kissed mamma, and said "Good-night;" then went away into their rooms,
said their prayers, and nestled down into their beds. Ned slept alone in
the room next that which Polly and Will had; and, after lying quiet a
little while, he called out softly:
"I say, Polly, are you asleep?"
"No: I'm thinking what a queer day we've had," answered Polly.
"It's been a good day, and I'm glad we tried our wish; for the shadows
showed us, as well as they could, what we ought to do and be. I shan't
forget it, shall you?" said Ned.
"No: I'm much obliged for the lesson."
"So is I," called out Will, in a very earnest, but rather a sleepy,
little voice.
"I wonder what mamma will say, when we tell her about it," said Ned.
"And I wonder if our shadows will come back to us at midnight, and
follow us as they used to do," added Polly.
"I shall be very careful where I lead my shadow; 'cause he's a good
little one, and set me a righter zarmple than ever I did him," said
Will, and then dropped asleep.
The others agreed with him, and resolved that their shadows should not
be ashamed of them. All were fast asleep; and no one but the moon saw
the shadows come stealing back at midnight, and, having danced about the
little beds, vanish as the clock struck twelve.
VI.
POPPY'S PRANKS.
She wasn't a wilfully naughty child, this harum-scarum Poppy, but very
thoughtless and very curious. She wanted to see every thing, do every
thing, and go every where: she feared nothing, and so was continually
getting into scrapes.
Her pranks began early; for, when she was about four, her mamma one day
gave her a pair of green shoes with bright buttons. Poppy thought there
never was any thing so splendid, and immediately wanted to go to walk.
But mamma was busy, and Poppy couldn't go alone any farther than the
garden. She showed her shoes to the servants, the cat, the doves, and
the flowers; and then opened the gate that the people in the street
might see the trim little feet she was so proud of. Now Poppy had been
forbidden to go out; but, when she saw Kitty Allen, her neighbor,
playing ball down the street, she forgot every thing but the desire to
show her new shoes; and away she went marching primly along as vain as a
little peacock, as she watched the bright buttons twinkle, and heard the
charming creak. Kitty saw her coming; and, being an ill-natured little
girl, took no notice, but called out to her brother Jack:
"Ain't some folks grand? If I couldn't have red shoes for my best, I
wouldn't have any, would you?"
They both laughed, and this hurt Poppy's feelings dreadfully. She tossed
her head, and tried to turn up her nose; but, it was so very small, it
couldn't be very scornful. She said nothing, but walked gravely by, as
if she was going on an errand, and hadn't heard a word. Round the corner
she went, thinking she would wait till Kitty was gone; as she didn't
like to pass again, fearing Jack might say something equally trying. An
organ-man with a monkey was playing near by; and Poppy was soon so busy
listening to the music, and watching the sad-looking monkey, that she
forgot home, shoes, and Kitty altogether.
She followed the man a long way; and, when she turned to go back, she
took the wrong street, and found herself by the park. Being fond of
dandelions, Poppy went in, and gathered her hands full, enjoying herself
immensely; for Betsy, the maid, never let her play in the pond, or roll
down the hill, or make dirt-pies, and now she did all these things,
besides playing with strange children and talking with any one she
pleased. If she had not had her luncheon just before she started, she
would have been very hungry; for dinner-time came, without her knowing
it.
By three o'clock, she began to think it was time to go home, and boldly
started off to find it. But poor little Poppy didn't know the way, and
went all wrong. She was very tired now, and hot and hungry, and wanted
to see mamma, and wondered why she didn't come to the brown house with
the white garden-gate. On and on she went, up streets and down, amusing
herself with looking in the shop-windows, and sitting to rest on
doorsteps. Once she asked a pleasant-faced little girl to show her the
way home; but, as she didn't know in what street it was, and said her
father's name was "papa," the girl couldn't help her: so she gave her a
bun and went away. Poppy ate her bun, and began to wonder what would
become of her; for night was coming on, and there didn't seem to be any
prospect of finding mamma or home or bed. Her courage was all gone now;
and, coming to a quiet place, she sat down on some high steps, and cried
till her little "hankchif," as she called it, was all wet.
Nobody minded her: and she felt very forlorn till a big black dog came
by, and seemed to understand the matter entirely; for he smelt of her
face, licked her hands, and then lay down by her with such a friendly
look in his brown eyes that Poppy was quite comforted. She told him her
story, patted his big head; and then, being fairly tired out, laid her
wet cheek on his soft back, and fell fast asleep.
It was quite dark when she woke; but a lamp was lighted near by, and
standing under it was a man ringing a great bell. Poppy sat up, and
wondered if anybody's supper was ready. The man had a paper; and, when
people stopped at the sound of the bell, he read in a loud voice:
"Lost! a little girl, four years old; curly brown hair, blue eyes; had
on a white frock and green shoes; calls herself Poppy."
He got no farther; for a little voice cried out of the dark, in a tone
of surprise:
"Why, dats me!"
The people all turned to look; and the big man put his bell in his
pocket, took her up very kindly, and said he'd carry her home.
"Is it far away?" asked Poppy, with a little sob.
"Yes, my dear; but I am going to give you some supper fust, along of my
little girl. I live close by; and, when we've had a bite, we'll go find
your ma."
Poppy was so tired and hungry, she was glad to find herself taken care
of, and let the man do as he liked. He took her to a funny little house,
and his wife gave her bread and molasses on a new tin plate with letters
all round the edge. Poppy thought it very fine, and enjoyed her supper,
though the man's little girl stared at her all the time with eyes as
blue as her mug.
While she ate, the man sent word to her father that she was found; and,
when both papa and mamma came hurrying in all out of breath with joy,
there sat Miss Poppy talking merrily, with her face well daubed with
molasses, her gown torn, her hands very dirty, and her shoes--ah, the
pretty new shoes!--all spoiled with mud and dust, scratched, and half
worn out, the buttons dull, and the color quite gone. No one cared for
it that night; for little runaway was kissed and petted, and taken home
to her own cosey bed as tenderly as if she had done nothing naughty, and
never frightened her parents out of their wits in her life.
But the next day,--dear me! what a sad time it was, to be sure! When
Poppy woke up, there hung the spoilt shoes over the mantle-piece; and,
as soon as she was dressed, papa came in with a long cord, one end of
which he tied round Poppy's waist, and the other to the arm of the sofa.
"I'm very sorry to have to tie you up, like a little dog; but I must, or
you will forget, and run away again, and make mamma ill."
Then he went away without his morning kiss, and Poppy was so very
unhappy she could hardly eat her breakfast. She felt better by and by,
and tried to play; but the cord kept pulling her back. She couldn't get
to the window; and, when she heard mamma passing the door, she tried to
run and meet her, but had to stop halfway, for the cord jerked her over.
Cousin Fanny came up, but Poppy was so ashamed to be tied that she
crept under the sofa and hid. All day she was a prisoner, and was a very
miserable little girl; but at night she was untied, and, when mamma took
her in her lap for the first time that day, Poppy held her fast, and
sobbed very penitently--
"O mamma! I drefful sorry I runned away. Fordive me one time more, and I
never will adain;" and she never did.
Two or three years after this, Poppy went to live in the country, and
tried some new pranks. One day she went with her sister Nelly to see a
man plough, for that sort of thing was new to her. While the man worked,
she saw him take out a piece of something brown, and bite off a bit.
"What's that?" asked Poppy.
"Tobaccer," said the man.
"Is it nice?" asked Poppy.
"Prime," said the man.
"Could you let me taste it?" asked curious Poppy.
"It will make you sick," said the man, laughing.
"It doesn't make _you_ sick. I'd like to try," said Poppy, nothing
daunted.
He gave her a piece; and Poppy ate it, though it didn't taste good at
all. She did it because Cy, her favorite playfellow, told her she'd die
if she did, and tried to frighten her.
"You darsn't eat any more," he said.
"Yes, I dare. See if I don't." And Poppy took another piece, just to
show how brave she was. Silly little Poppy!
"I ain't sick, and I shan't die, so now."
And Poppy pranced about as briskly as ever. But the man shook his head,
Nelly watched her anxiously, and Cy kept saying:
"Ain't you sick yet, say?"
For a little while Poppy felt all right; but presently she grew rather
pale, and began to look rather pensive. She stopped running, and walked
slower and slower, while her eyes got dizzy, and her hands and feet very
cold.
"Ain't you sick now, say?" repeated Cy; and Poppy tried to answer, "Oh,
dear! no;" but a dreadful feeling came over her, and she could only
shake her head, and hold on to Nelly.
"Better lay down a spell," said the man, looking a little troubled.
"I don't wish to dirty my clean frock," said Poppy faintly, as she
glanced over the wide-ploughed field, and longed for a bit of grass to
drop on. She kept on bravely for another turn; but suddenly stopped,
and, quite regardless of the clean pink gown, dropped down in a furrow,
looking so white and queer that Nelly began to cry. Poppy lay a minute,
then turned to Cy, and said very solemnly:
"Cy, run home, and tell my mother I'm dying."
Away rushed Cy in a great fright, and burst upon Poppy's mamma,
exclaiming breathlessly:
"O ma'am! Poppy's been and ate a lot of tobacco; and she's sick, layin'
in the field; and she says 'Come quick, 'cause she's dyin.'"
"Mercy on us! what will happen to that child next?" cried poor mamma,
who was used to Poppy's mishaps. Papa was away, and there was no
carriage to bring Poppy home in; so mamma took the little wheelbarrow,
and trundled away to get the suffering Poppy.
She couldn't speak when they got to her; and, only stopping to give the
man a lecture, mamma picked up her silly little girl, and the procession
moved off. First came Cy, as grave as a sexton; then the wheelbarrow
with Poppy, white and limp and speechless, all in a bunch; then mamma,
looking amused, anxious and angry; then Nelly, weeping as if her tender
heart was entirely broken; while the man watched them, with a grin,
saying to himself:
"Twarn't my fault. The child was a reg'lar fool to swaller it."
Poppy was dreadfully sick all night, but next day was ready for more
adventures and experiments. She swung on the garret stairs, and tumbled
down, nearly breaking her neck. She rubbed her eyes with red peppers, to
see if it _really_ would make them smart, as Cy said; and was led home
quite blind and roaring with pain. She got into the pigsty to catch a
young piggy, and was taken out in a sad state of dirt. She slipped into
the brook, and was half drowned; broke a window and her own head,
swinging a little flat-iron on a string; dropped baby in the coal-hod;
buried her doll, and spoilt her; cut off a bit of her finger, chopping
wood; and broke a tooth, trying to turn heels over head on a haycock.
These are only a few of her pranks, but one was nearly her last.
She wanted to go bare-footed, as the little country boys and girls did;
but mamma wasn't willing, and Poppy was much afflicted.
"It doesn't hurt Cy, and it won't hurt me, just for a little while," she
said.
"Say no more, Poppy. I never wish to see you barefooted," replied mamma.
"Well, you needn't: I'll go and do it in the barn," muttered Poppy, as
she walked away.
Into the barn she went, and played country girl to her heart's content,
in spite of Nelly's warnings. Nelly never got into scrapes, being a
highly virtuous young lady; but she enjoyed Poppy's pranks, and wept
over her misfortunes with sisterly fidelity.
"Now I'll be a bear, and jump at you as you go by," said Poppy, when
they were tired of playing steam-engine with the old winnowing machine.
So she got up on a beam; and Nelly, with a peck measure on her head for
a hat, and a stick for a gun, went bear-hunting, and banged away at the
swallows, the barrels, and the hencoops, till the bear was ready to eat
her. Presently, with a loud roar, the bear leaped; but Nelly wasn't
eaten that time, for Poppy cried out with pain:
"Oh! I jumped on a pitchfork, and it's in my foot! Take it out! take it
out!"
Poor little foot! There was a deep purple hole in the sole, and the
blood came, and Poppy fainted away, and Nelly screamed, and mamma ran,
and the neighbors rushed in, and there was _such_ a flurry. Poppy was
soon herself again, and lay on the sofa, with Nelly and Cy to amuse her.
"What did the doctor say to mamma in the other room about me?" whispered
Poppy, feeling very important at having such a bustle made on her
account. Nelly sniffed, but said nothing; Cy, however, spoke up briskly:
"He says you might have lockjaw."
"Is that bad?" asked Poppy gravely.
"Oh, ain't it, though! Your mouth shuts up, and you can't open it; and
you have fits and die."
"Always?" said Poppy, looking scared, and feeling of her mouth.
"'Most always, I guess. That's why your ma cried, and Nelly keeps
kissin' you."
Cy felt sorry, but rather enjoyed the excitement, and was sure, that, if
any one ever _could_ escape dying, it would be Poppy, for she always
"came alive" again after her worst mishaps. She looked very solemn for a
few minutes, and kept opening and shutting her mouth to see if it wasn't
stiff. Presently she said, in a serious tone and with a pensive air:
"Nelly, I'll give you my bead-ring: I shan't want it any more. And Cy
may have the little horse: he lost his tail; but I put on the lamb's
tail, and he is as good as ever. I wish to give away my things 'fore I
die; and, Nelly, won't you bring me the scissors?"
"What for?" said Nelly, sniffing more than ever.
"To cut off my hair for mamma. She'll want it, and I like to cut
things."
Nelly got the scissors; and Poppy cut away all she could reach, giving
directions about her property while she snipped.
"I wish papa to have my pictures and my piece of poetry I made. Give
baby my dolly and the quacking duck. Tell Billy, if he wants my
collection of bright buttons, he can have 'em; and give Hattie the
yellow plaster dog, with my love."
Here mamma came in with a poultice, and couldn't help laughing, though
tears stood in her eyes, as she saw Poppy's cropped head and heard her
last wishes.
"I don't think I shall lose my little girl yet, so we won't talk of it.
But Poppy must keep quiet, and let Nelly wait on her for a few days."
"Are fits bad, mamma? and does it hurt much to die?" asked Poppy
thoughtfully.
"If people are good while they live, it is not hard to die, dear," said
mamma, with a kiss; and Poppy hugged her, saying softly:
"Then I'll be very good; so I won't mind, if the jawlock does come."
And Poppy _was_ good,--oh, dreadfully good! for a week. Quite an angel
was Poppy; so meek and gentle, so generous and obedient, you really
wouldn't have known her. She loved everybody, forgave her playmates all
their sins against her, let Nelly take such of her precious treasures as
she liked, and pensively hoped baby would remember her when she was
gone. She hopped about with a crutch, and felt as if she was an object
of public interest; for all the old ladies sent to know how she was, the
children looked at her with respectful awe as one set apart and doomed
to fits, and Cy continually begged to know if her mouth was stiff.
Poppy didn't die, though she got all ready for it; and felt rather
disappointed when the foot healed, the jaws remained as active as ever,
and the fits didn't come. I think it did her good; for she never forgot
that week, and, though she was near dying several times after, she never
was so fit to go as she was then.
"Burney's making jelly: let's go and get our scrapings," said Poppy to
Nellie once, when mamma was away.
But Burney was busy and cross, and cooks are not as patient as mothers;
so when the children appeared, each armed with a spoon, and demanded
their usual feast, she wouldn't hear of it, and ordered them off.
"But we only want the scrapings of the pan, Burney: mamma always lets us
have them, when we help her make jelly; don't she, Nelly?" said Poppy,
trying to explain the case.
"Yes; and makes us our little potful too," added Nelly, persuasively.
"I don't want your help; so be off. Your ma can fuss with your pot, if
she chooses. I've no time."
"_I_ think Burney's the crossest woman in the world. It's mean to eat
all the scrapings herself; isn't it Nelly?" said Poppy, very loud, as
the cook shut the door in their faces. "Never mind: I know how to pay
her," she added, in a whisper, as they sat on the stairs bewailing their
wrongs. "She'll put her old jelly in the big closet, and lock the door;
but we can climb the plum tree, and get in at the window, when she takes
her nap."
"Should we dare to eat any?" asked Nelly, timid, but longing for the
forbidden fruit.
"_I_ should; just as much as ever I like. It's mamma's jelly, and she
won't mind. I don't care for old cross Burney," said Poppy, sliding down
the banisters by way of soothing her ruffled spirit.
So when Burney went to her room after dinner, the two rogues climbed in
at the window; and, each taking a jar, sat on the shelf, dipping in
their fingers and revelling rapturously. But Burney wasn't asleep, and,
hearing a noise below, crept down to see what mischief was going on.
Pausing in the entry to listen, she heard whispering, clattering of
glasses, and smacking of lips in the big closet; and in a moment knew
that her jelly was lost. She tried the door with her key; but sly Poppy
had bolted it on the inside, and, feeling quite safe, defied Burney from
among the jelly-pots, entirely reckless of consequences. Short-sighted
Poppy! she forgot Cy; but Burney didn't, and sent him to climb in at the
window, and undo the door. Feeling hurt that the young ladies hadn't
asked him to the feast, Cy hardened his heart against them, and
delivered them up to the enemy, regardless of Poppy's threats and
Nelly's prayers.
"Poppy proposed it, she broke the jar, and I didn't eat _much_. O
Burney! don't hurt her, please, but let me 'splain it to mamma when she
comes," sobbed Nelly, as Burney seized Poppy, and gave her a good
shaking.
"You go wash your face, Miss Nelly, and leave this naughty, naughty
child to me," said Burney; and took Poppy, kicking and screaming, into
the little library, where she--oh, dreadful to relate!--gave her a good
spanking, and locked her up.
Mamma never whipped, and Poppy was in a great rage at such an indignity.
The minute she was left alone, she looked about to see how she could be
revenged. A solar lamp stood on the table; and Poppy coolly tipped it
over, with a fine smash, calling out to Burney that she'd have to pay
for it, that mamma would be very angry, and that she, Poppy, was going
to spoil every thing in the room. But Burney was gone, and no one came
near her. She kicked the paint off the door, rattled the latch, called
Burney a "pig," and Cy "a badder boy than the man who smothered the
little princes in the Tower." Poppy was very fond of that story, and
often played it with Nelly and the dolls. Having relieved her feelings
in this way, Poppy rested, and then set about amusing herself. Observing
that the spilt oil made the table shine, she took her handkerchief and
polished up the furniture, as she had seen the maids do.
"Now, that looks nice; and I know mamma will be pleased 'cause I'm so
tidy," she said, surveying her work with pride, when she had thoroughly
greased every table, chair, picture-frame, book-back, and ornament in
the room. Plenty of oil still remained; and Poppy finished off by
oiling her hair, till it shone finely, and smelt--dear me, how it did
smell! If she had been a young whale, it couldn't have been worse. Poppy
wasn't particular about smells; but she got some in her mouth, and
didn't like the taste. There was no water to wash in; and her hands,
face, and pinafore were in a high state of grease. She was rather lonely
too; for, though mamma had got home, she didn't come to let Poppy out:
so the young rebel thought it was about time to surrender. She could
write pretty well, and was fond of sending penitent notes to mamma,
after being naughty: for mamma always answered them so kindly, and was
so forgiving, that Poppy's naughtiest mood was conquered by them sooner
than by any punishment; and Poppy kept the notes carefully in a little
cover, even after she was grown up. There was pen, ink, and paper in the
room; so, after various trials, Poppy wrote her note:--
"dear Mamma.
"i am sorry i Took bernys gelli. i have braked The lamP. The oyl
maks A bad smel. i tHink i wil Bee sik iF i stay HeRe anny More.
i LoVe yoU--your Trying To Bee GooD
popy."
When she had finished, she lowered her note by a string, and bobbed it
up and down before the parlor window till Nelly saw and took it in.
Every one laughed over it; for, besides the bad spelling and the funny
periods, it was covered with oil-spots, blots, and tear marks; for Poppy
got tender-hearted toward the end, and cried a few very repentant tears
when she said, "I love you; your trying-to-be-good Poppy."
Mamma went up at once, and ordered no further punishment, but a thorough
scrubbing; which Poppy underwent very meekly, though Betsey put soap in
her eyes, pulled her hair, and scolded all the time. They were not
allowed any jelly for a long while; and Cy teased Poppy about her
hair-oil till the joke was quite worn out, and even cross Burney was
satisfied with the atonement.
When Poppy was eight, she got so very wild that no one could manage her
but mamma, and she was ill; so Poppy was sent away to grandpa's for a
visit. Now, grandpa was a very stately old gentleman, and every one
treated him with great respect; but Poppy wasn't at all afraid, and
asked all manner of impolite questions.
"Grandpa, why don't you have any hair on the top of your head?"--"O
grandpa! you _do_ snore _so_ loud when you take naps!"--"What makes you
turn out your feet so, when you walk?" and such things.
If grandpa hadn't been the best-natured old gentleman in the world, he
wouldn't have liked this: but he only laughed at Poppy, especially when
she spoke of his legs; for he was rather proud of them, and always wore
long black silk stockings, and told every one that the legs were so
handsome an artist put them in a picture of General Washington; which
was quite true, as any one may see when they look at the famous picture
in Boston.
Well, Poppy behaved herself respectably for a day or two; but the house
was rather dull, she missed Nelly, wanted to run in the street, and
longed to see mamma. She amused herself as well as she could with
picture-books, patchwork, and the old cat; but, not being a quiet,
proper, little Rosamond sort of a child, she got tired of hemming neat
pocket-handkerchiefs, and putting her needle carefully away when she had
done. She wanted to romp and shout, and slide down the banisters, and
riot about; so, when she couldn't be quiet another minute, she went up
into a great empty room at the top of the house, and cut up all sorts of
capers. Her great delight was to lean out of the window as far as she
could, and look at the people in the street, with her head upside down.
It was very dangerous, for a fall would have killed her; but the danger
was the fun, and Poppy hung out till her hands touched the ledge below,
and her face was as red as any real poppy's.
She was enjoying herself in this way one day, when an old gentleman,
who lived near, came home to dinner, and saw her.
"What in the world is that hanging out of the colonel's upper window?"
said he, putting on his spectacles. "Bless my soul! that child will kill
herself. Hallo, there! little girl; get in this minute!" he called to
Poppy, flourishing his hat to make her see him.
"What for?" answered Poppy, staring at him without moving an inch.
"You'll fall, and break your neck!" screamed the old gentleman.