LITTLE MOTHER MAGGIE
The clothes were dry, and the Blue Birds and Bobolinks were again
dressed, but Uncle Ben advised them to keep the overalls to protect
their good clothes while they were playing in camp.
Tea--it was called supper at Happy Hills--was served at 6 p. m. sharp
each day, and now the Refectory was soon arranged for the children.
As the Oakdale visitors intended having the evening meal at the camp
Refectory, a table was set out for them.
Maggie found the neighboring table the one occupied by the adored Blue
Birds, and very little did she eat that noon! Even the table manners of
her six little sisters and brothers failed to distract her attention
from watching the girls at Uncle Ben’s table.
Supper over, Uncle Ben said: “Now what shall we do?”
“Let’s go over and look at the Little Farms,” said Ned.
“Oh yes, Uncle, you see we want to know what to say in the next issue
of the magazine when we offer prizes to the farmers of Happy Hills,”
said Ruth.
The Little Citizens had gathered around and now looked eager to hear
more of the prize idea. Uncle Ben surmised as much and laughed.
“I doubt if the Little Citizens have heard of your plan to distribute
prizes. I will tell them now.
“Citizen Farmers, I beg to announce that the Blue Birds and Bobolinks
are about to give a prize for the best kept farm in camp, another for
the largest vegetable of ten varieties raised; the ten to be radishes,
beets, cabbage, carrots, turnips, squash, beans, potatoes, onions, and
corn.
“Another prize will be given for the greatest amount of good produce
raised on one farm this summer. Yet another will be awarded to the
farmer who makes the most of rotating crops. I have explained to you
what that is.
“As most of you have just started the farms you can all begin fairly to
try for the prizes. The age and size of the farmer will have much to
do with the judgment of the Blue Birds. So I suggest that the farmers
be divided in classes, one for boys of eight and over, one for girls
of eight and over; another class for children--boys and girls--under
eight years of age. The prize will be duplicated for these classes. Any
remarks?”
There were none, so Uncle Ben led his young visitors to inspect the
farms.
“Mr. Ta’mage, we’se gotta street cleanin’ squad, an’ a police force,
an’ a health board wid nusses, an’ to say nuttin’ of dem firemen, but
we hain’t got no head farmers in camp to show helpers all de time, what
we wants to know,” ventured a voice from the crowd that followed at
Uncle Ben’s heels.
“That’s so! Farmer Jones is master here, but he can’t be at everyone’s
beck and call. We’ll have to plan a farmer club tomorrow, and I will
send down books and pamphlets for all to read or study.”
“Why can’t some gals be in the farmer clubs as well as the boys that
have everyt’ing goin’,” remarked Mother Maggie.
“You’re right, Maggie! We men have to share alike with you women now
that you have the vote in New York State!” said Uncle Ben, smiling at
his Citizens.
At the Little Farms the visitors were delighted to see what had already
been done. Mr. Jones was there to explain things.
“You see, we worked very hard at digging the plots when the first
Little Citizens arrived at camp, and now, as new arrivals come each
day, they too are set to work at their farms; so we will have some
farms harvesting while others are just sprouting their first crop.
“I showed the children how to dig and work over the soil until it was
right for planting. Then I taught them how to choose the right seed for
this time of the year, and each child was shown how to plant the seed
chosen by him.
“Now you see, some plants are already growing fine, and some are just
sprouting from the ground. Some farms have been seeded and are not yet
sprouting, and some have just been made ready to plant.
“We farmers think it great fun to hunt the bugs and worms that would
injure our plants. We are very careful to keep the ground well watered
so the roots can keep healthy and feed the green shoots above the
earth. We have some fine radishes that will soon be large enough to
pull for dinner.
“Bill’s radishes are the best and finest, and he will soon be able to
pull some and sell them to the cook at the Refectory at market price.”
This attracted attention to Bill’s garden and the children took great
pride in the order and neatness of the farm-plot.
“Looks as if Bill might win a prize for neatness,” said Uncle Ben.
“You’se diden’ say what de prize was! Ef it’s going to be a choice of
t’ings, lemme take cash, ’cuz I’m goin’ to save all dis summer an’ lay
by to git a farm fer us all ferever!” vowed Maggie, enthusiastically,
as she waved her arm at her six brethren.
“We will consider that matter for you, Maggie, and decide what the
prize shall be,” agreed Uncle Ben.
As the children went from one well-kept farm to the next, something
interesting was learned from each plot.
For instance the Blue Birds heard from Farmer Jones that a radish was
really a root. Because of its red color it could be mistaken for fruit
or a bulbous vegetable, but it grows and produces stems with leaves, so
it must be classed with root vegetables.
“Besides all this, a thin root tapers from the round bulb. It is this
long tapering root that finds the food and drink in the deep, dark
ground for the plant above ground to grow upon,” explained the Farmer.
“Now the interesting thing about a radish is this: the plant stores
up food in its root for its own use. It takes the first half of its
life to make a great big root, and when the root is fully grown and
the upper green leaves are through, it dies. Then there shoots up a
long slender stem, and on top of this the flowers of the radish bloom.
As these in turn fade and die, the seeds form and the entire plant
dies--its work accomplished.
“If we dig up a dried radish plant we will find the round radish
entirely changed in appearance. Instead of a juicy red bulb we find a
shrivelled colorless root, because the stem and flowers that finally
turned to seed ate up all the nourishment the green leaves had given
to the radish-root. And the stored up food gone, there was nothing to
draw upon, so the root died, too.”
“How interesting! Do tell us some more, Mr. Jones,” exclaimed Vene
Starr.
“Well, then, here’s a potato. Is that a fruit, a root, a plant, or a
bulb?” asked Farmer Jones, smiling at his catch-words.
“It’s a root,” shouted Don.
“No, it’s a plant--a potato-plant,” said Ruth.
“I think it’s a bulb--like tulips or other bulbs,” added Vene.
“It’s neither, children--a potato is a stem!” said the tickled farmer.
“A stem--what to?” asked many curious voices.
“Let me tell you: A potato is an underground stem with all the
properties of a stem but it shoots downward instead of up above the
soil.
“You see a potato has many eyes, and these eyes grow when properly cut
and planted. The white shoot pushes itself up out of the ground and
bears leaves, which is the vine, or plant.
“The old potato which was planted to furnish food for the plant is
gradually used up as the green leaves open out and grow to be a large
healthy vine. Then, the old food-store being used, and the potato-plant
flourishing, new roots or stems grow downward from the plant; these
swell out, and out, and out, until all the little tendrils that would
be long thin roots in another kind of vegetable, are swollen bulb-like
tubers of the potato-plant.
“When the plant is exhausted and can furnish no more life and strength
to its underground tubers, it dies, and the potatoes stop growing.
“If a plant above ground kept on indefinitely furnishing life and food
to the potatoes underground, they would keep on increasing until one
hill would supply more than one ever saw. But the plant produces just
so many tubers and then stops.”
“Oh, that is funny! I never dreamed a potato worked so hard for us,”
giggled Dot Starr, as the farmer concluded his talk.
“Is a carrot or turnip a stem or bulb, too?” asked Don.
“No, a carrot, like the radish, is a root and is grown from seed. As
the seed bursts open, the sprout sends up two tiny leaves, while the
root goes down into the earth to seek food for its plant. The root
grows fatter and fatter as it keeps on feeding the green leaves that in
turn give the root sunshine and air. In the fall when the plant dies,
the carrot is ready to be dug out and used.
“If it remains in the ground through the winter, it freezes but does
not die. In spring, it sends up a new shoot and this flowers to make
seeds. The old carrot in the ground dies as its seeds are perfected,
for it has produced the wherewithal for many more plants.”
“I s’pose the turnip and beet and other swollen roots are all the same
then,” suggested Ned, who had been listening with great interest to
Farmer Jones’ talk.
“Just about, and you can quickly determine for yourself which class a
vegetable belongs to by examining the root or full-grown product. A
cabbage, kohlrabi, and similar vegetables are not roots.”
As the children passed other Little Farms, they found that some owners
had planted dwarf and bush peas; dwarf and climbing beans; and other
vegetables not commonly used by other Little Citizens.
Maggie appeared very eager as they neared her small farm, and finally,
Vene called out to the others:
“Oh, see that pretty plot. Full of flowers! Whose is it?”
“That’s Little Mother Maggie’s,” replied the farmer, smiling at the
wizened little girl.
“How neat and well-kept,” commended Uncle Ben.
“Yes, Maggie spends all her spare time here and takes great pride in
the plants. I told her the variety to plant to show quick results;
but now she has a box full of young plants at the Nest, where she is
starting later flowers for her garden when these are gone,” explained
Farmer Jones.
As Maggie could do with her garden what she pleased, she now went
carefully between the rows of flowers and gathered all that were
full-blown. These she presented to Uncle Ben and to the Blue Birds.
“Oh, Maggie, why did you pluck all the lovely blossoms?” cried Ruth.
“Farmer Jones says dey make twice as many flowers if I keep a-pickin’
dose wide open an’ ready to fade,” replied Maggie, astutely.
“For instance, take a pansy plant,” added the farmer. “A plant may only
produce a few blossoms and these will be very large and beautiful.
But cut them off as soon as they are fully opened and the plant will
send up more buds--not quite as large. If these are picked too, more
buds will appear, but will be still smaller, and so on. If you want to
produce an extraordinarily large and beautiful flower on a plant, you
pinch off every bud that appears excepting the one you wish over-fed
with the plant’s food. All the strength and vitality that would be
divided between many blossoms now goes to the one and produces an extra
large and fine single flower.”
“When I go home I’m going to plant flowers and try that idea,” said
Vene Starr.
The Little Citizens were almost finished with the inspection of the
farms when a signal sounded from the fire-gong. The visitors looked at
each other for an explanation.
“It is the call for evening song,” said Uncle Ben.
“Who started that idea?” asked Ned.
“Flutey. She said no child should go to bed without having its soul
lifted to a sense of harmony that would really affect its sleeping
hours. And we find the singing is really a good thing for us all,”
explained Uncle Ben.
The Little Citizens seemed to look forward to this song-exercise and
soon all were seated in the open Refectory, where a small upright piano
stood. One of the young women who helped with the Nests, sat down
before the instrument and played a gay little air; then the signal
sounded for silence.
Miss Selina made it her business to be present at these song-times, and
generally stood up after the prelude and offered a very short, simple
prayer. Then the Little Citizens sang.
In the short time they had been at Happy Hills, most of them had
memorized several sweet songs, and could sing really well. Uncle Ben
and his group sat in the back row the better to get the effect of the
chorus singing, and when the lovely song called “The Prince of Peace”
was finished he felt that he must wipe his eyes for they were moist.
The Blue Birds and Bobolinks encored this song with such enthusiasm
that Flutey smiled and said: “Little Citizens, our visitors appear to
favor that selection. Suppose we now treat them to the new one we have
been learning. How many think they can sing it in public?”
Someone had drawn out a large paper chart from back of the piano and
now it stood in the center of the room. Upon it the visitors saw the
words of the song plainly written for all to read or learn by heart.
The pianist played the air over once and some of the children hummed it
eagerly. Then they all stood up and sang.
It was “The Song of Love” and as the childish voices filled the place
and echoed from the woods and vale, Uncle Ben felt that this was one
way to introduce universal peace and brotherhood. However could such
a motley gathering of city waifs, whose parents most likely came from
every known country in Europe, return home feeling the same in mind
and soul as before spending this summer at Happy Hills! He knew it
was impossible, and that every child singing there that night must be
benefited permanently by the words and music of such songs as Miss
Selina had purposely selected.
Uncle Ben made another great discovery during that singing, but he made
no mention of it at the time. He was determined to investigate the
matter well before taking others into his secret.
Little Mother Maggie, because she had to keep her little family quiet
and in order during the singing, generally sat at the back of the
class. Uncle Ben sat directly beside her and so made his discovery.
When the Even Song was ended, the children trooped to their different
Nests to retire for the night. Uncle Ben asked the Blue Birds and
Bobolinks to escort Aunt Selina home while he helped Maggie with the
little ones. This they eagerly agreed to do. So Maggie was delighted to
have Uncle Ben walk to the Nest with her.
“Maggie, you seem to have your hands full with so many children,”
ventured Uncle Ben, after they had left the hall.
“Yes, sir, but dey’ll grow big some day an’ den I kin help myself.”
“What do you mean--help yourself?”
“I means, dat den I kin do somethin’ what I wants to fer myself,”
replied Maggie.
“Can’t you do it now?”
“Dere ain’t no time, when six kids is to be looked after--on’y maybe a
bit at night when dey is all in bed.”
“What is the something you want to do for yourself, Maggie? Maybe I can
help you a bit now,” offered Uncle Ben, hoping to win the little girl’s
confidence.
It was not difficult, as Maggie was frank and confiding by nature, so
she stopped short in the pathway and exclaimed rapturously:
“Oh Mister Uncle Ben! I loves de flowers growin’, I loves pickshers! I
loves pritty people like Miss Martin an’ de Blue Birds an’ you! An’ oh!
how I loves singin’!”
Uncle Ben had the information he wanted! But still he drew her out.
“Why, Maggie, no one would call Miss Martin or me pretty! And some of
the Blue Birds and Bobolinks are not nearly as good-looking as you
are,--if you were plump you would be as pretty as anyone.”
“Mister Uncle Ben, you don’t unnerstan’!” replied Maggie, with
a worried expression. “I diden’ mean looks, don’che know--I mean
somethin’ else, but I can’t call it like I wantta!”
“I understand, Maggie; and I know that you wish to call it
‘individuality,’ or the mental beauty of the soul. It is this grace of
each one’s thought-power that makes true beauty and attractiveness.”
“Dat’s it--yes, dat’s it, Mister Uncle Ben! But I diden’ know how to
say it!” cried Maggie, her eyes shining.
They had reached the Nest by this time, and Uncle Ben was so
interested, that he said he would step in and help put the six romping
sisters and brothers to bed. Maggie was over-awed!
Uncle Ben took quick notice of the cleanliness of the Nest, and the
crude attempts at decoration. Maggie had gathered wild flowers and
filled empty tin cans with water to hold the lovely blossoms. The very
arrangement of the colors and ferns showed her artistic temperament
that so pleased the visitor.
“Why did you remove all the paper from the cans, Maggie? Didn’t you
like the gay colors of the printing, and the pictures of tomatoes, and
corn, and squash on the outside?”
“Oh sakes alive! Dem ain’t pickshers! Dey is awful ink ads. what folks
have to make to boost dere stuff er not sell it!” returned Maggie,
scornfully.
Uncle Ben laughed aloud. Here was truth indeed!
“So you thought that flashy tin was better, eh?”
“Not much better, Mister Uncle Ben, but cleaner--besides de flowers
said dey wouldn’t stay fresh if dey had to drink water from a tin what
told everyone it had one time been full of beans!” said Maggie, with
disgust at the very idea!
Uncle Ben could hardly keep from laughing again, but he did not want to
offend the little girl he was questioning. Now he said:
“Maybe you’d like something nicer to hold flowers?”
“’Tain’t no use wishin’--I hain’t even got any green paint to paint
dese tin cans wid. If dey was green dey would look all right, ’cause
you see everyt’ing--the grass, the trees, the plants demselves, is all
green before the flower shoots up and opens. An’ a green can would look
more like leaves for the flowers to stick up from,” explained Maggie.
Uncle Ben now found that his hostess was logical and a student of
Nature’s ways and motives. He felt that his visit was teaching him more
about Maggie than he ever thought to know.
The six little ones were in bed by this time, and Maggie kept glancing
at the electric light which hung from the center of the sloping roof of
the Nest.
“What’s wrong with it, Maggie?” asked Uncle Ben.
“It’ll go out at nine sharp an’ leave you in the dark,” said she.
“Oh--then you want to go to bed?”
“No, I don’ go to bed when dere’s a full moon like dis one. I coulden’
sleep away such a lovely time! I likes to sit on de steps and think!”
“And think? Don’t you sing to the moon, Maggie?”
“Who tol’ you?” quickly countered the little girl.
“No one told me, but the moon ought to make you feel like singing, I
think,” returned Uncle Ben, soothingly.
“I sings soft-like so no one kin hear. It might wake up de children an’
make ’em cry, so I jus’ sing inside, you know!”
“So I thought. Well now, Maggie, I have a favor to ask. Suppose we ask
Miss Martin in the next Nest to keep her eye on the sleeping children
here, while you and I walk over to the lake and watch the moon sail
over the trees. There you can sing to me without disturbing anyone, you
see.”
Maggie looked at Uncle Ben and grasping his arm, said:
“I’ll do ennyt’ing for you, but you’ll wish you never ast me to sing!”
Miss Martin quickly consented to keep guard over Maggie’s brood as well
as the little ones in her own Nest; and Uncle Ben shared his secret
with her, while Maggie sought for a hat and an old pair of cotton
gloves--for was she not going for a walk with a real gentleman! Ladies
always wore gloves at such times.
Uncle Ben took Maggie’s hand to make her feel quite at ease with him,
and soon the two reached the Summer House built on the little bluff
overlooking the ornamental lake where Aunt Selina first heard Ruth plan
for Happy Hills.
All was quiet and peaceful and the faint lap, lap, lap of the water
as it was lightly rippled by the night-breezes, gave one a feeling of
being in another world. So thought Maggie.
She forgot where she was and who was with her as her soul drank in the
beauty of the scene, and when Uncle Ben whispered, “Sing ‘The Song of
Love,’ Maggie,” she sang it softly as if in accord with her own wishes
at the moment.
The melody came forth so pure and clear and free, yet so controlled,
that Uncle Ben marvelled. He had found a wonder indeed!
Maggie softly trilled every song she had learned at Happy Hills, and
then her silent companion took her hand and they walked back to the
Nest.
“Diden’ you like my singin’, Mister Uncle Ben?” queried Maggie,
wistfully, for he had not said a word.
“Maggie, it was so wonderful that I can’t speak!”
“I know! I know, how you’se feel! I always feels dat way when I stan’
outside a church an’ hears some angel singin’ inside. Den I want glad
rags an’ fine ways so I kin go in an’ _see_ de shinin’ wings an’ face
what’s singin’!” cried Maggie.
“Thank you very much for this treat, Maggie, and tomorrow I will treat
you in return,” said Uncle Ben, patting her head.
“Now hurry to bed, little girl. Good-night!” added the visitor, as
Maggie stood on the top step of the three that led to the Nest.