hanging out still further.
"Stop that, instantly, or I'll go in and inform the colonel!" roared the
old gentleman, getting angry.
"I don't care," shouted Poppy; and she didn't, for she knew grandpa
wasn't at home.
"Little gipsy! I'll settle her," muttered the old man, bustling up to
the steps, and ringing the bell, as if the house was on fire.
No one was in but the servants; and, when he'd told old Emily what the
matter was, she went up to "settle" Poppy. But Poppy was already
settled, demurely playing with her doll, and looking quite innocent.
Emily scolded; and Poppy promised never to do it again, if she might
stay and play in the big room. Being busy about dinner, Emily was glad
to be rid of her, and left her, to go and tell the old gentleman it was
all right.
"Ain't they crosspatches?" said Poppy to her doll. "Never mind, dear:
_you_ shall hang out, if I can't. I guess the old man won't order you
in, any way."
Full of this idea, Poppy took her long-suffering dolly, and, tying a
string to her neck, danced her out of the window. Now this dolly had
been through a great deal. Her head had been cut off (and put on again);
she had been washed, buried, burnt, torn, soiled, and banged about till
she was a mournful object. Poppy loved her very much; for she was two
feet tall, and had once been very handsome: so her trials only endeared
her to her little mamma. Away she went, skipping and prancing like
mad,--a funny sight, for Poppy had taken off her clothes, and she hadn't
a hair on her head.
Poppy went to another window of the room for this performance, because
in the opposite house lived five or six children, and she thought they
would enjoy the fun.
So they did, and so did the other people; for it was a boarding-house,
and all the people were at home for dinner. They came to the windows,
and looked and laughed at dolly's capers, and Poppy was in high feather
at the success of her entertainment.
All of a sudden she saw grandpa coming down the street, hands behind
his back, feet turned out, gold-headed cane under his arm, and the
handsome legs in the black silk stockings marching along in the most
stately manner. Poppy whisked dolly in before grandpa saw her, and
dodged down as he went by. This made the people laugh again, and grandpa
wondered what the joke was. The minute he went in out flew dolly,
dancing more frantically than ever; and the children shouted so loud
that grandpa went to see what the matter was. The street was empty; yet
there stood the people, staring out and laughing. Yes; they were
actually looking and laughing at _his_ house; and he didn't see what
there was to laugh at in that highly respectable mansion.
He didn't like it; and, clapping on his hat, he went out to learn what
the matter was. He looked over at the house, up at the sky, down at the
ground, and through the street; but nothing funny appeared, for Poppy
and dolly were hidden again, and the old gentleman was puzzled. He went
in and sat down to watch, feeling rather disturbed. Presently the fun
began again: the children clapped their hands, the people laughed, and
every one looked over at the house, in what he thought a very
impertinent way. This made him angry; and out he rushed a second time,
saying, as he marched across the street:
"If those saucy young fellows are making game of me, I'll soon stop
it."
Up to the door he went, gave a great pull at the bell, and, when the
servant came, he demanded why every one was laughing at his house. One
of the young men came and told him, and asked him to come in and see the
fun. Poppy didn't see grandpa go in, for she hid, and when she looked
out he was gone: so she boldly began the dancing; but, in the midst of a
lively caper, dolly went bounce into the garden below, for the string
fell from Poppy's hand when she suddenly saw grandpa at the window
opposite, laughing as heartily as any one at her prank.
She stared at him in a great fright, and looked so amazed that every one
enjoyed that joke better than the other; and poor Poppy didn't hear the
last of it for a long time.
Her next performance was to fall into the pond on the Common. She was
driving hoop down the hill, and went so fast she couldn't stop herself;
so splashed into the water, hoop and all. How dreadful it was to feel
the cold waves go over her head, shutting out the sun and air! The
ground was gone, and she could find no place for her feet, and could
only struggle and choke, and go down, down, with a loud roaring sound in
her ears. That would have been the end of Poppy, if a little black boy
hadn't jumped in and pulled her out. She was sick and dizzy, and looked
like a drowned kitten; but a kind lady took her home in a carriage.
After that mishap grandpa thought he wouldn't keep her any longer, for
fear she should come to some worse harm. So Miss Poppy was sent home,
much to her delight and much to mamma's also; for no matter where she
went, or how naughty she was, mamma was always glad to see the little
wanderer back, and to forgive and forget all Poppy's pranks.
VII.
WHAT THE SWALLOWS DID.
A man lay on a pile of new-made hay, in a great barn, looking up at the
swallows who darted and twittered above him. He envied the cheerful
little creatures; for he wasn't a happy man, though he had many friends,
much money, and the beautiful gift of writing songs that everybody loved
to sing. He had lost his wife and little child, and would not be
comforted; but lived alone, and went about with such a gloomy face that
no one liked to speak to him. He took no notice of friends and
neighbors; neither used his money for himself nor others; found no
beauty in the world, no happiness anywhere; and wrote such sad songs it
made one's heart ache to sing them.
As he lay alone on the sweet-smelling hay, with the afternoon sunshine
streaming in, and the busy birds chirping overhead, he said sadly to
himself:
"Happy swallows, I wish I were one of you; for you have no pains nor
sorrows, and your cares are very light. All summer you live gayly
together; and, when winter comes, you fly away to the lovely South,
unseparated still."
"Neighbors, do you hear what that lazy creature down there is saying?"
cried a swallow, peeping over the edge of her nest, and addressing
several others who sat on a beam near by.
"We hear, Mrs. Skim; and quite agree with you that he knows very little
about us and our affairs," answered one of the swallows with a shrill
chirp, like a scornful laugh. "We work harder than he does any day. Did
he build his own house, I should like to know? Does he get his daily
bread for himself? How many of his neighbors does he help? How much of
the world does he see, and who is the happier for his being alive?"
"Cares indeed!" cried another; "I wish he'd undertake to feed and teach
my brood. Much he knows about the anxieties of a parent." And the little
mother bustled away to get supper for the young ones, whose bills were
always gaping wide.
"Sorrows we have, too," softly said the fourth swallow. "He would not
envy _me_, if he knew how my nest fell, and all my children were killed;
how my dear husband was shot, and my old mother died of fatigue on our
spring journey from the South."
"Dear neighbor Dart, he _would_ envy you, if he knew how patiently you
bear your troubles; how tenderly you help us with our little ones; how
cheerfully you serve your friends; how faithfully you love your lost
mate; and how trustfully you wait to meet him again in a lovelier
country than the South."
As Skim spoke, she leaned down from her nest to kiss her neighbor; and,
as the little beaks met, the other birds gave a grateful and approving
murmur, for Neighbor Dart was much beloved by all the inhabitants of
Twittertown.
"I, for my part, don't envy _him_," said Gossip Wing, who was fond of
speaking her mind. "Men and women call themselves superior beings; but,
upon my word, I think they are vastly inferior to us. Now, look at that
man, and see how he wastes his life. There never was any one with a
better chance for doing good, and being happy; and yet he mopes and
dawdles his time away most shamefully."
"Ah! he has had a great sorrow, and it is hard to be gay with a heavy
heart, an empty home; so don't be too severe, Sister Wing." And the
white tie of the little widow's cap was stirred by a long sigh as Mrs.
Dart glanced up at the nook where her nest once stood.
"No, my dear, I won't; but really I do get out of patience when I see so
much real misery which that man might help, if he'd only forget himself
a little. It's my opinion he'd be much happier than he now is, wandering
about with a dismal face and a sour temper."
"I quite agree with you; and I dare say he'd thank any one for telling
him how he may find comfort. Poor soul! I wish he could understand me;
for I sympathize with him, and would gladly help him if I could."
And, as she spoke, kind-hearted Widow Dart skimmed by him with a
friendly chirp, which did comfort him; for, being a poet, he _could_
understand them, and lay listening, well pleased while the little
gossips chattered on together.
"I am so tied at home just now, that I know nothing of what is going on,
except the bits of news Skim brings me; so I enjoy your chat immensely.
I'm interested in your views on this subject, and beg you'll tell me
what you'd have that man do to better himself," said Mrs. Skim, settling
herself on her eggs with an attentive air.
"Well, my dear, I'll tell you; for I've seen a deal of the world, and
any one is welcome to my experience," replied Mrs. Wing, in an important
manner; for she was proud of her "views," and very fond of talking. "In
my daily flights about the place, I see a great deal of poverty and
trouble, and often wish I could lend a hand. Now, this man has plenty of
money and time; and he might do more good than I can tell, if he'd only
set about it. Because he is what they call a poet is no reason he should
go moaning up and down, as if he had nothing to do but make songs. We
sing, but we work also; and are wise enough to see the necessity of
both, thank goodness!"
"Yes, indeed, we do," cried all the birds in a chorus; for several more
had stopped to hear what was going on.
"Now, what I say is this," continued Mrs. Wing impressively. "If I were
that man, I'd make myself useful at once. There is poor little Will
getting more and more lame every day, because his mother can't send him
where he can be cured. A trifle of that man's money would do it, and he
ought to give it. Old Father Winter is half starved, alone there in his
miserable hovel; and no one thinks of the good old man. Why don't that
lazy creature take him home, and care for him, the little while he has
to live? Pretty Nell is working day and night, to support her father,
and is too proud to ask help, though her health and courage are going
fast. The man might make hers the gayest heart alive, by a little help.
There in a lonely garret lives a young man studying his life away,
longing for books and a teacher. The man has a library full, and might
keep the poor boy from despair by a little help and a friendly word. He
mourns for his own lost baby: I advise him to adopt the orphan whom
nobody will own, and who lies wailing all day untended on the poor-house
floor. Yes: if he wants to forget sorrow and find peace, let him fill
his empty heart and home with such as these, and life won't seem dark to
him any more."
"Dear me! how well you express yourself, Mrs. Wing; it's quite a
pleasure to hear you; and I heartily wish some persons could hear you,
it would do 'em a deal of good," said Mrs. Skim; while her husband gave
an approving nod as he dived off the beam, and vanished through the open
doors.
"I know it would comfort that man to do these things; for I have tried
the same cure in my small way, and found great satisfaction in it,"
began little Madame Dart, in her soft voice; but Mrs. Wing broke in,
saying with a pious expression of countenance:
"I flew into church one day, and sat on the organ enjoying the music;
for every one was singing, and I joined in, though I didn't know the
air. Opposite me were two great tablets with golden letters on them. I
can read a little, thanks to my friend, the learned raven; and so I
spelt out some of the words. One was, 'Love thy neighbor;' and as I sat
there, looking down on the people, I wondered how they could see those
words week after week, and yet pay so little heed to them. Goodness
knows, _I_ don't consider myself a perfect bird; far from it; for I know
I am a poor, erring fowl; but I believe I may say I _do_ love my
neighbor, though I _am_ 'an inferior creature.'" And Mrs. Wing bridled
up, as if she resented the phrase immensely.
"Indeed you do, gossip," cried Dart and Skim; for Wing was an excellent
bird, in spite of the good opinion she had of herself.
"Thank you: well, then, such being the known fact, I may give advice on
the subject as one having authority; and, if it were possible, I'd give
that man a bit of my mind."
"You have, madam, you have; and I shall not forget it. Thank you,
neighbors, and good night," said the man, as he left the barn, with the
first smile on his face which it had worn for many days.
"Mercy on us! I do believe the creature heard every thing we said,"
cried Mrs. Wing, nearly tumbling off the beam, in her surprise.
"He certainly did; so I'm glad I was guarded in my remarks," replied
Mrs. Skim, laughing at her neighbor's dismay.
"Dear me! dear me! what did I say?" cried Mrs. Wing, in a great twitter.
"You spoke with more than your usual bluntness, and some of your
expressions were rather strong, I must confess; but I don't think any
harm will come of it. We are of too little consequence for our
criticisms or opinions to annoy him," said Mrs. Dart consolingly.
"I don't know that, ma'am," returned Mrs. Wing, sharply: for she was
much ruffled and out of temper. "A cat may look at a king; and a bird
may teach a man, if the bird is the wisest. He may destroy my nest, and
take my life; but I feel that I have done my duty, and shall meet
affliction with a firmness which will be an example to that indolent,
ungrateful man."
In spite of her boasted firmness, Mrs. Wing dropped her voice, and
peeped over the beam, to be sure the man was gone before she called him
names; and then flew away, to discover what he meant to do about it.
For several days, there was much excitement in Twittertown; for news of
what had happened flew from nest to nest, and every bird was anxious to
know what revenge the man would take for the impertinent remarks which
had been made about him.
Mrs. Wing was in a dreadful state of mind, expecting an assault, and the
destruction of her entire family. Every one blamed her. Her husband
lectured; the young birds chirped, "Chatterbox, chatterbox," as she
passed; and her best friends were a little cool. All this made her very
meek for a time; and she scarcely opened her bill, except to eat.
A guard was set day and night, to see if any danger approached; and a
row of swallows might be seen on the ridgepole at all hours. If any one
entered the barn, dozens of little black heads peeped cautiously over
the edges of the nests, and there was much flying to and fro with
reports and rumors; for all the birds in the town soon knew that
something had happened.
The day after the imprudent conversation, a chimney-swallow came to call
on Mrs. Wing; and, the moment she was seated on the beam, she began:
"My dear creature, I feel for you in your trying position,--indeed I do,
and came over at once to warn you of your danger."
"Mercy on us! what is coming?" cried Mrs. Wing, covering her brood with
trembling wings, and looking quite wild with alarm.
"Be calm, my friend, and bear with firmness the consequences of your
folly," replied Mrs. Sooty-back, who didn't like Mrs. Wing, because
she prided herself on her family, and rather looked down on
chimney-swallows. "You know, ma'am, I live at the great house, and am in
the way of seeing and hearing all that goes on there. No fire is lighted
in the study now; but my landlord still sits on the hearth, and I can
overhear every word he says. Last evening, after my darlings were
asleep, and my husband gone out, I went down and sat on the andiron, as
I often do; for the fireplace is full of oak boughs, and I can peep out
unseen. My landlord sat there, looking a trifle more cheerful than
usual, and I heard him say, in a very decided tone:
"'I'll catch them, one and all, and keep them here; that is better than
pulling the place down, as I planned at first. Those swallows little
know what they have done; but I'll show them I don't forget.'"
On hearing this a general wail arose, and Mrs. Wing fainted entirely
away. Madam Sooty-back was quite satisfied with the effect she had
produced, and departed, saying loftily:
"I'm sorry for you, Mrs. Wing, and forgive your rude speech about my
being related to chimney-sweeps. One can't expect good manners from
persons brought up in mud houses, and entirely shut out from good
society. If I hear any thing more, I'll let you know."
Away she flew; and poor Mrs. Wing would have had another fit, if they
hadn't tickled her with a feather, and fanned her so violently that she
was nearly blown off her nest by the breeze they raised.
"What shall we do?" she cried.
"Nothing, but wait. I dare say, Mrs. Sooty-back is mistaken; at any
rate, we can't get away without leaving our children, for they can't fly
yet. Let us wait, and see what happens. If the worst comes, we shall
have done our duty, and will all die together."
As no one could suggest any thing better, Mrs. Dart's advice was taken,
and they waited. On the afternoon of the same day, Dr. Banks, a
sand-swallow, who lived in a subterranean village over by the great
sand-bank, looked in to see Mrs. Wing, and cheered her by the following
bit of news:
"The man was down at the poor-house to-day, and took away little Nan,
the orphan baby. I saw him carry her to Will's mother, and heard him ask
her to take care of it for a time. He paid her well, and she seemed glad
to do it; for Will needs help, and now he can have it. An excellent
arrangement, I think. Bless me, ma'am! what's the matter? Your pulse is
altogether too fast, and you look feverish."
No wonder the doctor looked surprised; for Mrs. Wing suddenly gave a
skip, and flapped her wings, with a shrill chirp, exclaiming, as she
looked about her triumphantly:
"Now, who was right? Who has done good, not harm, by what you call
'gossip'? Who has been a martyr, and patiently borne all kinds of blame,
injustice, and disrespect? Yes, indeed! the man saw the sense of my
words; he took my advice; he will show his gratitude by some good turn
yet; and, if half a dozen poor souls are helped, it will be my doing,
and mine alone."
Here she had to stop for breath; and her neighbors all looked at one
another, feeling undecided whether to own they were wrong, or to put
Mrs. Wing down. Every one twittered and chirped, and made a great noise;
but no one would give up, and all went to roost in a great state of
uncertainty. But, the next day, it became evident that Mrs. Wing was
right; for Major Bumble-bee came buzzing in to tell them that old Daddy
Winter's hut was empty, and his white head had been seen in the sunny
porch of the great house.
After this the swallows gave in; and, as no harm came to them, they had
a jubilee in honor of the occasion. Mrs. Wing was president, and
received a vote of thanks for the good she had done, and the credit she
had bestowed upon the town by her wisdom and courage. She was much
elated by all this; but her fright had been of service, and she bore her
honors more meekly than one would have supposed. To be sure, she cut
Mrs. Sooty-back when they met; assumed an injured air, when some of her
neighbors passed her; and said, "I told you so," a dozen times a day to
her husband, who got so many curtain lectures that he took to sleeping
on the highest rafter, pretending that the children's noise disturbed
him.
All sorts of charming things happened after that, and such a fine summer
never was known before; for not only did the birds rejoice, but people
also. A good spirit seemed to haunt the town, leaving help and happiness
wherever it passed. Some unseen hand scattered crumbs over the barn
floor, and left food at many doors. No dog or boy or gun marred the
tranquillity of the birds, insects, and flowers who lived on the great
estate. No want, care, or suffering, that love or money could prevent,
befell the poor folk whose cottages stood near the old house. Sunshine
and peace seemed to reign there; for its gloomy master was a changed man
now, and the happiness he earned for himself, by giving it to others,
flowed out in beautiful, blithe songs, and went singing away into the
world, making him friends, and bringing him honor in high places as well
as low.
He did not forget the wife and little child whom he had loved so well;
but he mourned no longer, for cheerful daisies grew above their graves,
and he knew that he should meet them in the lovely land where death can
never come. So, while he waited for that happy time to come, he made his
life a cheery song,--as every one may do, if they will; and went about
dropping kind words and deeds as silently and sweetly as the sky drops
sunshine and dew. Every one was his friend, but his favorites were the
swallows. Every day he went to see them, carrying grain and crumbs,
hearing their chat, sharing their joys and sorrows, and never tiring of
their small friendship; for to them, he thought, he owed all the content
now his.
When autumn leaves were red, and autumn winds blew cold, the inhabitants
of Twittertown prepared for their journey to the South. They lingered
longer than usual this year, feeling sorry to leave their friend. But
the fields were bare, the frosts began to pinch, and the young ones
longed to see the world; so they must go. The day they started, the
whole flock flew to the great house, to say good-by. Some dived and
darted round and round it, some hopped to and fro on the sere lawn, some
perched on the chimney-tops, and some clung to the window ledges; all
twittering a loving farewell.
Chirp, Dart, and Wing peeped everywhere, and everywhere found something
to rejoice over. In a cosey room, by a bright fire, sat Daddy Winter and
Nell's old father, telling stories of their youth, and basking in the
comfortable warmth. In the study, surrounded by the books he loved, was
the poor young man, happy as a king now, and learning many things which
no book could teach him; for he had found a friend. Then, down below was
Will's mother, working like a bee; for she was housekeeper, and enjoyed
her tasks as much as any mother-bird enjoys filling the little mouths of
her brood. Close by was pretty Nell, prettier than ever now; for her
heavy care was gone, and she sung as she sewed, thinking of the old
father, whom nothing could trouble any more.
But the pleasantest sight the three gossips saw was the man with Baby
Nan on his arm and Will at his side, playing in the once dreary nursery.
How they laughed and danced! for Will was up from his bed at last, and
hopped nimbly on his crutches, knowing that soon even they would be
unneeded. Little Nan was as plump and rosy as a baby should be, and
babbled like a brook, as the man went to and fro, cradling her in his
strong arms, feeling as if his own little daughter had come back when he
heard the baby voice call him father.
"Ah, how sweet it is!" cried Mrs. Dart, glad to see that he had found
comfort for his grief.
"Yes; indeed: it does one's heart good to see such a happy family,"
added Mrs. Skim, who was a very motherly bird.
"I don't wish to boast; but I _will_ say that I am satisfied with my
summer's work, and go South feeling that I leave an enviable reputation
behind me." And Mrs. Wing plumed herself with an air of immense
importance, as she nodded and bridled from her perch on the window-sill.
The man saw the three, and hastened to feed them for the last time,
knowing that they were about to go. Gratefully they ate, and chirped
their thanks; and then, as they flew away, the little gossips heard
their friend singing his good-by:
"Swallow, swallow, neighbor swallow,
Starting on your autumn flight,
Pause a moment at my window,
Twitter softly your good-night;
For the summer days are over,
All your duties are well done,
And the happy homes you builded
Have grown empty, one by one.