_Of the Fall of the Great Tree, and the Funeral of Aristotle._
To-day was a long work-day. When afternoon-time was come, the mamma
was worried because the cream was n’t sour enough to churn, and she
wanted to get it churned before supper-time. I wanted to help her.
I feel so sorry for her when the worry lines come on her face. They
make her look tired. While she was taking a nap by the baby on the
bed, I tried to think how I could help her. By-and-by, after a time
not very long, I thought of a way. I got a lemon and cut it in two
with the butcher-knife. Then I took the lid off the big churn. I
squeezed those lemons lots of times into the cream. Then, when they
would n’t leak any more juice out, I put the rinds in for a finishing
touch, just like the mamma puts them into the lemonade after she
has squeezed all the squeeze out. I feel better now. I know when
the mamma awakes, joy will be hers when she sees the cream is sour
enough to churn.
But the feels the mamma did have when she had wake-ups--they was
not joy feels; and the feels I now have are sore feels on the back
part of me.
While I did mind the baby, there was an odd sound like someone
crying a great way off. The mamma says, “I wonder what it is.” I
know it is the death-song of that gray fir tree they are falling
this afternoon. Sleeps is come upon the baby. The mamma says for me
to get out of her way. I go now goes to the woods.
I did. I went on to where its growing was. It reaches up and up--most
away to the clouds. Days have been when I did sit by it to have
thinks. And Thomas Chatterton Jupiter Zeus has gone goes there with
me, and Brave Horatius has waited waits while I did say prayers by
that great tree. And I have told it all the things I am going to
do when I grow up. I have told it about the books I am going to
write about wood-folks and them of the field, and about the twins
I want when I grow up, and the eight other children. And always I
have read to this great fir tree the letters I have wrote and put
in the big log for the fairies to take to grandmère and grandpère.
And night-times I have heard the little wind-song among its arms
most near to the sky, and I have almost touched the big gray shadow
with velvet fingers that stays close by it at night-time.
And to-day there I did watch and I did hear its moans as the saw
went through it. And I sat down on the ground. There was a queer
feel in my throat and I could n’t stand up. All the woods seemed a
still sound except the pain-sound of the saw. It seemed like a little
voice was calling from the cliffs. And then it was many voices. They
were all little voices calling as one silver voice come together.
The saw--it did n’t stop--it went on sawing. Then I did have thinks
the silver voice was calling to the soul of the big fir tree. The
saw did stop. There was a stillness. There was a queer sad sound.
The big tree did quiver. It did sway. It crashed to the earth.
* * * * *
Yesterday was the day of the funeral of Aristotle. He died of eating
too many mosquitoes. Now I have not three pet bats. I only have two
pet bats--Plato and Pliny. And they are like mice with angel wings.
I have likes to watch Pliny scratch his head with his hind-foot, and
he does use a part of his wonderful stretchy wing for a washcloth.
I have lonesome feels about Aristotle being gone. I go now goes to
the garden to get turnips for supper.
I did. And I give to them washes in the brook. When I did take them
in to put them on the cook-table, the mamma and the grandma was
talking about the garden. The mamma did wonder where that third
cabbage-head was gone. I did n’t. I know. It is up the brook a ways
dabbling its toes in the water. I dug it up this morning and put it
there. To-night I shall plant it again in the garden. It will have
had a glad day dabbling its toes in the brook. That does give one
such a nice feel.
I have been sitting on a high stump looking looks to where is the
road. Now the sun shines yellow and many flowers bloom yellow along
the road. When I grow up, I’m going to write a book about the folks
that wear the sunshine color. I have printed some prints for its
begins.
When I was coming back from the stump, I saw a spider. I stopped to
watch him. He walked on his web. There was a mosquito in the web. I
thought I would take that mosquito to Pliny to eat. Before I could
get to it, that spider ate that mosquito up. I came a come as near
unto the chêne trees. I saw the black cat coming in a creep along.
He was coming more near unto the little squirrel that had no seeing
of his coming. I ran a more quick run. I hollered a little holler.
The little squirrel did make a start to make a run. The cat did
make a jump. I so did too. The cat did begin to make a quick run.
I so did too. I fell over a little root. That helped some because,
when I fell, I did catch the tail of that old black cat. I pulled
it most hard. He did drop the little squirrel and made objects to
my pulling his tail so.
Then I did get the baby squirrel. It was most killed, but it was not
killed dead. I did cuddle it up in my hands and we did go the way
that does go to the hospital. I have mentholatumed it and named it
Geoffroi Chaucer, and I have told it about this being the day of the
going-away of Innocent III in 1216. Now I go goes to the cathedral
to say thanks for his borning and all the good he did do, and to
pray for the angels to bring a new baby to the mamma and the papa
when comes Easter-time.