CHAPTER I

Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Rebekah Inman and the PG

Distributed Proofreaders

W.A.G.'S TALE

EDITED BY

MARGARET TURNBULL

WITH ZOBZEE ILLUSTRATIONS

BY THE AUTHOR

CONTENTS

PREFACE BY AUTHOR

I. UNCLE BURT'S BILLY

II. OUR HOUSE

III. OUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR

IV. ON THE TOWPATH

V. ON THE DELAWARE

VI. GEORGE

VII. LEFT ALONE

VIII. AT TURNER'S

IX. THE WHITE TENT

ILLUSTRATIONS

I STARTED TO GET BETTER AND WRITE THIS BOOK (p. 153) (colored)

_Frontispiece_ From a drawing by M.L. Kirk

A ZOBZEE

ON THE BRIDGE

HE JUMPED OUT AND TOOK A ROPE AND PULLED THE BOAT CLOSE

SHE WASHED AND I DRIED

HE TURNED AND WENT INTO THE WHITE STONE HOUSE, AND ALL THE CATS RAN

AFTER HIM

HE SMOKED A PIPE, AND I PLAYED WITH ALL HIS TEDDY-CATS

BRINGS HIM DOWN, PERSIMMONS AND ALL

SO I TOOK MY FISHING-ROD AND FLICKED IT AT HIM

NEVER YOU MIND, BABY DEAR, COME ON

WHAT'S AN ABSENT-MINDED BEGGAR?

HEY, ROBINSON CRUSOE, HERE'S YOUR MAN FRIDAY

HE HAD TO TAKE A CAN-OPENER AND CUT AUNTY EDITH'S FOOT OUT

WE ALL WORKED WITH HOSE AND EVERYTHING

AUNTY MAY GOT A HATCHET AND MADE A CHOP AT THE SNAKE

I BELIEVED THEY HAD REALLY GONE AWAY, AND LEFT ME ALL ALONE

I TOLD HIM ALL ABOUT AUNTY MAY

SLID DOWN WITHOUT A BIT OF NOISE

I WOKE UP AND FOUND MYSELF LYING ON THE PORCH

AND IT WAS UNCLE BURT

W.A.G.'S TALE

PREFACE BY THE AUTHOR

I have been sick. Now I am better the Doctor makes me lie in bed because

of all that Anti-toxin he put in me, which weakens the heart. Anti-toxin

isn't a lady, it's a medicine for diphtheria. Aunty May is a lady. She

reads me books and plays games with me. But I am tired of books written

about nature, and animals, and Indians, and fairies, and I wished out

loud that somebody would write a book about a boy, just like me. So

to-day Aunty May brought me a big, thick blank book with red covers, and

with rings at the back to let me add more paper when I want to, and she

told me to write my own story, a little every day.

[Illustration: "Zobzee"]

So that's what I am going to do, and illustrate it with "Zobzees."

"Zobzees" are thin dancing people--like this. I invented that name, and

a country and a language for them, which only Aunty May and I know. But

I am not going to write my book in that. I am going to print it, like

other books, but draw "Zobzees" because they are easy; and if nobody

else reads it except me and Uncle Burt when he comes home, it will be

fun for us, anyway.

CHAPTER I

UNCLE BURT'S BILLY

My name is William Ainsworth Gordon, and my initials spell W.A.G. That

is why Aunty May and I call this book "W.A.G.'S TALE." If it was about a

dog it would be "Tail Wags." So it's true and a joke too.

I am ten years old and my father and mother are in Heaven, and I have

only Uncle Burt to take care of me. Uncle Burt isn't my real uncle, but

he was my father's chum when they were at West Point, and he promised

father to take care of me. And he does, only he had to go to the

Philippines with his soldiers; so his sister, Aunty Edith, is taking

care of me until he comes back. Everybody else calls me William, but he

calls me "Billy," so I am the one this chapter is named after.

Aunty May says I can begin with the very day Aunty Edith brought me down

here. That was the day Uncle Burt went away to join his regiment, and

everybody was sort of quiet, and even the big people cried a little. I

cried a good deal, when nobody was looking, and when Uncle Burt caught

me at it in the corner of the room, he didn't say a word, but just

picked me up and held me so tight that one of his buttons got stamped

on my cheek like a seal. He said he'd give way and cry, too, for it was

good for the eyes, only his Colonel had expressly ordered him not to,

saying he would leave all red-eyed men home, which would be terrible for

a soldier. So I begged him not to give way, and he said he wouldn't if

I'd stop, because one fellow bawling makes it hard for the other fellow

not to. So I stopped and we laughed a little, and then he showed the

mark on my cheek to Aunty Edith, and said, "This shows that this young

man belongs to me, so be careful of Uncle Burt's Billy and return him in

good condition, for there will be a dreadful time if I find him chipped

or broken, when I come back."

Then the lady I call Aunty May, though she isn't any relation to me

either, but is just Aunty Edith's friend, laughed and said she would be

careful to treat me nicely. And she has. I like her best next to Uncle

Burt. She didn't cry. She laughed a lot, and every time Uncle Burt got

sad and tried to talk to her, she laughed more, and she took me on her

lap and kept me there all the time Uncle Burt was saying good-bye

to her.

He looked more like crying then than any other time. He said,

"Good-bye, May; won't you change your mind?" and she said, "Oh, no,

Burt, I can't." Then he was going to say something else when I said,

"Remember the Colonel, Uncle Burt, and don't get your eyes too red to

go," and then they both laughed. Uncle Burt said, "Look after Miss Heath

for me, Billy, while I'm gone," and I said, "Sure I will. I'm going to

adopt her as my Aunty, too." She put her arms round me and hugged me and

Uncle Burt said, "Lucky Billy," and then the door closed, and Aunty

Edith began to cry and Aunty May looked queer for a minute and went to

the door. I thought she'd run after him, but she stopped and said,

"Come along, Sir William, and we'll pack our bags, 'cause we're all

going to the country on the 3.10." And I took hold of her hand, and we

went upstairs together, and packed my bag and put in my gun, my

soldiers, my books and my paint-box. Then Aunty Edith stopped crying and

tied a veil over her face. If she'd been a soldier she'd been left home

all right.

We got in a taxi with a lot of bags and things and went to the

Pennsylvania Station, which is miles and miles long, I think, but there

are lots of kind black men who wear red caps and run up and take your

bags and carry them for you just as easy, One of them took my bag and

Aunty May's suitcase, but Aunty Edith had another one--a fat one--all

alone for her things.

We just had time for our train, so we had to hurry right through the

waiting-room, and I couldn't stop and see all the things there are to

see, or watch the people coming down the stairs. People's legs are funny

if you watch them coming down--like things made with hinges.

Then we got into a nice big train with chairs in it that swung round.

They call it a "Pullman" which is a good name for a car, only it's the

engine that pulls the man and the car, too, really. Then we got all

comfortable, with another nice colored man who showed his teeth at us,

and put our bags up on a rack, and Aunty May gave me some sweet

chocolate and a magazine with pictures in it, and Aunty Edith said. "I

wish we didn't have to change at Trenton,"--and--then--I fell asleep.

The next thing I knew Aunty May was saying to me, "Wake up, Billy, dear,

it's Trenton now." She put on my jacket and the man took our bags again

and we stepped out on a big platform, and then another man took all our

bags and we went up one stair, and down another, and waited on a long

platform, where trains kept shooting up every minute.

I couldn't understand what the man in uniform said, until at last a

funny little train--all short, only half as long as our New York one,

and with funny, hard straight seats--came, and we climbed in. Aunty

Edith and Aunty May and me had to carry our own bags and fix 'em. The

train waited a long time, but at last it moved, and Aunty May put her

arm round me and sat me next the window, only it wasn't open, because it

was only April and wasn't warm enough yet, and said, "Now we're off to

East Penniwell."

The train just crawled along, and there was a big canal on the one

side. I saw a canal boat with two men and a dog on it, and they were

cooking something in a big pot on the top of a stove that stood right

out of doors, on top of the boat, with a stovepipe that didn't go into

any chimney, but right up into the air--with smoke coming out of it!

I showed it to Aunty May and she said, "You will see them every day when

we get to the towpath," and I felt awful glad at that, because though

the boat moved slow, the train moved fast, and I didn't get a good look

at the boy who was driving the mules. I couldn't be sure whether he'd

made a face at me or not, but I think he did.

Then by and by on the other side of the train came a great big river,

all fast and running along and some bubbling-up places in it where rocks

stood up. Aunty May said those were rapids and this was the Delaware

River, the one Washington crossed.

I think more of him than ever, now I've seen the river, for it's good

and wide and it must have been a cold job getting over it. I told Aunty

May I hoped it wasn't at the rapids he tried to cross, and she said,

"Oh, no," and "I'll show you," and presently the train stopped and the

conductor said, "Washington's Crossing," There was a big tree, where he

could have tied a boat if he'd wanted to. Aunty May said maybe he did;

and a white house where I guess the soldiers got something to eat and

drink. Anyway, I hoped so. Aunty May said she'd never asked, so she

couldn't say, positively, as it was so long ago, but it wouldn't hurt to

think they did. So I imagined it that way.

Then our train stopped at a station and we got out. I hadn't been ready

for its stopping, and I got so busy getting my things on, and getting my

bag in my hand, that I didn't hear the name of it, and I asked Aunty May

if it was East Penniwell, and she said, "Oh, no, this is Scrubbsville,

New Jersey, and East Penniwell is in Pennsylvania."

"Will we get into another train, then?" I asked, and Aunty May laughed

and said, "Oh, no, just wait and see." Then we got off and walked down,

carrying our bags, to a big bridge right over the Delaware.

There was a man sitting, at the end of the bridge, in a little house

with a window in it, and you paid him two cents apiece before you could

get on the bridge to go to Pennsylvania. He is the Toll-Man and it is a

Toll-Bridge, and it seemed to me very funny to have to pay to walk.

Aunty May said it was funny, too, but Aunty Edith said it was

a nuisance.

Aunty Edith asked the Toll-Man if we could leave our big suitcase

there, until Mr. Tree the grocer came over with a wagon for our trunks,

later, and he said, "Yes." He was a nice smiling man.

Then Aunty Edith and Aunty May and I, and Aunty Edith's bag and my

little one, which Aunty May carried because she said we had a long walk

ahead of us, went over the bridge.

[Illustration: On the Bridge]

The wind almost blew my cap away, but I caught it just in time, and on

the bridge we met a big man carrying a paint-box and a folding-up

stool, like Aunty Edith has, and he had an E-normous dog, as big as me,

and it galumphed at me, and I got behind Aunty Edith, for she is very

big both ways, and the man said, "Down, Pete," When the dog downed, he

shook hands with Aunty Edith, and she introduced him to Aunty May and

me, and he said he was glad to see us, and I could come and play with

his children up the towpath.

I said, "Yes, sir," but Aunty May and me kept away from Pete, because we

didn't know him then. We know him now and like him. The man said, "Wait

till I get back and I'll take you up in the launch." Then he went on to

Scrubbsville, and Aunty Edith said, "Such a pleasure to meet Mr. Turner.

Now William won't get tired walking up. Won't that be nice, William, to

go up the canal in the launch, instead of walking?" I said, "Yes, 'm,

Aunty Edith," to her, but to Aunty May I said, "Will that Pete be in the

boat, too?" and Aunty May whispered back, "Ow Gracious! I hope not. But

don't let him know we're afraid, old man." So I took her hand tight and

we followed Aunty Edith, who is an awful fast walker and always has so

many things to do.

First we went to the Post-Office, which is a little wooden building,

and the Postmaster knows everybody and looks at you over his glasses.

Then we went up a funny street with brick pavements, awful old. There

are houses on that very street built before the Revolution, and a big

cannon in the square. We went to Mr. Tree's, and he's a nice, big grocer

man, with everything in his shop, and he patted me on the head and gave

me a chocolate candy, which Aunty Edith said I might eat, if I ate it

slowly. He said he would bring our trunks and bags up right away. Aunty

Edith said, "Now I've got to order oil from Tryer and coal from Quick

and some thread from Miss Macfarland's notion store," and I said, "Why

don't the servants do all that, Aunty Edith?" She laughed and said,

"There are no servants for us at East Penniwell, William; we do the work

ourselves," Aunty May said, "But it will be fun, Billy. All the artists

like Aunty Edith live that way down here, and you and I will be the

writer people and we'll do lots of funny things together. Only, Edith,"

she said, "the boy and I are weary; where can we rest while you finish

your shopping?"

"Oh, very well," Aunty Edith said; "come and I'll show you the launch

and you can get in that and sit and wait for Mr. Turner."

We walked up a funny, hilly, crooked street, with partly brick

pavements again and partly stone, till we came to an old wooden bridge

over a canal, and then Aunty May squeezed my hand and said, "Billy, this

is our canal," We crossed the bridge, and went down a few steps and

there was Mr. Turner's launch. We got in and sat and watched the water

and made up stories to each other, till Aunty Edith and Mr. Turner came,

all full of bundles. Mr. Turner started the launch and we went

chug-chugging along. But Pete didn't get in. He swam part of the time

and ran and barked on the towpath the other part.

The canal boats came down past us, and they began to have lights on

them, and the trees were all green and hung down by the canal banks, and

I could see where the dogwood was beginning to come out in the woods.

There were some ducks swimming in the canal, and a farmhouse high above

us on the bank. Then nothing but the towpath, which is the path on one

side of the canal where the mules walk when they drag the canal boats.

By and by I saw two tiny white houses, with their roofs and chimneys

sticking up over the canal bank, and one of them had a funny green door,

and honeysuckle all growing over the fence. Mr. Turner never stopped

till Aunty Edith called, "Oh, we're going past," Then he stopped and

jumped out and took a rope and pulled the boat close to the bank, where

there were some stones placed like steps. I saw the two houses plainly

then, one a white stone one and one a white wooden one with a

green door.

[Illustration: He jumped out and took a rope and pulled the boat close]

We all stepped out, with our bags, and said good-bye to Mr. Turner, and

his launch went away up the canal past us, and Aunty Edith took a key

out of her pocket and went down a step, into the garden of the house

with the green door, and opened it, and said to Aunty May and me, "Come

in, children. This is OUR HOUSE."

[Illustration]