CHAPTER V.
CHICKENS AND "POETRY."
Spring came again, and deepened slowly towards the summer. Leavesbudded on the trees, herbs sprouted from the warm earth, and birds sangin all the hedges.
"I am _so_ glad!" said Nelly; "for I love the spring sunshine, and allthe pleasant things that come with it."
When the weather grew mild, Nelly was as good as her word about raisingchickens for the benefit of Comfort's nephew, the little slave. Theeggs of the favorite hen were carefully put aside to accumulate, andas soon as she had done laying, and went about the barnyard clucking,with her feathers ruffled and her wings drooping, Nelly knew, with joy,that it was time to set her. So she filled the same nest in which theeggs had been laid, with clean, fresh straw, and placed them in it,ready for the bantam when Martin could catch her to put her on. Theyfound that the hen needed no coaxing, but settled herself at once inthe well-filled nest, giving at the same time an occasional cluck ofhigh satisfaction. In three weeks from that time she came off witheleven chicks,--all safe and well. When she was put in her coop, underthe big apple-tree by the fence, Nelly fed her with moistened Indianmeal, every day. She thought it a pretty sight, when biddy minced upthe food for her babies, and taught them how to drink out of theflower-pot saucer of water that stood within her reach.
Nelly seemed never to get tired of looking at her little snow-whitepets. She felt that they were her own, and therefore she took a doubleinterest in them.
When she was home from school, and lessons were studied for the nextmorning, she would go out to the apple-tree, and sit on the cleangrass an hour or two, to watch every movement of the brood, and thesolicitude of the caged mother when her offspring wandered too faraway. One day in particular, as she sat there, the child's thoughtswere busy with the future; her imagination pictured the time whenfull-grown, and more beautiful than any others, as she thought theywere sure to become, her eleven chickens were to be sent to market.
"I hope," she said half aloud; "I hope they will bring a good price,for Comfort's sake; I should not like to offer her anything less thanfive dollars. That is very little, I think, compared to all the troubleI have had night and morning to feed and take care of them."
She stopped a moment, and heaved a deep sigh, as she saw the littleyellow dots flit back and forth through the long grass, some of themrunning now and then to nestle lovingly under the wings of the mother.
"Oh dear!" she went on; "I do believe I am getting to love my hen andchickens too much to part with them; every day I think more and moreof them, and all the while they grow prettier and sweeter and tamer.I wish I could keep them and have the money too! Dear little chickies!Oh, Comfort, Comfort!"
She pronounced the last two words so ruefully, that her mother, who waspassing along the garden-path, near the apple-tree, called out,--
"Well, Nelly dear, what is the matter with your precious Comfort, eh?Has she met any great misfortune?"
"No, ma'am," said Nelly; "I was only talking to myself about how hardit would be to sell the little chickens, even for dear Comfort's sake,when I love them so."
Mrs. Brooks drew near.
"Well, my child, that is a dilemma I have not thought of before.Perhaps, who knows, something will turn up to keep your darlingsnearer home. When autumn comes, if I feel desperately in want ofbantams, I may purchase your brood myself,--but I will not promiseabout it. In the meantime, don't get to loving them too much; andremember, that if you told Comfort you would give her the money, youmust keep your word."
"Yes," said Nell, with another sigh; "there is just my trouble; I wantto be honorable to Comfort, and kind to myself too."
Mrs. Brooks passed on. She went into a little vegetable garden beyond,found what she wanted, and came back.
She paused again, and with the little girl, looked at the chickens.
"Nelly," she said, "it has just struck me that you have been a greatdeal in the kitchen with Comfort, lately, of evenings. Now, though Irespect and love Comfort for many things, I want you to stay more withyour father, and Martin, and myself, in the sitting-room."
"What?" Nelly cried, in innocent wonder; "isn't Comfort good anylonger?"
Mrs. Brooks smiled.
"Yes, dear, Comfort's as good as ever. She tries to do her duty, andis a faithful old creature. She has many excellent qualities, but sheis not educated nor refined, as I hope one day _you_ will be. You aretoo young to be exposed to her influence constantly, proper as it maybe in most respects. I want you to fill a different rank in life fromComfort's, Nelly."
Tears were in Nelly's eyes as she answered gravely,
"Yes, ma'am."
"Comfort is a servant, and you are my little daughter. I want you to bediligent, and cultivate a love of books. If you grow up in ignorance,you can never be esteemed a lady, even if you were as rich as anempress. I will give you the credit to say that you have improved verymuch since you have been with me, both in your conduct and in thelanguage you use."
"Comfort told me I mustn't say 'br'iling fish,' as she did, because_you_ did not! _That_ was kind of her, wasn't it?"
Mrs. Brooks felt her eyes moisten at this unexpected remark, more,perhaps, at the tone than at the words themselves. She saw that Nellywas deeply attached to Comfort, and she felt almost that she was wrongin seeking to withdraw the child from the grotesque attraction she hadlately seemed to feel for her society. But duty was duty, and she wasfirm.
She stooped and imprinted a light kiss on Nelly's cheek.
"Yes," she said, "Comfort is very kind to you. But I do not wish you tospend more time with her when you are out of school than you do withthe rest of the family. Remember not to hurt her feelings by repeatingto her this conversation."
"Yes, ma'am," said Nelly; and then she added, "Comfort was going toshow me how to write poetry, to-night, when she got through with herwork. Couldn't I go in the kitchen for this one evening?"
"Comfort--teach--poetry?" echoed Mrs. Brooks, with some dismay andamusement.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Well,--yes,--you may stay in the kitchen, if you like, for this once.Certainly, I have no objection to your learning to write poetry," andshe walked away, laughing quietly.
Surely enough, when night fell, and Comfort, radiant in a showy, new,red cotton turban, sat down to her knitting,--her day's work over,everything in its place, and the kitchen-floor white with extremecleanliness,--Nell came skipping into the room, pencil and paper inhand.
"You see," she said, as she arranged her writing materials on thetable, and drew the solitary tallow candle towards her; "you see,Comfort, school breaks up next week, and the spring vacation begins.It lasts a month, only think of it! Will not I have good times, eh?Johnny Bixby,--you know Johnny Bixby, Comfort? well, he goes to hishome in the city as soon as vacation commences, and as we may not seehim again, he wants each of the little girls to write him some poetryso that he can remember us by it; and that's the way I come to want tolearn how."
"Oh," said Comfort, "I understand now. Johnny boards with those arHarrowses, eh?"
"Yes," said Nell; "and he's such a very quiet boy, you've no idea,Comfort."
"He's the fust _quiet_ boy ever _I_ heerd on, then," said Comfort."Weel, what do you want to say to Johnny in your poetry? That's thefirst and important p'int; don't begin to write till you finds what youare a goin' to say."
"Oh, I want to tell him good-bye, and all that sort of thing, Comfort,and how I hope we will meet again. I've got the first line all written;that's some help isn't it? Melindy's and my first lines are just alike,'cause we made it up between us."
"How does it go?" asked Comfort, puffing at her pipe.
"This way," said Nelly, taking up her paper and reading:
"Our days of youth will soon be o'er."
"Well," said Comfort, after a moment's reflection, "I think that's verygood. Now you must find something to rhyme with that ar word 'o'er.'"
Nelly bent over her papers, and seemed to be considering very hardindeed. Onc
e she put forth her hand as if she were going to write, butdrew it back again. Evidently she found writing poetry very difficultwork. Comfort was looking at her, too, and that made her nervous, andeven the solemn stare of the cat, Nancy, from the hearth, where she satpurring, added to her embarrassment.
"Oh, Comfort," she said, at last, with a deep sigh; "I can't! I wonderif Johnny Bixby would take as much trouble as this for me. Do tell mewhat rhymes with 'o'er,' Comfort!"
"'O'er,' 'o'er,'" repeated Comfort, slowly; "why, tore, gnaw, boar,roar, and such like. Roar is very good."
"But I don't want 'roar' in poetry, Comfort," said Nelly, considerablyruffled. "I don't see how you can bring 'roar' in. I wonder if 'more'would not do."
She took up her pencil, and in a little while, with beaming eyes, readto her listener these lines:
"Our days of youth will soon be o'er, In Harrows' school we'll meet no more."
"That's pretty fair, isn't it, Comfort?"
"'Pears like," was the answer that came from a cloud of smoke on theother side of the room. "I'm sorry the 'roar' couldn't come in, though.Don't disremember to say something nice about his writin' to tell yerif he gits safe home, and so, and so."
"No," said Nell; "I'll not"--"forget" she meant to have added, but justthen came a heavy knock on the kitchen-door that made both of themstart.
Comfort opened it, and there stood a boy, nearly a man, in the dressof a sailor. His hair was long and shaggy, his face was brown, and overhis shoulder swung a small bundle on a stick.
He was not, however, as rough as he looked, for he took off his hat andsaid in a pleasant voice,
"Can you tell me where a widow by the name of Harrow lives in thisneighborhood? I was directed this way, I think."
"Over yonder is the house," said Comfort, pointing out into the night."And the next time yer come, be keerful not to thump so hard. We arenot used to it in this 'ere part of the country."
Nelly heard the young man laugh as he walked down the path from thehouse; and something in the sound brought Miss Milly to her mind. Themore she thought of it, the more certain she became that the youngman's voice was like her teacher's. She sat still a little while,thinking, and idly scratching her pencil back and forth. At length shesaid, quite forgetful of her writing,
"Comfort, didn't Mrs. Harrow's son run away to sea, ever so long ago?"
This question, simple as it was, seemed to fill Comfort with suddenknowledge. She clapped her hands together joyfully.
"My stars! ef that don't beat all! I do b'lieve Sidney Harrow is comeback again!"
She went to the door to look after him, but his figure had long sincevanished down the path. The gloom of night reigned, undisturbed,without. There was no sailor-boy to be seen.
"My stars!" said Comfort, again and again; "ef that was only MissMilly's brother come back to help keer for the family, instead ofrunnin' off like a bad ongrateful feller, as he was, I'll be glad forone."
"And I'll be glad too," cried Nelly; "and then dear Miss Elinor neednot teach, but can read books all day, if she likes, and be happy. Oh,kitty, kitty! will not that be nice?" and in the delight of her heart,the little girl caught up the cat from the hearth, and began to caressher in a joyful manner, that the sober puss must have considered ratherindecorous, for she sat still in her lap, looking as grave as a judge,and never winked or purred once at her young mistress.
Here the clock struck nine.
"Dear, dear!" said Nelly; "and I haven't finished my poetry yet! andvery soon I must go to bed." Back she went with renewed vigor. "Whatwere you saying, Comfort, when that young man knocked? Oh, I know,--totell Johnny to write to me; I remember now. Don't you think it willseem strange to Johnny to be with his mother all the time, instead ofsending her letters from school? eh, Comfort?"
But the old woman was lost in her thoughts and her smoking, and didnot reply. Nelly bent over her paper, read, and re-read the two linesalready accomplished, and after musing in some perplexity what shouldcome next, asked,
"Comfort, what rhymes with B?"
"Stingin' bee, Nell?"
"No, the _letter_ B."
"Oh, that's it, is it? Well, let me think. I haven't made poetrythis ever so long. There's 'ragin' sea,'--how's that?" said Comfort,beginning to show symptoms of getting deeply interested. "Now take to'flectin' on that ar, Nell."
Nell did reflect some time, but to no purpose. Some way she could notfit in Comfort's "ragin' sea." It was no use, it would not go! Shewrote and erased, and erased and wrote, for a full quarter of an hour.After much anxious labor, she produced finally this verse, and biddingComfort listen, read it aloud, in a very happy, triumphant way. Thenshe copied it neatly on a piece of paper, in a large, uneven, childishhandwriting, which she had only lately acquired. It was now ready tobe presented on the morrow.
TO JOHNNY BIXBY.
Our days of youth will soon be o'er, In Harrow's school we'll meet no more; You'll write no more to Mrs. B., Oh then, dear Johnny, write to me!
"And now," said Nelly, as she folded up the precious paper, afterhaving duly received Comfort's congratulations and praise,--"and nowI'm going straight to tell mother about Sidney Harrow."
CHAPTER VI.
GETTING LOST.
The next day, when Nelly went to school with her verse-paper in herhand, all ready for presentation, she found the children talkingtogether in little groups, in tones of great surprise and delightedsatisfaction.
Melinda, now grown kind and loving to Nelly, as a consequence of thatlittle girl's own patience and affectionate effort, came forward atonce to tell the news.
"Only think!" she said; "Mrs. Harrow's son, Sidney, has come home, andoh, Miss Milly and Miss Elinor are _so_ glad!"
"And so am I," cried Nelly; "if ever there was good luck, that is."
"I am not so sure about that," said Melinda, with a sage, grown-up air;for she liked to seem like a woman, and often told her companions,"dear knows, if _she_ wasn't big enough to be thought one, she wouldlike to know who _was_!"
"Why, isn't Mr. Sidney a nice young man, Melindy?" asked Nelly, inbewilderment.
"Hush!" said Melinda, drawing her into a corner; "don't talk so loud.You see, he's come home as poor as he went, and folks are afraid thathe will go on just as he did before,--that is, spend all his ownearnings and plenty of his mother's, too."
"Dear, dear!" said Nelly; "that will be hard for Miss Milly."
"Anyway," continued Melinda, wisely, "we can hope for the best, youknow. Miss Milly is so glad to have him back, that she came intothis 'ere school-room, this very morning, and told the scholars shewas going to take them all on a picnic, to-morrow, up yonder, on Mr.Bradish's mountain. We are to ask our mothers if we can go, and thencome here with our dinners in our baskets, and set off together as soonas the grass dries. Fun, isn't it?"
Nelly's eyes danced.
"A picnic! well, if that isn't nice! I hope Comfort will put somethingreal good in my basket, to-morrow." Then she added, thoughtfully, "Iwonder if Martin might not go, too?"
"I'll ask," said Melinda; and up she went to Miss Milly, who at thatmoment entered.
Little Johnny Bixby, a boy of ten, now came up to wish Nellgood-morning, and talk about the picnic. Nelly gave him her poetry, andhe read it, and said,
"It's splendid, Nelly; I'll show it to mother as soon as I get home."
The next day came. The skies were clear, but the wind was high, andswayed the branches of the trees around the farm-house, and swept thelong, wet grass to and fro.
"Is it going to storm?" asked Nelly, anxiously, of Martin, asimmediately after breakfast they stood together in the door-way andlooked forth.
"No," said Martin; "I think it will not storm, but the breeze will be apretty stiff one all day. Perhaps Miss Milly will postpone the picnic."
"Oh, dear!" cried Nelly; "I hope not. What! put it off after Comforthas baked us that great, bouncing sponge-cake, Martin?"
Martin was going too, for Miss Milly had sent him an invitation
, andMr. Brooks had granted him, very willingly, a holiday. He had only tohelp milk the cows early in the morning, and then he was free to followhis pleasure till sundown. He was dressed now in his Sunday suit; hishair was combed smoothly over his forehead, and his best cloth cap wasin his hands. Altogether he looked so tidy, so good, so happy, thatwhen Mr. Brooks came in the room, he asked Comfort, with a smile, ifshe didn't think a lad of about the age of Martin ought to have atleast a dime of spending money, when he went to picnics. On Comfort'ssaying heartily, without taking one single instant for reflection,"Yes, Sir," the farmer put his hand in his pocket, drew out a new andbright quarter of a dollar, and dropped it in Martin's cap. Martintried to return it, but Mr. Brooks would not hear to any such thing,but shouldered his hoe and went off, whistling, into the garden.
"I'll tell you what to do with it," said Nelly, in a confidentialwhisper; "buy round hearts; they're four for a penny. Only think offour times twenty-five round hearts! How much is that, Martin?"
Martin laughed, and said he guessed he would not invest in roundhearts, for Comfort's cake was so large.
"So _monstrous_ large," put in Nelly, dividing a glance of affectionbetween Comfort and the cake.
"Yes," continued Martin; "it is so _monstrous_ that it ought to last,at least, two whole days."
The farmer's wife came in just then, and told them she would pack thedinner-basket herself, to see that everything was right, and that itwas full enough, for she said she had heard somebody remark that goodappetites were sure to go along on picnics. Nelly and Martin stood byand looked at her as she unfolded a clean white towel, and outspreadit in the basket, so that the ends hung over the sides. After thisshe took some thin pieces of cold beef and put them between slices ofbread and butter, and these she packed away first. Now came Comfort'ssponge-cake, cut in quarters, and as many little lady-apples asremained from the winter's store,--for it was late in the spring. A cupto drink out of the mountain streams was also added, and the towel-endswere nicely folded over the whole and pinned together.
A happy pair they were, when they set out,--Martin carrying theprovisions, and Nelly singing and making flying skips beside him. Whenthey reached the school-house, nearly all the children were assembled.Miss Milly was there, and her brother too, a handsome young lad, ofabout eighteen, with a very brown, sunburnt face. Nelly knew him, themoment she saw him, to be the same person she had seen before. Theywere not to start for an hour yet, for, high as the wind had been, andwas, the grass was still glittering with dew. The little road-sidebrooks were furrowed into white-crested waves, and the school-housecreaked and moaned with the gusts that blew against it.
"I am almost afraid to venture taking the children out," saidMiss Milly; but upon hearing this, such a clamor of good-humoredexpostulation arose, and so many sorrowful "oh's," and "oh dear me's,"resounded through the room, that Sidney Harrow, as any other boy wouldhave done, begged his sister to have mercy and never mind the wind.
In a little while the party started. Mr. Bradish's mountain, theproposed scene of the picnic, was distant about one mile from theschool-house. The route to it lay through a long, shady lane thatgradually wound towards the woods, and lost itself at last amidthe huge, gray rocks and dense shade of the hill-top itself. It wasspring-time, and the grass was very green, and delicate wild flowersstarred all the road-side. Here and there, in the crevice of a mossystone, grew a tuft of wild pinks, nodding against a group of scarletcolumbines, while, wherever the ground afforded unusual moisture, blueviolets thrust up their graceful heads in thick masses.
"Hurrah!" cried Johnny Bixby, as they reached the summit of themountain; "Hurrah! here we are at last. The picnic's begun!"
Miss Milly said the children might stray around together for some timebefore it would be the dinner-hour, and they might gather as many wildflowers as they wished, to decorate the picnic grounds. All the girlsset to work, and such a crowd of violets, anemones, wild buckwheat,and pinks as was soon piled around Miss Milly's feet, was a sightto behold. While Sidney Harrow with Martin and the rest of the boyswere fishing in a little stream that ran over the mountain, about onequarter of a mile distant, Miss Milly's party tied bouquets to thebranches of the trees, and hung garlands on the bushes, around thespot where they were to dine. The wind died away, the birds sung outmerrily, and the air grew soft and warm, so that, after all, therewas no fear of little folks taking cold. The brook where Sidney andMartin led the boys was not a very deep one, and therefore it was notdangerous, but it was celebrated for miles around for its fish. Alarge, overhanging rock, under the shade of a tree, served, as Martinsaid, for a "roosting-place," and from it they found the bites sofrequent that quite a little string of fish was made, and hung on somedead roots that projected from the bank.
"What a wild place this is," said Martin, looking around him, as hedrew in his line for the fourth time.
"Yes," said Sidney; "it is. That is the best of it. I wouldn't give afig for it if it wasn't. Look at that cow coming to drink. I wonderwhere she hails from! How she looks at us!"
The cow did indeed regard them with a long stare of astonishment, andthen, scarcely tasting the water, she plunged, bellowing, into thewoods again.
"She is frightened," said Martin; "that's old Duchess, one of Mr.Bradish's cows. He turns them out with their calves every summer, totake care of themselves till fall."
"Why, is the pasture good enough for that, up here on this mountain?"asked Sidney, baiting his hook.
"Yes," replied Martin; "I think so; it's rather rough, but cows aremighty knowin', and pick out the best. Besides, they have theirfreedom, and they thrive on that as much as anything. Then the calvesare so well grown in the fall by these means, that when farmers, whoput them out, go to drive them home to winter-quarters, they hardlyknow their own again."
"There, she's coming back!" cried a little boy; "and a whole lot withher!"
Martin looked where the crashing of boughs told of the approach, andsaw about a dozen cows, headed by Duchess, making for that part ofthe stream where they were fishing. Some half-grown calves scamperedat their heels, in a frightened way, that showed they were not muchaccustomed to the sight of human beings.
"Poor Duchess! Good Duchess!" said Martin, in a kind tone; but Duchesstossed up her nice, brown nose, and snorted at him.
"She don't like the looks of us, that's flat," said Sidney, with alittle alarm that made Martin smile; "I'm sure I don't like _her_appearance one bit. Suppose she should horn us!" And he jumped hastilyup from the rock.
"What!" said Martin; "you, a sailor, who know what it is to facedeath on the ocean, every day of your life, and yet afraid of a cow!Besides, she hasn't a horn to her head! Just look at her. She hasnothing but two little, miserable stumps!"
Sidney came back again, for he had retreated a step or two, under thetrees, and looked somewhat ashamed.
"What's the use of jumpin'?" said Johnny Bixby, in a big, pompoustone, that he meant to be very courageous and manly; "Duchess is onlyfrightened at seeing us. This is her drinking-place, may be."
"Oh!" said Sidney; "of course _I_ am not afraid;" but his lips turnedblue as Duchess made a sudden move, half-way across the stream, andthen stood still, and roared again.
"She's a little scared at us, that's all," said Martin; "she'll getused to the sight of us pretty soon."
"After she's made the water muddy and spoiled the fishing," saidSidney, in an ill-natured tone.
Martin took off his shoes and stockings, rolled up his trousers, andwaded slowly across the brook towards the herd of cattle, holdingout his hand and speaking to one or two of the animals by name, in acoaxing, petting way:
"Come here, Spotty,--come here, good little White Sue,--come here, mypoor old Duchess!"
The cows stood and looked at him, very quietly. The one he called Sue,was small, and entirely white, with the exception of a bright red staron her forehead; she was a very pretty creature. She seemed to rememberhaving seen Martin before, for presently she marched slowly up tohim and
sniffed his hand, while staring at him from head to foot. Theboy scratched her ears, as he had often done before upon passing Mr.Bradish's barnyard; she appeared to be pleased, and rubbed her headagainst his shoulder.
"Softly, there, Susie," said Martin; "I don't like that. That's mySunday go-to-meeting coat."
He stepped back as he spoke, and the abrupt movement alarmed the wholetroop. White Sue gave a loud bellow, and dashed abruptly across thestream into the woods on the other side,--her companions hurriedlyfollowing, splashing the water over themselves and their calves as theydid so.
Sidney Harrow dropped his pole, and with a half-shriek, ran in theopposite direction, towards the picnic ground.
As the fishing at that place was now over, on account of thedisturbance of the water, Martin told the boys they had better join therest of the party; so they gathered up the fish and bait, and left thespot, Martin carrying the rod of the brave sailor in addition to hisown.
They found Miss Milly building a fire in a small clearing, where itwould not scorch the trees. Sidney was with her. As he saw the boysapproach he got down on his knees and began to blow the flame into ablaze, and puffed and panted so hard at his work, that he could noteven get his breath to say "thank you," when Martin remarked, "Here isyour rod, Sidney. You left it on the rock. I'll lean it against thismaple, till you are ready to take charge of it."
"I am glad you have come," said Miss Milly to the group of boys; "forwe are getting magnificent appetites, and I wanted Sidney and Martin toroast the clams."
"Clams!" cried Martin; "that was what made Sidney's load so heavy,then, coming up the hill. How I like roasted clams!"
Miss Milly showed him Sidney's empty basket, and told him that she andMelinda had prepared a compact bed of the clams on the ground, and thatthey had then placed over them a quantity of dry branches, ready tokindle when Sidney should come with the matches, which he carried inhis pocket, and had brought for the purpose.
The tablecloth was already spread on a flat rock near at hand, and thelittle girls were still busy arranging the contents of their basketsupon it, for, by general consent, they were to dine together that day,and share with each other the eatables that had been provided for theexcursion.
Martin reached down his and Nelly's basket, from a high limb where hehad hung it for safety, and Comfort's big cake, which Mrs. Brooks hadcut in quarters, was fitted together and placed in the centre of thecloth for the chief ornament.
"Will not Comfort feel proud when she hears it?" whispered Nelly toMartin, as she passed him with her hands full of knives and forks.
The fire was soon blazing and sputtering over the clams, and in ashort time Sidney pronounced them cooked. With branches of trees, theboys then drew the burning fragments away, and scattered the red coalstill the bed of baked clams presented itself. Miss Milly tried one andfound it was just in a fine state to eat, and then the children weretold that all was ready.
Armed with plates, pieces of bread and butter, and knives and forks,they drew near, and the talking and laughing that ensued, as eachopened the hot shells, for his or herself, made a merry scene of it.
There were enough for all, and to spare; and when they left theclam-bed, still smoking and smouldering, to assemble around"table-rock," as Melinda called it, where the daintier part of thefeast was spread, Martin said he had never tasted such finely roastedclams in his life.
"I expect," said Miss Milly, "that the charm lies in our appetites."
"Yes," said Johnny Bixby, taking an enormous bite of cake, and, toNelly's great horror, speaking with his mouth full--"yes, I think goin'on picnics and such like, is real hungry work."
This speech was received with a shout of approbation; and, on Sidneyremarking that he thought that Johnny should be made the orator of theoccasion, the children laughed again, and quite as heartily as thoughthey fully understood what _orator_ meant.
When the dinner was over, and the larger girls began to gather up thefragments, and restore plates and spoons to their owners, the restprepared for a ramble. Miss Milly said they must not go far, nor staylong, and, promising to obey, the children set out together.
As soon as they were separated from the others, which happenedinsensibly, Johnny Bixby gave Nelly, with whom he was walking, a veryanimated account of Sidney Harrow's behavior at the fishing-ground.
"Afraid of cows!" said Nell; "well, that beats all I ever heard. I amafraid that Sidney will not help Miss Milly along much. Come, show mewhere you fished, Johnny, will you?"
Johnny led the way, and in a little while he and Nelly stood on thevery rock from which the boys had dropped their lines in the morning.The moss upon it was trodden under foot, and it was quite wet wherethe fish had been hauled in.
"I wonder if this is a creek," said Nell, looking up and down the brookwith an admiring gaze; "Marm Lizy used often to tell me of a creekwhere she rowed a boat, when she was young."
"Marm Lizy?" asked Johnny; "who's that, Nell?"
Nelly turned very red, and was silent. She remembered, like a flash oflightning, that John was a stranger in the village, his home being inthe adjacent city, and that therefore he had, perhaps, never heard thestory of her degraded childhood. Pride rose up and made her deceitful.
"Marm Lizy!" she repeated, carelessly; "oh, I don't know; somebody orother who used to live in the village. What's that, Johnny, floppingabout in the grass?"
She pointed to the rock-side, where, as Johnny soon saw, a decided"flopping" was indeed going on.
"A fish! a fish!" cried the boy, catching it and holding it up in bothhands, so that Nell could look at it; "I'll take it to Martin to put onthe string with the rest. It must have floundered off."
"Oh, let us put it back," cried Nelly; "poor Mr. Fish! I think youwould really like to try your hand at swimming again."
"Fin, you mean," laughed John; "fishes don't have hands that ever _I_heard tell. Shall I let it go?"
"Oh, yes!" cried Nell; "but wait till I get down from the rock sothat I can see it swim away." She clambered down, and soon stood byJohnny's side on the long grass that grew close to the brook's edge,and mingled with the little white bubbles on its surface. Johnnystooped, and, holding the fish, put his hands under the water. Themoment the poor, tortured thing felt the touch of its native element,it gave a start and would have darted away.
"Oh, Johnny!" exclaimed Nell; "don't tease it so cruelly. Please let itgo."
Johnny lifted up his hands, and instantly the fish swam off so swiftlythat they could scarcely see which way it went. At last Nelly espied itunder the shadow of the rock, puffing its little sides in and out, andlooking at them with its keen, bright eyes, in a very frightened way.
"Johnny lifted up his hands, and instantly the fishswam off." Page 154.]
"Poor fish!" said Johnny; "swim away, and remember not to nibble atboy's hooks again. A worm is a very good thing for you when it isn't atthe end of a piece of string."
The fish gazed at him a little longer, then seeming to take his advice,darted from the rock to where the water was deeper and darker, and wassoon lost to sight.
"That's the place Sidney's cows came from," said Johnny, pointingto the opposite side of the stream, where the bushes were torn andtrodden, and marks of hoofs were in the mud and grass.
"Let us take off our shoes and stockings and wade over and follow theirtrack, to see where it leads," cried Nelly; and, suiting the action tothe word, the two children soon found themselves bare-footed,--Nelltying her boots to dangle one from each of her apron-strings, andJohnny carrying his in his hands. Nell got her feet in first, but drewback, saying it was cold; so Johnny dashed over, splashing his littlebare legs, and leaving a muddy track all across the brook.
"There," said he, somewhat boastfully, "that's the way! I am glad I'mnot afraid like girls."
Nelly did not like this treatment, and she was about giving a hasty andangry answer, when, sobered by the recollection of the deep fault shehad already committed, by her late untruth, she only said,--
<
br /> "Sidney was afraid of _cows_!" and waded slowly and silently throughthe water.
They found the path to be quite a well-worn one. It was evidentlythat by which the cows were in the habit of coming to drink. It waspretty, too, and very wild. In a little while, as they left the brookfarther and farther behind them, the walking became dry and very good,so that they resumed their shoes, but not their stockings,--Johnnystating that he hated the latter, and would rather "scratch himself topieces" on the blackberry thorns than put them on again. The shade wasvery pleasant. Once or twice they paused to rest on the large stoneswhich were scattered here and there through the path, but this was notfor any great length of time; they wandered on and on, taking no noteof time, nor of their prolonged absence from their companions, butenjoying every thing they saw, and wishing all the days in the yearwere like this one.
The openings in the trees were very few; they were penetrating,although they did not know it, into the very heart of the wood. Once,and once only, they caught a glimpse, through the branches, of a smallclearing. Half-burned stumps still showed themselves amid the rankgrass. On the top of an elevation, at one side of this clearing, ahorse was quietly grazing. As he moved, Johnny saw he was lame, andfrom this the children judged that, like the cows, he was turned out topasture for the summer. As Nelly parted the bushes to look at him, hegave a frightened start, and began to paw the grass. He still stood onthe little hill, in beautiful relief against the soft blue of the sky,the rising breeze of the coming sunset blowing his long, black mane andtail gracefully in the air as the children turned away to pursue theirjourney. The cow-path soon branched into others more winding and narrowthan the one they had just quitted. The time since dinner had passed sorapidly and happily, that they did not dream night was coming, or thatthey had strayed too far away from their companions. The wild flowersgrew so thickly, and the mosses were of such surprising softness andlength, that it was scarcely any wonder they forgot their teacher'sparting injunction.
When night at last really began to approach, and Nelly looked anxiouslyaround at the gathering twilight in the woods, Johnny said it wasnothing but the natural shadows of the trees, and so they concludedto go on a little farther to gather a few of the laurel blossoms theysaw growing amid their shining green leaves, a short distance beyond.When they had reached this spot, and captured the desired treasures,Nelly saw with dismay, that the path ended abruptly against the sideof an immense rock, quite as large, she thought, as the whole of thefarm-house at home.
"Nell!" said Johnny, suddenly; "I believe we are lost! How to find ourway back again over these long paths we have been walking through allthe afternoon, I am sure I do not know."
"And I am so tired now, I can hardly stir," said Nelly, in acomplaining tone; "and night is near, as I told you before."
Johnny looked around without answering. He saw that there was no helpfor it; they must return the way they came, long as it was, or stay inthe woods all night.
"Come, Nelly," he said, "we must go back on the same path, if we can."
It was getting quite dusky. They took each other by the hand andtrudged along. One by one the flowers dropped from Nelly's full apron,to the ground, and at length her weary fingers unclasped, and the apronitself resumed its proper position. Everybody knows how easy it is tolose one's way, and what a difficult thing it is to find it again. Ourwanderers discovered it to be so. They got upon a wrong path that ledthem into soft, wet ground, where, the first thing they knew, they wereup to their ankles in mud; and when they had extricated themselves aswell as they could, and struck out boldly for home, confident that theywere now making a direct short-cut for it, they found themselves, ina little while, on the same path, at the foot of the same large rockwhere they were before.
This was a little too much for the patience of the two picnickers.Johnny looked at Nell gravely.
"Don't!" he said, "don't, Nelly dear!"
"Don't what?" asked Nelly, dropping down where she stood, so completelyexhausted as to be glad of a moment's rest.
"Don't cry. You look just like it. All girls cry, you know."
"They saw then, that this huge rock was on the verysummit of the mountain." Page 163.]
"Do they?" asked Nell, absently looking about her. Then she asked, withenergy, "Johnny, do you know what I think we ought to do? We must climbthis big mountain of a rock, some way, and see what there is on theother side of it. Maybe we are near home."
"I guess not," said Johnny; "but I can climb it if you can."
After thinking the case over, they clasped hands once more, and beganthe ascent. They had to sit down several times, to rest, on the way.The sharp points of the rock and the narrow crevices which theymounted, hurt their tired feet.
At last they reached the top, and found themselves in comparativedaylight, because they were now out of the woods. They saw then, thatthis huge rock was on the very summit of the mountain on which thepicnic had taken place. They beheld from it, distinctly, their homesin the valley beneath. The rock was entirely free from foliage, andnothing obscured the splendor of the landscape below. The sun had justset red and misty in the west, shedding his parting glow over thepeaceful village and the scattered farm-houses, on its outskirts.
No wonder the two children were overcome by fatigue,--they had beengradually, but unconsciously ascending the hill the whole afternoon.
They stood there now, hand in hand, looking down upon their far-offhomes.
"Are you afraid, Nell?" asked her companion, in a low voice.
"No," said Nell; "not now, that we are out of those dark woods;besides, I have thought of a plan to make them see us from below. Lookhere."
She put her hand in her pocket and drew forth a match.
"Sidney Harrow dropped this when he was kindling the fire, and Ithought of Comfort's savin' ways and picked it up. Can you guess what Iam going to do? We must get together some brush-wood, and make a fineblaze that they will see in the village."
"And even if they don't come to bring us home," said Johnny, "it willkeep us warm till morning, and then we can find our own way. But wemust go down the rock to get the wood. Oh dear! I don't think much ofpicnics, do you, Nell?"
Very soon a fire burned on the top of the rock, and notwithstandingtheir fatigue, the children kept it in a broad blaze. As the lastbright cloud of sunset faded away, the flames spread boldly into thenight air, a signal of distress to those who were safely housed in thefarm-houses beneath.
Having got the fire well going, and a large stock of wood on hand tofeed it, the weary, dispirited children sat down to rest, beside it.
Neither spoke for a long time. They listened intently for the expectedaid, yet nothing but the dreary hoot of the owls met their ears,mingled with the moan of the wind, which now being steadily increasing,blew the flames high in the air.
Nelly got up to poke the coals with a branch she kept for that purpose,and when she had done so, she stood leaning upon it and lookingsorrowfully into the valley, where she saw lights twinkling fromwindows.
"Johnny," she said, softly, "do you believe anybody can be _perfectly_good in this world?"
"Yes," said Johnny, carelessly, "I s'pose so, if a fellow tries hardenough. I guess it's pretty tough work though, don't you?"
"The more _I_ try, the worse I seem to be; at least,--well, you see,the worse I _feel_ myself to be."
"We've neither of us been very good to-day, Nell. Miss Milly told usnot to go far, nor to stay long, and I believe we've gone as far as wecould, and I'm sure we've stayed a deal longer than we want to,--_I_have. Are you afraid _now_, Nell?"
"God takes care of us, always," said little Nell, solemnly, stillleaning on her branch and crossing her feet. "Comfort tells me that,and mother reminds me of it when she hears me say my prayers on goingto bed."
"Do you believe it? Does He see us _now_?" questioned her companion,raising himself on his elbow and gazing at her as she stood between himand the bright fire.
"I believe it," was the reverent answer.
"Dear Johnny, let us notforget our prayers to-night, if we stay up here."
There was another long, long pause.
"Johnny?"
"Well, Nell."
"I was wicked to you to-day. I was proud, and told you I didn't knowwho Marm Lizy was, when you asked me. That wasn't true, and now I'msorry."
"Well, who was she, Nell?"
Tears of repentance for her own sin, and likewise of sorrow at therecollection of poor Marm Lizy's misspent life, rose to Nelly's eyes,and glittered on her cheeks in the red firelight, like rubies. Johnnylooked at her with redoubled interest.
"Marm Lizy," said Nell, getting through her self-imposed confessionwith a little difficulty, "Marm Lizy was a--a--a sort of mother to me.She wasn't good to me, and I wasn't good to her. She beat me sometimes,and--and I didn't know any better than to hate her. I wouldn't do so_now_, I think. I should be sorry for her."
"Where is Marm Lizy now, Nelly?"
The boy did not know what remembrances that simple question awoke.
Nelly did not answer, but crouched down by the fire, and buried herface in her hands.
After a long interval she started up again.
She heard shouts, faint at first, but gradually growing nearer.
She and Johnny set up a long, loud, eager cry in return, that woke adozen mountain echoes. Then dogs barked, lanterns gleamed through thedark woods, the shouts burst forth again, and many voices were heardcalling them by name!
The fire had done its work. The LOST were FOUND atlast, for in a short time Nelly was clasped in her father's arms.
So terminated the picnic.
THE END.
Transcriber's Note:
Spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained as in theoriginal publication except as follows:
Page 36 fish-fork. It wasn't your _changed to_ fish-fork. "It wasn't your
Page 54 I--'blieve--I shall--crack _changed to_ I--b'lieve--I shall--crack
Nelly,--'spose now, I had _changed to_ Nelly,--s'pose now, I had
Page 55 growing interest; what's _slave_ _changed to_ growing interest; "what's _slave_
Page 63 little grimly, "stockin' or no stockin' _changed to_ little grimly, "Stockin' or no stockin'
Page 87 evergreens are permitted to remain. _changed to_ evergreens are permitted to remain."
Page 89 'What!' said my uncle _changed to_ "'What!' said my uncle
Page 100 All the people were more _changed to_ "All the people were more
Page 104 It do'n't seem a bit _changed to_ It don't? seem a bit
Page 162 patience of the two picnicers _changed to_ patience of the two picnickers
Nelly's First Schooldays Page 5
