grandmother."
"And tell Miss Liza she is to start you home at half-past three.
"Tell her I said so. She will have had quite enough of you children bythat time, but she is so good-natured she would let you stay tillDoomsday if you liked." And Grandmother, straightening Susan's hat,smiled down into the expectant little face looking up into hers.
"Yes, Grandmother," answered Susan for the last time, and ran off tojoin Phil, who, also provided with a pail and a pair of bedroomslippers, stood waiting in the lane.
"Isn't this nice?" asked Susan as, clashing their pails cheerfully, theymoved briskly along the road. "I do love to go to Miss Liza's. When shelived in your house I used to go over every day, and sometimes when shewas baking she would let me help. She had little wee cake pans of afish, and a leaf, and a star." And Susan smiled at happy memories ofMiss Liza's baking-days.
"Will we make cakes to-day, do you think?" inquired Phil, who, invitedwith Susan to spend the day at Miss Eliza Tallman's, was making hisfirst social call of the season and was not quite sure what was expectedof him. For all he knew to the contrary, it was customary to carry a tinpail and bedroom slippers when going visiting for the day.
"I don't believe so," returned Susan doubtfully. "Miss Liza doesn't livealone now. She lives with her niece, Miss Lunette. And Miss Lunettecan't bear the tiniest bit of noise. That's why we brought our slippers.We have to put them on the minute we get there, and walk on tiptoe, andjust whisper." And Susan's voice sank mysteriously as she related theirprogramme for the day.
Phil looked downcast. The prospect of whispering and walking on tiptoewas not in the least pleasing to him.
"Is Miss Lunette sick?" he inquired soberly.
"Oh, yes," Susan assured him, "she is. I heard Grandmother and Miss Lizatalking. No one knows just what is the matter with her, but she musthave good things to eat, and some one to wait on her, and not one bit ofnoise. And I heard Grandmother and Grandfather talking, too," went onthe "little pitcher." "Grandmother said, 'Liza's a saint on earth,' andGrandfather said, 'In my opinion, all Miss Lunette needs is a littlehard work!' I don't know just what they meant. But, anyway, we are goingto fill our pails with currants and raspberries. Miss Liza said so."
Phil brightened for a moment, but his face clouded again and he stoppedin the road.
"Can't we shout before we get there, Susan?" he asked plaintively. "Ifeel just like shouting to-day."
"I do, too," agreed Susan willingly. "Let's shout now where there is noone to stop us." And putting down their bundles so that they might swingtheir arms as well, the children opened their mouths and shouted untilthey could shout no more.
On either side of the road lay a dense little wood. The noise of theshouting woke the echoes and startled the birds who rose in the air witha whirr of wings and then settled down again. There was the crackling ofunderbrush and the rustle of leaves, but neither of the children saw acautious little figure, with brown face and tumbled black hair, peeringat them from behind a tree. His hungry eyes traveled to their pails andstopped there.
"I'll race you!" shouted Phil suddenly. And he was off, with Susan closebehind, their empty pails swinging as they ran.
The little brown figure turned and disappeared among the tree-trunks.
Miss Eliza Tallman stood waiting for her guests on the steps of thewhite cottage that was separated from the street by an old-fashionedflower garden, now glowing in its prime.
Miss Liza herself was as wholesome and sweet and crisp as the row ofpinks that bordered the walk and sent their spicy odors out upon thewarm summer air. Miss Liza was round and plump. Her crinkly brown hair,with only a few threads of gray, was drawn into a round little knob atthe back of her head. Her eyes, round and blue, looked out pleasantlyfrom behind round gold spectacles. She stood, absently smoothing downher stiffly starched white apron, until she caught sight of thechildren, and then she waved her hand in greeting.
"I'm glad to see you," she called softly.
And something in the quiet voice made Susan remember to close the gatebehind her gently instead of letting it swing shut with a slam.
"Sit right down here on the porch steps and put on your slippers. MissLunette feels right well to-day, and she wants you to come up and seeher before dinner."
And Miss Liza smiled so warmly at little Phil that he cheered upimmediately. Going to see Miss Lunette couldn't be very dreadful if MissLiza looked so pleasant about it.
Up the steep stairs they toiled softly, and were ushered into a room sodarkened that, coming from the glare of the sun outside, it was at firstdifficult to see anything.
But Phil at length made out a figure, wrapped in a shawl this warmsummer day, seated in a cushioned rocking-chair, and felt a cool, slimhand take his own for an instant. He looked timidly into the face abovehim and saw with a lightened heart that Miss Lunette was not dreadful atall, that she didn't look in the least as he had expected and feared tosee her look.
And in the fullness of his heart, little Phil spoke out.
"Why, you are pretty," said he to Miss Lunette.
Miss Lunette's pale, thin face flushed with pleasure, and she laid ahand lightly upon Philip's head.
"I feel so well to-day," said she graciously, "that I want to show youchildren some toys that I've been making. Some day I mean to sell themin the city, but it won't do any harm, I suppose, to show them to youbeforehand. It is what we call wool-work," added she carefully.
On a table, drawn close to Miss Lunette's chair, stood a group ofanimals made of worsted. There were yellow chickens standing unsteadilyupon their toothpick legs. Lopsided white sheep faced a pair of stoutrabbits evidently suffering from the mumps. A dull brown roostersuddenly blossomed out into a gorgeous tail of red and green and purpleyarn.
For a grown person it would be difficult to imagine who, in the city,would purchase these strange specimens of natural history, but such adisloyal thought did not occur to the children. They admired the toys toMiss Lunette's complete satisfaction, and they had their reward. ForMiss Lunette took from the shelf under the table a book, a home-madebook, between whose pasteboard covers had been sewed leaves of stiffwhite paper.
"As a special treat," said Miss Lunette sweetly to her round-eyedaudience, "I am going to show you my book."
She paused for an instant to allow Susan and Phil to feast their eyesupon the book in silence.
"This is the cover," said she at last, "and I made the picture myself."
The picture was that of a rigid little boy, in a paper soldier cap,stiffly blowing upon a tin trumpet. The picture was carefully coloredwith red and blue crayons.
"Oh, it's pretty," said Susan, in honest admiration. She meant to make abook herself as soon as she reached home.
"What's inside?" asked Philip. He felt sorry for that little boy, who,as long as he lived with Miss Lunette, might never make a noise.
"I think the cover ought to be bright and gay, so that it will attractthe children," went on the authoress. "Don't you think so, too?"
Yes, Susan and Phil thought so, too.
"But what's inside?" asked Philip again.
How was that little boy going to play soldier, and never once shout orfire off a gun?
"The name of the book is 'Scripture for Little Ones,'" continued MissLunette. "I will read parts of it to you if you like." And opening atpage one, she began to read.
A is for Absalom who hung by his hair From a tree--How painful to be left swinging there.
B is for Baalam--He had a donkey who spoke-- If we heard it to-day we would think it a joke.
C is for Cain--His brother Abel he slew-- He was a murderer--May it never be true of you!
D is for Daniel who, in the lion's
den, Suffered no harm from beasts or from men.
E is for--
But whom E stood for the children never knew, for Miss Liza appeared inthe doorway bearing a tray.
"Here is your dinner, Lunette," said she gently. "Children, you creepdownstairs now. You don't want to overdo, Lunette," she added, as sheplaced the invalid's substantial dinner before her. "You've been talkingfor an hour now."
Downstairs Miss Liza closed the stairway door that led up to MissLunette's room.
"Now you can talk out as loud as you like," said she, "and you won'tdisturb any one. What's the news up at your house, Susan? Have you andPhil found the buried ten cents yet?"
No, Susan had forgotten all about it.
So, as she stepped about putting their dinner on the table, Miss Lizatold Phil the story of the buried ten cents.
"You know, Phil," said she, "you are living in my house,--the house Iwas born and brought up in. And one day, when I was a little girl eightyears old, my uncle, who had a farm a mile or so away, drove past ourhouse and saw me in the road.
"'Here's ten cents,' said he. 'Five for you and five for Jim.' Jim wasmy brother. Now I was a selfish little thing," said Miss Liza, shakingher head, "and what did I do but dig a hole under the kitchen window andput the ten cents in it. Some day, when Jim was out of the way, I meantto dig it up and spend it all on myself. But do you know, I never havefound that money from that day to this. I dug, and Jim dug, and Susanhere has dug, and I suppose you will try now. If you find it, be sureyou let me know."
"I will find it," said Phil, excited. "I will. You see."
Miss Liza nodded wisely.
"That is what Susan thought," she answered. "Now draw up to the table. Ihope you are hungry." And Miss Liza smiled hospitably round at herguests.
They were hungry. The good dinner disappeared from their plates likemagic, but the crowning touch came when the little cakes shaped likefish and leaves and stars appeared upon the table.
"I told Phil about them," Susan repeated over and over; "I told him, Itold him."
After dinner, Susan and Phil went into the garden to fill their pailswith currants and raspberries. It must be admitted that they picked moreraspberries than currants, and that they put almost as many berries intotheir mouths as into their pails.
They were hard at work when Miss Liza joined them.
"It's half-past three," said she, shading her eyes with her hands andlooking up at the sky. "And if your Grandmother meant what she said, youought to start for home. But what I'm thinking of is the weather. It'sclear enough overhead, but low down there are black clouds that looklike a shower to me. I don't know whether you ought to set out or not."
The clouds looked very far away to the children, and, now that theirpails were almost full, it seemed a pity not to stay a little longer.
But Miss Liza took one more look round at the sky and made up her mindonce for all.
"You must go right along," she decided, "and hurry, too. I shan't havean easy moment till I think you are safe at home. Here are your hats andslippers. Miss Lunette is napping, now, so I will say good-bye for you.Hurry right along, children, and don't stop to play by the way."
And all in a twinkling Susan and Phil found themselves walking down thevillage street, with Miss Liza at the gate, waving good-bye with onehand and motioning them along with the other.
The sun was shining as they left the village and turned into the countryroad that led past home, but there were low mutterings and rumblings andPhil stopped to listen.
"There's a wagon on the bridge," said he. "Maybe they will give us aride."
"It's thunder," returned Susan, more weather-wise than he. "Listen. It'sgetting dark, too. I wish a wagon would come along."
But there was no sound of wheels; only rumblings of thunder growing everlouder, the rustle of leaves in the rising wind, and the call of thebirds to one another as they hastened to shelter from the coming storm.
"It's blue sky overhead, anyway," said Susan. "Let's run."
"It's raining," announced Phil, heavily burdened with slippers and pail."I hear it on the leaves. I can't run. Let's sit down under a tree."
"No, no!" exclaimed Susan, seizing his hand. "Come on! It's blue skyoverhead. I want to get home to Grandmother. I don't like it in thewoods in the rain. Come on! Do hurry--Run!"
The tiny patch of blue sky upon which Susan had pinned her faith hadbeen rapidly growing smaller. Now it was altogether out of sight. Therewas a sharp flash of lightning, a loud clap of thunder, and down camethe rain like the bursting of a waterspout.
"Oh, run, Philly, run!" called Susan, darting to the side of the road."Come here with me under the trees."
A flash of lightning and long roll of thunder came just at that moment,and put to flight all Phil's small stock of courage. He was frightenedand tired, and he could endure no more. He dropped his pail of preciousberries to the ground, he let fall his slippers, and, standing in thedownpour, he lifted up his voice and wept.
"Mamma, Mamma!" wailed Phil. "I want Mamma!"
Poor Susan was distracted. Her lip trembled and her eyes filled withtears, but she bravely ran out into the road again and caught Phil bythe arm.
"Come, Philly, come," entreated Susan.
But Phil, bewildered by the dazzling flashes of light and peals ofthunder, was beside himself with fear. He jerked his arm away and ranscreaming up the road, splashing through puddles as he went.
"Oh, Philly! Oh, Grandfather! Oh, Grandfather!" wailed Susan. She feltthat the end of the world had come.
But deliverance was at hand.
Out of the woods appeared a man and a boy. The man easily overtook Philand lifted him in his arms.
"Don't be afraid, missy," called he to Susan above Phil's screams. "Comealong with me."
The boy had gathered up the scattered bundles, and he now graspedSusan's hand, and so, dripping with rain, the little party vanished intothe shelter of the woods.
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