I had one day given my friend Annabel Lee the bare outline of the
facts in a case, and I asked her if she would kindly make a story
from it and tell it me.
So my friend Annabel Lee told me a little story that also runs in
my mind, someway, in measure and rhythm.
“There lived in a town in Montana,” said my friend Annabel Lee,
“not very long ago, in a quiet street, a family of that sort of
persons which is called Jewish. And it is so short a time ago that
they are there yet.
“Their name was Kaatenstein.
“There was Mrs. Kaatenstein and Mr. Kaatenstein and the four
young children, Harry Kaatenstein and Leah Kaatenstein and Jenny
Kaatenstein and little Willy Kaatenstein.
“And there was the hired girl whose name was Emma.
“And there was Uncle Will, Mrs. Kaatenstein’s brother, who lived
with them.
“Mrs. Kaatenstein was short and dark and sometimes quite cross, and
she always put up fruit in its season, with the help of the hired
girl, and the kitchen was then very warm.
“And Mr. Kaatenstein was also dark, but was a tall, slim man, and
was kind and fond of the children, especially the two little girls.
Mrs. Kaatenstein was fond of the children also, but mostly fond of
the two boys.
“And Harry Kaatenstein was much like his mother, only he was not
so dark, and he was ten years old.
“And Leah Kaatenstein was ten years old also--the two were twins--and
she had an eye for strict economy, and wore plain gingham frocks,
and had a long dark braid of hair, and played with very homely
dolls.
“And Jenny Kaatenstein was seven years old and was most uncommonly
fat, and was rarely seen without a bit of unleavened bread in her
hand--for the children were allowed to have all that they wanted of
unleavened bread. They did not want very much of it, except Jenny.
And they all preferred to eat leavened bread spread with butter
and sprinkled with sugar--but they couldn’t have as much as they
wanted of that.
“And little Willy Kaatenstein was only four and pronounced all his
words correctly and seemed sometimes possessed of the wisdom of
the serpent. He had very curly hair, and it seemed an unwritten
law that whenever a grown-up lady passed by and saw the children
playing on the walk in front of their house she must stop and
exclaim what a pretty boy little Willy was and ask him for one of
his curls. Whereat little Willy would stare up into the grown-up
lady’s face in a most disconcerting fashion and perhaps ask her
for one of _her_ curls. Or if the groceryman or the butcher would
stop on his way to the kitchen and ask little Willy what was his
name and how old was he, little Willy would answer with surprising
promptness, and directly would ask the groceryman or the butcher
what was _his_ name and how old was _he_.
“And Emma, the hired girl, was raw-boned and big-fisted and
frightfully cold-blooded and unsympathetic. And she had a sister
who came to see her and sat in the hot kitchen talking, while Emma
pared potatoes or scrubbed the floor. The sister’s name was Juley,
and she sometimes brought strange, green candy to the children,
which their mother never allowed them to eat. And sometimes Juley
brought them chewing-gum, which they were not allowed to chew.
“And Uncle Will was a short, stout man, with a face that was nearly
always flushed. He seemed fond of beer. There were a great many
cases of beer in the cellar which belonged to Uncle Will. And there
were cases full of beer-bottles that had all been emptied, and the
children would have liked to sell the bottles, but they were not
allowed to sell bottles. Uncle Will was also fond of little Willy,
and on summer evenings when he and Mr. Kaatenstein were at home,
and after they had eaten dinner, Uncle Will might have been heard
inviting little Willy, in his hoarse, facetious voice, to come and
have a glass of beer with him. And when little Willy, with his short
curls and his small white suit, would come and just taste of the
beer and would make a wry mouth and shed a few abortive tears over
its bitterness, Uncle Will would laugh very heartily and jovially
indeed.
“Mrs. Kaatenstein had a great many ducks and geese in the back-yard
and spent much time among them, fattening them to eat and fussing
over them, in the forenoons. So the children never played there in
the forenoon.
“There were a great number of things that the Kaatenstein children
were not allowed to do--the things they were allowed to do were
as nothing by comparison, and the things they were allowed to do
were, for the most part, things they did not care about.
“They had each a square iron bank in which were ever so many silver
quarters and dimes and half-dollars and nickels and gold pieces, too,
for they were a Jewish family. Their father and their Uncle Will
kept dropping coins into the little slits in the tops of the banks
from time to time, and friends of the family would also kindly
contribute, and their uncles and aunts would send money for that
purpose all the way from Cincinnati. So there was wealth in these
banks, but the children were not allowed to have any of it. And
they were never given any money ‘to throw away buying things,’ as
their mother said, except a nickel once in a long while--one nickel
for the four of them.
“And there were toys that their father and mother and Uncle Will
had bought for them, and others that were sent by the uncles and
aunts in Cincinnati, but they were never allowed to play with them.
The toys were kept in a large black-walnut bureau in their mother’s
bed-room. There was a small, tinkling piano that Leah Kaatenstein’s
Aunt Barbara had sent to her, or that had been sent to her parents
in trust for her. And there was a little engine, that would run on
a track, which had once been given to Harry Kaatenstein. And there
was an immense wax doll which had fallen to Jenny Kaatenstein’s
lot. And little Willy Kaatenstein was the reputed owner of a small
mechanical circus with tiny wooden acrobats and horses and a musical
box beneath the platform. And there were other toys of all kinds;
for the relatives in Cincinnati had been lavish. But the children
were not allowed to make use of them, so they languished in the
black-walnut bureau.
“And Harry Kaatenstein had a fine gold watch that his mother had
given him, but he was not allowed to wear it or even look at it.
It was kept in a jewel-case in her bed-room.
“And Leah Kaatenstein had a fine gold watch that her grandmother
in Cincinnati had sent, but she was not allowed to wear it or even
look at it. It was kept in her mother’s jewel-case.
“And Jenny Kaatenstein had a fine gold watch that her aunt Rebecca
had sent, but she was not allowed to wear it or even look at it.
It was kept in her mother’s jewel-case.
“And little Willy Kaatenstein had a fine gold watch that Uncle Will
had bought for him--and Uncle Will, who was a privileged character
in the house, would sometimes take little Willy’s watch from
Mrs. Kaatenstein’s jewel-case and give it to little Willy to wear
in the evening when the family was gathered in the dining-room.
And Uncle Will would drink his beer and ask little Willy what time
was it. But before Mrs. Kaatenstein put little Willy to bed she
replaced the watch carefully in the jewel-case.
“The children had a great many such possessions, but what they really
had to play with was a small, much-battered wagon which they put to
many uses in the course of a day. Sometimes it was a fire-engine,
and sometimes a hose-cart, and sometimes a motor-car, and sometimes
a carriage, and sometimes an ambulance, and sometimes a go-cart for
Leah Kaatenstein’s homely dolls (which by some strange chance were
hers to do with as she would--they were not of excessive value), and
sometimes for a patrol wagon, and sometimes for a water-cart. They
had also a little rocking chair with which they played house on the
porch. Both the chair and the wagon were much overworked and were
most pathetic in appearance. The children often grew weary of playing
always with these two things and languished for other amusement.
Sometimes Leah Kaatenstein subsided into the rocking chair with
her homely dolls in her lap and talked to them seriously, telling
them many things which would be of use to them all their lives and
instilling into them strict rules of economy. And sometimes Harry
Kaatenstein sat on the lowest step of the porch with the nozzle of
the long, rubber hose, which was attached to the faucet at the side
of the house, and with which Mr. Kaatenstein or Uncle Will watered
the grass in the evening. The children were not allowed to water
the grass, but there was usually water enough trickling from the
hose for Harry Kaatenstein to make little whirlpools on the steps,
which he did, causing loss of life among bugs of divers kinds. And
sometimes Jenny Kaatenstein, with her inevitable bit of unleavened
bread, sat on the top step, moon-faced and pudgy, resting from her
labors. And sometimes little Willy Kaatenstein climbed up and sat
upon the post at the bottom of the stoop and kicked it viciously
with his heels. He often sat there kicking, as could be plainly
seen by the dents in the post.
“One warm day the Kaatenstein children were thus languishing
after having played hard with the wagon, and Emma was ironing
in the kitchen. Their mother was away for the afternoon and the
children had a delightful sense of freedom, even with the grim,
big-fisted Emma in charge. Only they wished they had a nickel. Harry
Kaatenstein said that if they had a nickel he should certainly go
down to Grove’s, a block and a half away, and purchase some brown
and white cookies. At which little Willy Kaatenstein and Jenny
Kaatenstein--more especially Jenny Kaatenstein--smacked their lips,
and Leah Kaatenstein sighed and remarked that Harry’s extravagance
was very discouraging.
“Presently, wonderful to relate, Emma appeared around the corner,
from the kitchen, with four thick slices of bread-and-butter slightly
sprinkled with sugar, and the children gazed very eagerly in her
direction. Jenny Kaatenstein dropped her piece of unleavened bread
and half-started to meet Emma, but thought better of it, knowing
Emma’s ways. Emma distributed the slices of bread, and fastened
little Willy Kaatenstein’s hat on more firmly with the elastic
under his chin, and informed the children that if they knew what
was good for themselves they would not get into any mischief while
_she_ had charge of them. Then she went back to her ironing.
“The children were delighted with their bread-and-butter, and their
imagination played lightly about it.
“‘My bread-and-butter’s raspberry ice-cream,’ said Harry Kaatenstein.
“‘_My_ bread-and-butter’s _choc’late_ ice-cream,’ said Leah
Kaatenstein, waxing genial.
“‘_My_ bread-and-butter’s _vanilla_ ice-cream,’ said Jenny Kaatenstein.
“But little Willy Kaatenstein said never a word, for his
bread-and-butter seemed very good to him _as_ bread-and-butter.
“Their bread-and-butter someway put new life into them and made
them more fully awake to the fact that their mother was away for
the afternoon. After all, they were not afraid of any one but their
mother, and she being gone, should they not enjoy life for once?
“When they had finished eating they had a brilliant idea.
“‘I’m going to shake a nickel out of my bank,’ said Harry Kaatenstein.
“‘_I’m_ going to shake a nickel out of _my_ bank,’ said Leah
Kaatenstein, in surprising luxury of spirit.
“‘_I’m_ going to shake a nickel out of _my_ bank,’ said Jenny
Kaatenstein.
“And little Willy Kaatenstein said never a word, but ran at the
first inkling of the idea immediately to the dining-room where the
four banks were standing, on the mantel above the fire-place, and
pushed up a chair and took down his own green bank. And then he
slid back the little piece of iron that was just under the slot
in the top of the bank, and shook, shook, shook, with very little
noise, and lo, not a nickel but a five-dollar gold coin rolled out
on the floor!
“And then Harry Kaatenstein and Leah Kaatenstein and Jenny Kaatenstein
rushed in and seized their banks and began shaking, shaking with
much _clank_, _clank_ of silver and gold against iron--for was not
their mother far from them?--whilst little Willy Kaatenstein stood
by with his gold piece clasped tight in his hand. Even his young
intelligence knew its marvelous value, and he thought it wise not
to reveal his treasure to Leah Kaatenstein’s horrified gaze.
“‘I’m going down to Grove’s and buy gum-drops with my nickel,’ said
Harry Kaatenstein, pounding and shaking, but never a nickel appeared
for the reason that he had forgotten the little iron slide, which
only once in a while fell away from under the slot and never at
the right time.
“‘_I’m_ going down to Grove’s and buy a long licorice pipe with
_my_ nickel,’ said Leah Kaatenstein--a long licorice pipe was the
very most she could get for her money--also shaking and pounding
fruitlessly, for she too had forgotten the little iron slide.
“‘_I’m_ going down to Grove’s and buy some cookies with _my_
nickel,’ said Jenny Kaatenstein, likewise pounding and shaking
and forgetting the little iron slide.
“And little Willy Kaatenstein said never a word, but when he had
learned what to buy with his money he ran out of the front door
and down the street to Grove’s on the corner.
“Now when Harry Kaatenstein and Leah Kaatenstein and Jenny Kaatenstein
considered and rejoiced over the absence of their mother, they forgot
at the same time to consider and fear the perilous nearness of Emma
ironing in the kitchen--the kitchen being next to the dining-room.
“Suddenly while they were in the midst of their work and were shaking
and pounding away for dear life, unconscious of all else, the door
leading into the kitchen was pushed open with ominous quiet and
the head of Emma appeared. It was an unprepossessing head at all
times, and it was a dangerous-looking head at that moment.
“Harry Kaatenstein and Leah Kaatenstein and Jenny Kaatenstein
perceived this vision at once, and an appalling silence like the
tomb followed the clamor that had been.
“‘So this is what you’re up to, you young limbs!’ said Emma, and
swooped down and pounced upon them before they could possibly escape,
though they had made for the door with very creditable speed. Emma
held them with one hand while she picked up the banks with the
other. She remarked, in unmeasured terms, upon the condition of
the waxed dining-room floor, upon the vicious qualities of some
children whom she mentioned by name, upon what would happen to them
when their mother came home, and upon what was going to happen to
them right away.
“And she led them upstairs to their mother’s bed-room and, after
shaking them well, locked them in and went downstairs, carrying
the key with her.
“Meanwhile little Willy Kaatenstein had gone upon his interesting
errand at Grove’s on the corner.
“He went into the shop and stood before a glittering glass case of
things.
“‘And what’ll it be for Master Kaatenstein to-day?’ said the man
behind the glittering case.
“‘I want gum-drops and licorice pipes and cookies--and some
watermelons,’ said little Willy Kaatenstein and laid the shining
gold coin before the grocer’s astonished eyes, for the grocer had
expected to see the Kaatenstein semi-occasional nickel--nothing
more or less.
“‘Is this yours, Master Kaatenstein?’ said the grocer, eyeing the
coin with suspicion.
“‘Of course it’s mine,’ said little Willy Kaatenstein, impatiently.
‘And I want the things right away.’
“‘Well, I suppose it’s all right, my boy,’ said the grocer. ‘If it
isn’t, _one_ of us’ll have to suffer, I guess. Now, what did you
say you wanted?’
“Little Willy Kaatenstein repeated his order, and added other items.
“‘Now, Master Kaatenstein,’ said the grocer, ‘you never will be
able to carry all that. That’ll make a pile of stuff. Better run
back and get your little wagon’--for he knew the Kaatenstein wagon,
having often placed in it a paper of sugar or a sack of salt or
three tins of something according to Mrs. Kaatenstein’s order--for
the children to draw home.
“So little Willy Kaatenstein ran back and got the little wagon from
the front yard, and the man loaded the things into it. ‘Must be
going to have a picnic,’ he observed.
“There was certainly a pile of stuff. There were long licorice
pipes enough in the wagon to surfeit the appetites of the four
Kaatensteins for many a day, and the name of the gum-drops was
legion. And there were two watermelons, and cookies enough to
satisfy even Jenny Kaatenstein’s capacious desire. Also there were
nuts and some dyspeptic-looking pies, and a great many little dogs
and cats and elephants made of a very tough kind of candy which
all the Kaatenstein children thought perfectly lovely. Also there
were figs in boxes and chocolate-drops and red and white sticks
of candy, flavored with peppermint fit to make one’s mouth water.
And all these things were in surprising quantity and made so heavy
a load that little Willy Kaatenstein was hard put to it to drag
it up the street. But little Willy Kaatenstein had strong little
arms and he and the wagon made slow and sure progress back to the
Kaatenstein home. The grocer stood out in front of his shop gazing
after the boy and the boy’s wagon and the wagon’s contents with a
puzzled and somewhat dubious smile.
“Little Willy Kaatenstein proceeded into his front yard with the
wagon and around to the back on the side of the house where the
kitchen door was not. He dragged the wagon quietly on to the farther
end of the back yard and opened the gate of the pen made of laths,
where Mrs. Kaatenstein’s ducks and geese were kept. He drew the
wagon in and back behind the duck-house, and left it.
“Then little Willy Kaatenstein closed the lath gate and ran to find
Harry Kaatenstein and Leah Kaatenstein and Jenny Kaatenstein and
invite them to the feast.
“But they were nowhere to be found. He hunted about in the house
and out of doors, but there was no sign of them, and for some
reason he thought he would not ask Emma questions touching on their
whereabouts.
“So having hunted for his relatives all that he thought best, little
Willy Kaatenstein could but go out on the highways and byways and
call in the lame, the halt, and the blind. Accordingly he slipped
through the fence and went back into the alley-way to the house
immediately behind his own, in search of Bill and Katy Kelly, two
Irish friends of the Kaatenstein children--with whom they were not
allowed to play. Bill and Katy Kelly, to be sure, were neither lame
nor halt nor blind, but were very sound in limb and constitution, and
were extremely responsive to little Willy Kaatenstein’s invitation
to come to the feast. Feasts were things that Bill and Katy Kelly
reveled in--when they had opportunity.
“So in company with little Willy Kaatenstein--he in his curls and
his white suit, and the two in very dingy raiment--they hied them
through the fence to the feast. They reached the duck-yard without
being seen by Emma, the arch-enemy, and found the little wagon
safe, and the ducks and geese staring and peering and stretching
their necks at it and its contents with much curiosity.
“This curiosity, on the part of the fowls, must have changed to
amazement when they beheld the attack made on the wagon and the
strange things in the way of eating that followed.
“How Bill and Katy Kelly did eat and how they reveled! And little
Willy Kaatenstein literally waded in gum-drops and long licorice
pipes. They began the feast with pie; from pie they went at figs;
from figs they transferred to the tough little animals; and from
that to cookies; and from cookies to long licorice pipes. Then
they stopped eating consecutively and went at the entire feast
hap-hazard.
“They ate fast and furiously for several minutes.
“Then the first ardor of the feast subsided, and little Willy
Kaatenstein, for one, seemed to lose all interest not only in feasts
but in the world at large. He sat back upon a box, which contained
a duck sitting on twelve eggs, and looked at the ground with the
air of one who has someway lost his perspective.
“Bill and Katy Kelly still ate, but more, it seemed, from a sense of
duty to themselves than from appetite, and presently their eating
became desultory, and they began to throw remnants of the feast to
the fowls. These at first gazed askance at the extraordinary food
thus lavished upon them--but finally went at it madly, as if they,
too, reveled in feasts.
“Mrs. Kaatenstein’s face must need have been a study could she
have seen her cherished ducks and geese stuffing their crops with
licorice pipes and gum-drops.
“But Mrs. Kaatenstein was out for the afternoon.
“While these things were happening in her duck-yard, no less
interesting ones were taking place up-stairs in her bed-room, where
Harry Kaatenstein and Leah Kaatenstein and Jenny Kaatenstein were
prisoners of Emma.
“At first they merely sat on the window-seat and discussed the
several untoward things that they wished would happen to Emma.
Having hanged, drawn and quartered that liberal-proportioned lady
until they could no more, they felt better. Then they looked over
their mother’s room in search of amusement, with the result that
the black-walnut bureau, containing the toys with which they were
not allowed to play, was made to give forth the wealth of its
treasures. The floor of Mrs. Kaatenstein’s bed-room presented a
motley appearance. Jenny Kaatenstein even forgot to miss her bit of
unleavened bread in her excitement over the fact that she actually
was holding her own huge wax doll in her lap. And the circus and
the steam-engine and the tinkling piano and the tea-sets and the
barking dogs and the picture books and the manifold other things
were at last put to those uses for which they had been destined.
And they even went to the jewel-case and got out their watches.
“But Harry Kaatenstein and Leah Kaatenstein and Jenny Kaatenstein,
though they were pleasantly excited, were yet highly uneasy in
their minds. They knew they had yet to render up payment for the
day’s business.----
“The rest of the tale is obvious enough,” said my friend Annabel
Lee, laughing gently and changing her tone.
“But please tell it,” said I, with much eagerness.
“Well, then,” said my friend Annabel Lee:--
“The afternoon waned, and Mrs. Kaatenstein came home. She heard
unusual noises in her beloved duck-yard, and fled thither, as fast
as her goodly proportions would allow.
“Her eyes met a sight which was maddening to them.
“They beheld little Willy Kaatenstein, looking decidedly pale and
puffy, sitting weakly on a box containing a setting-duck--and the
two objectionable Kelly children actually at that moment feeding her
choicest goose with gum-drops. Scattered all about the once neat
duck yard was rubbish in frightful variety, and a half-dozen of
her tiny ducklings were busy at an atrocious watermelon. Certainly
no one but those Irish young ones could have brought in so much
litter. It did not take Bill and Katy Kelly long to gather that
they were not wanted there. Mrs. Kaatenstein quite quenched, for
the time, their fondness for feasts. As they went, she ordered them
to take their vile belongings with them, which they were willing
enough to do--as much of them as they could carry. They bestowed an
apprehensive glance on little Willy Kaatenstein--but little Willy
Kaatenstein’s face was only pale, puffy and very passive. Having
dispersed the Kellys, Mrs. Kaatenstein led her son into the house
and stopped in the kitchen to demand of Emma why she allowed such
things to happen, and ordered her to go at once and clean out the
duck-yard. Emma obeyed, first giving up Mrs. Kaatenstein’s bed-room
key and explaining her own possession of it.
“Then Mrs. Kaatenstein, after doctoring little Willy Kaatenstein’s
poor little stomach and laying him neatly out on a sofa in a cool,
dark room, went on to her own room, whence proceeded unusual noises.
Unlocking and opening the door, a sight the like of which she had
not of late years known overwhelmed her spirit.
“The short, dead silence that followed her appearance on the
threshhold was but emphasized by the merry tinkling of the gay little
circus which had been wound up and would not stop, even under the
dark influence of impending tragedy.----
“Well,” said my friend Annabel Lee, “the case of Harry Kaatenstein
and Leah Kaatenstein and Jenny Kaatenstein was attended to by their
mother. She whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed.
“But as for little Willy Kaatenstein--not looking in the least pale
or puffy, he sat that evening, after dinner, on Uncle Will’s lap,
wearing his own fine gold watch out of the jewel-case, and being
continually invited to have a glass of beer.
“But in the kitchen, Emma was telling Juley that though she had once
thought a great deal of little Willy Kaatenstein she now honestly
believed him to be the very worst one of the four.----
“That story,” said my friend Annabel Lee, “was very tiresome. You
shouldn’t ask me to tell you stories.”
“I am sorry if it tired you,” I said. “But the story was entirely
fascinating. It was _exactly_ like the Kaatensteins. And you,
telling a story of the Kaatensteins, are delicately, oh, delicately
incongruous!”
“Were _you_ ever at a feast in the Kaatenstein duck-yard?” said my
friend Annabel Lee.
“Yes, indeed,” said I, “along with Bill and Katy Kelly, at the age
of eleven. And I have seen every toy in the black-walnut bureau.”
“And which would you,” said my friend Annabel Lee, “to be at a feast
with the Kaatensteins at the age of eleven, or here, now, with me?”
“When all’s said,” said I, “here with you, now, by far.”
“’Tis very good of you,” said my friend Annabel Lee, and looked at
me with her purple eyes.