[Illustration]
"Sugar River!" The little cup-bearing hand stood transfixed halfway from
table to lip. The silver cup tilted part way over in sheer astonishment.
Drip, drip, drip, dripped the contents down into Tot's scrap of ruffled
and embroidered lap.
"Bless me! Look at that child!" cried Tot's papa. And Tot was looked at
and hustled away, and the little silver mug tried to drown itself in a
yellow stream of sunshine flowing across the table; and, failing in
that, tried to sparkle just as Tot's eyes had sparkled, and failed in
that, too. For that was O, very bright--nothing was brighter than Tot's
eyes.
"Well, Totchen," said Tot's boy-uncle Will, looking up from his book as
something pierced his knee, as only Tot's small elbow could pierce.
"Well, Totchen; what is it? Stories? Then _jump_!"
O, what happy state to sit enthroned upon a big boy-uncle's knee, and
listen, listen, listen, with eyes like the dog's in the fairy story--"as
big as the great round tower at Copenhagen"--more or less!
"What shall I tell you? Aladdin? Puss in Boots? Cin--"
"Soogar Wiver" interrupted Tot, promptly.
"_Soogar Wiver?_ Why, what a little pitcher for ears! What do you know
about Soogar Wiver?"
"Oo said," said Tot, with decision, "that oo went fisin' in Soogar
Wiver."
"Why, so I did," said the boy, reflectively.
"Is it vewy sweet?" asked Tot.
"Sweet?" echoed the boy, taking his wicked cue and with a prolonged
drawing in of the lips. "I should say so! Why, its bed is solid sugar,
with as many grades of sugar grains for sand as one finds in a grocer
shop."
"Do wivers do to bed dus 'ike 'ittle dirls?" demanded Tot, whose young
existence was embittered by that seemingly needless ceremony.
"You see," said the boy, with the air of communicating much useful
information, "it is even worse than that. They never get up at all. Only
once in a while they get into tantrums and break loose and make every
one scatter; for a river is one of the quickest fellows at a run you
ever saw. And well they might be, for they are at it all the time,
asleep or awake."
"I sood 'ike to see Soogar Wiver," said Tot.
"Wouldn't you!" And Will, fairly launched, tossed all conscientious
scruples overboard, and steered boldly out into the deep waters of
wildest imagination. "You just would! Why, as I said, the river bed is
solid sugar. Think how nice to be able to turn over and take a gnaw at
your bed-post when you feel hungry! The pebbles are sugar plums, the
bigger stones are broken sugar loaves, and the rocks, why, the rocks are
made out of rock candy, of course."
Tot sighed, blissfully.
"It is the jolliest place to go fishing. You just lie down on a rock,
nibble it occasionally, chew up a few pebbles, take a bite at a stone,
and if you are thirsty--as, of course, you would be--there is a whole
river of _eau sucré_--that is what the French call sweetened
water--running right by, enough to supply all France. And, all the time,
you are hauling up the fish just as fast as they can bite. They are a
peculiar kind of fish, wouldn't look at a worm. Nothing short of taffy
bait will tempt them. They look like those fishes you buy at the
confectioners--penny apiece--very high-colored, very flat, and mostly
tail; and, when cooked, they taste very much like them."
Tot still gazed up into the remorseless boy's face in unblinking
confidence. And, indeed, from one who, for the last two weeks, together
with Tot, had been on the most familiar footing with giants, ogres, and
hop-o-my-thumbs, and held the most sympathizing relations towards
enchanted princesses and conquering knights, an account of a "Soogar
Wiver," was not to be regarded as startling. As for Will's
conscience--well, his mission with Tot was to amuse, not instruct--if
Tot was amused the whole end and aim of his efforts was attained.
"We tried having dories made of the same material of those candy marbles
that nothing but time and long-enduring patience will ever make an end
of. But the fellows had such a habit, as they floated down the stream,
of eating up the oars, we had to give it up--"
"Will," said Tot's mamma, at the open door, "are you ready? Run away to
Ellen, Tot, and be a good little girl."
Tot descended from her throne, slowly and unwillingly, and, going
obediently away, never knew about the beautiful river fairy just then
springing to life, like Minerva in the brain of Jove, in Will's fancy,
purposely to make Tot's acquaintance.
With glistening wonder in her eyes, in robe of trailing, snowy, sun-shot
mist, with water lilies dropping from her hair, and the cave--Will could
have provided for her such a cave, the water tinkling and trickling from
the walls hung with silver spray, stalactites of purest barley sugar
glittering, pillars of creamiest cream candy shimmering; and, to crown
all and above all, the fairy would have had a daily diet of cream cakes
and caramels.
But, before all this splendor of material could be built up into words,
the builder had departed, the river fairy had melted back and away into
her native mist, and Tot never knew.
That night, Will tossed Tot flying once more into the air, rescued once
more his fresh collar from her crumpling embrace, kissed her once more,
good-by this time, and was off and away on the cars to school. No more
stories. No more fairies. No more anything. Only a wonderful river
winding and gleaming and leaping through Tot's childish
dreams--beautiful, wonderful "Soogar Wiver," where happy Uncle Will went
fishing, lying on the bed of rock candy.
One morning, all in the gray and quiet, Tot had a queer dream. She
thought some one said, with a funny little catch in the voice: "Wake up,
little Tot, mamma's treasure," and some one held her so tightly she
could hardly breathe. And she opened her eyes and shut them again, quite
dazzled; but she thought she saw papa and mamma standing beside her bed,
and the room was all on fire it was so bright to two, poor, sleepy, baby
eyes, and papa's voice seemed to say, a great way off:
"Poor, little, sleepy Tot."
It was such a queer dream, but not half so queer as what followed; for,
after a while, she woke up and went right on dreaming just the same.
That was very strange. How could it be anything else than a dream, to be
taken up by gaslight and dressed all in her little street coat and hat
before breakfast, to be made to drink milk and eat when she wasn't
hungry, to be petted and cried over and half crushed in mamma's arms, to
be taken by papa out into the cool, clear dawning, with the sky just
beginning to flush like a sea shell and a waking bird or two to twitter
about getting up, to be put into a coach that rolled and rumbled, to be
put into something else that rolled and rumbled a thousand times worse;
nothing had ever happened anything like this in any of Tot's waking
hours before.
After the sun had climbed up a little way into the sky, grown blue and
bluer, Tot began to accept the situation a little, and lay very still in
papa's arms (the fresh morning breeze tapping her cheek and lifting her
long crimped hair with cool, gentle fingers), watching the fences
running away like mad, the trees gliding gracefully by in long endless
procession, little white cottages and funny little hovels, and pretty
little villages hopping suddenly in and then as suddenly out of the
scene, a glimpse into shady depths of woods, a glint of a blue,
nestling, lily-pad-speckled pond, an emerald gleam of peaceful meadows,
a sight at a snowy tethered goat, of dappled grazing cows, a roll and
rush and roar through riven, dripping rocks.
Papa told his little girl all about it. How little children in the town
where Tot lived were very sick of a dangerous disease--diptheria. And
how, coming home last evening from business and learning of several
fresh cases, he had become alarmed for his darling and consulted mamma,
and had succeeded in frightening her so thoroughly, that she had sat up
all night to get Tot's things ready so that she might start the very
next morning, on the very first early morning train, to where grandmamma
lived.
"And, there," said papa, after they had ridden all the long forenoon,
"there's Sugar River, Tot, where I used to fish when I was a boy!"
"O!" cried Tot, and then, immediately, with a roll and a pitch, they
came to a little white farmhouse and stopped again, and Tot was at
grandmamma's.
Tot didn't like being kissed quite so much all at a time, if it was by a
grandmamma. The chickens, though, were fascinating, and as for some
plushy round balls of yellow fuzz, rolling about--little ducks just
hatched--Tot had never seen anything at all to compare with them. But
there was a dreadful and discordant procession of big ducks that struck
terror to Tot's soul, and it was very still and lonely when the night
and dark crept on. The crickets and the frogs did their best, but they
only made it stiller and lonelier; and the hills gleamed against the
sky, and Tot missed her mamma. But yet, Tot was very sleepy, and the
next she knew it was morning and she was at grandma's, where Uncle Will
lived, and Uncle Will was coming pretty soon, and, better than that,
mamma was coming, too; and there was a little girl, a short distance up
the road, whom Tot was to play with, and then there were the chickens
and the ducks, and old Brindle and the pigs, and the pony and the hay
cart, and--yes, it was very delightful at grandmamma's.
Once or twice, during the next few days, Tot asked--preserving that
singular reticence regarding her illusions, so common to children--to be
taken to Sugar River; but grandpapa was busy haying, and grandmamma
said:
"Will will come pretty soon and he will take you."
"When _is_ pwetty soon!" asked Tot, in hopeless tones.
One afternoon grandmamma gave Tot and Susie (that was the name of Tot's
little playmate) each a fat hot jumble, and left them playing happily in
the yard while she went back to her sewing. Susie was seven, so very
safe company for little four-year-old Tot. After a while over ran
Susie's brother, to summon her home to go with her mother to the
village.
Tot stood at the gate, looking down the long road. Sturdy maples threw
curving, interlacing boughs across, through which the sun-light filtered
and flickered. How cool and shady it was! Tot all at once felt the
little sunny yard grow hot and stupid, and then Susie's mamma drove out
of the gate and down the long shady arch over the sun-flecked road. Tot
wished she was going to the village, too. Tot wished she was going
to--to--Sugar River.
[Illustration: ON THE WAY TO SUGAR RIVER.]
"Run in to grandmamma, little Tot," whispered the still small voice. But
Tot never heeded. Tot was tired. Tot was hot. Tot was homesick. Tot
would walk down the road just a few little steps. What harm? How
delightful! How grateful the cool green shade! How alluring the long
level stretch of road under the arching maples! Where did it lead? It
led--O, Tot knew--it led to Sugar River.
Step by step, a little and a little further on the tiny white figure
glanced. A sense of happy freedom possessed the little girl. A cloud of
golden butterflies beckoned on before. Here a dark thread of water crept
down over the hills and splashed musically into the great stone trough.
All the way an invisible brooklet gurgled and kept her company. Only one
bird seemed to sing at a time--first one, then another. Wasn't it
charming? And at the end of it all must be--Tot could see it now in
fancy--the fluttering blue ribbon uncurling between sunny sloping
banks--SUGAR RIVER--fast asleep under the summer sun, on its glittering
bed of rock candy. O, rapture! Tot's mouth watered for its sugary
delights.
On and on and on, with the brook and the butterflies and the welcoming
bird. On, till the maples stopped and could go no further, and so she
left them behind. Out into the open sun-light she came, and only the
long, hot, and dazzling road stretched on before.
Tot's small feet trudged on, steadily. Just a little further on--Tot was
sure--and then--But how long the road grew, how deep the dust lay, how
tired the little feet were getting, little feet that can trudge about
all day long in play, yet drag so wearily over long straight roads.
"I sood fink I would tum to Soogar Wiver pwetty soon," she sighed.
At last she came to where some cross-roads met, and looking down one she
saw the cool green shade again. Not maples this time, but close and
clustering shrubbery.
She left the brook gurgling "go-oo-oo-d-by," and the butterflies waving
adieu with their golden wings, and went on alone. How sweet and still it
was here! The tall grass drooped over two brown beaten paths that horses
feet had worn, and a tender green light lay over all. But where was the
sweet river hiding? Another meeting of cross roads. Tot looked this way,
that. Ah, there it was over the road! Over the meadow. Gleaming,
gliding, Sugar River, at last.
"I fought I sood det to it pwetty soon," murmured Tot, triumphantly.
"Won't dwandma be glad to get some nice sugar plums? I wis I tood det
froo dis fence."
Through she got, with much squeezing and rending. Tot eyed her torn
pinafore, ruefully.
"I wis' 'ittle dirl's aprons wouldn't teep tearing on every single
fing."
"'Pears to me," doubtfully, putting one little foot down on the soft
marshy ground, "it is wather wet."
Rather wet? Yes, Totchen, very wet. Too wet for such little little feet
as yours. And see, little one, the sun is getting lower. Crawl back
through the fence and run home. The sleepy murmuring river has nothing
but trouble for you.
But Tot stumbled on over the marshy ground.
"I don't 'ike to go down so far," sighed Tot, drawing a little drenched
boot up from a treacherous bog. "And my new boots is detting all wet."
But Tot had a Spartan soul; and at last, beside the wonderful stream, on
the beautiful shore she stood, and--poor, poor little Tot! The little
pinafore torn, the pretty, trim boots soaked and soiled, all Tot's
little body dragged and weary; yet, it isn't that that makes me say
"poor little Tot!" It is to see her standing there at the goal of her
childish hopes with such happy, radiant eyes, and know how soon will
come to her that "saddest pain of all--to grasp the thing we long for
and find how it can fail us."
Up and down she walks, searching for sweetmeat pebbles and sugary
stones, and when she finds none--the water running high and close to the
grassy ground--she stoops and, dipping her little fingers, she lifts
them, wet and dripping, to her longing lips.
"It isn't _vewy_ sweet," she said.
Poor little Tot! Down the stream she came to a ford, and the shallow
water had left stones and pebbles bare. Big and little, and half size;
white and yellow, and brown and gray.
Here was richness at last. All in a minute Tot's little, nibbling,
crunching teeth went on edge on a perverse, grating pebble that sternly
refused to be nibbled or crunched. Another and another and another she
tried.
"Pwobably," she thought, "they has to be cwacked dus 'ike nuts." And she
proceeded to crack, not the stones, but her own little, eager,
blundering fingers, instead. O stony, stony-hearted stones and
pebbly-hearted pebbles! Tot's cup of bitterness seemed to flow over. She
stood up, sobbing. A sudden sense of desolation oppressed her.
"I wis' I was at home wiv dwandma. I wis,' oh, I _wis'_ I hadn't tum!"
she sobbed.
Her only thought, now, was to get home. But, first, what do you think
she did? She filled her bit of a pocket full of pebbles for grandmamma
to crack; then the little weary feet stumbled back again over the weary
way.
"My feet's is detting so heavy," she sighed, "and I _fink_ I's detting
tired."
Tot was crying piteously now, and no one heard. All alone, mamma's baby,
who had never been alone before in all her short cherished life. All
alone with the croaking frogs and lonesome crickets. Hark! what was
that? A roll of wheels and the clatter of a horse's hoofs.
"Whoa!" called out a boy's shrill voice. Down to the ground dropped the
owner of the voice. "What is the matter, little girl?"
"I'se been to Soogar Wiver, and I don't know how to det home aden, I'se
so vewy tired, and I toodn't cwack the candy, and I want to see
dwandma," and Tot's words ended in a wail of inarticulate woe.
"Where do you live?" asked the boy.
"A dwate, dwate ways off," answered Tot.
"What is your name?"
"Tot Lindsay."
"Lindsay? O, I know! All you've got to do is to jump into this wagon and
have a nice ride, and, presently, we'll be there."
And presently, in the gloaming, they stopped before grandpapa's house,
and the boy, lifting out Tot in his arms, carried her to the door and
bade her good-by, and, jumping into his wagon, rattled away. Empty and
silent stood the little house, like the dwelling of the Three Talking
Bears, and little Tot might have been Silver Hair herself.
"Dwandma, dwandma!" she called. But no grandmamma replied.
"Perhaps she has dus dorn out a minute," thought she. "I'll det up on
dis lounge and tover dis shawl over me, and s'prise her when she tums
back."
Something else besides the shawl covered Tot's eyes. Down over the blue
orbs drifted the snowy lids. Tired little Tot.
Where was dwandma and the rest all this time? In trouble and confusion.
Calling and searching, searching and calling: "Tot, Tot, Tot, little
Tot! Where are you?" Grandpapa and grandmamma, and Uncle Will and Tot's
mamma.
At last, on the road running beside the river, they had found the
fragment of dotted cambric, held fast by a detaining splinter; and then
Tot's mamma had run ahead and led them across the meadow, right in the
track of Tot's little feet, straight to the river. And then grandmamma
had said, quaveringly, that Tot was always asking to go to Sugar River;
and then Will's heart had given a great guilty throb, and sank way, way
down. He knew so well _why_. And then Tot's mamma had thrown up her two
hands, and darted towards a little string of coral beads and picked it
up. And, as they stood there, the river's murmur seemed like the murmur
of the river of death, and the white fog, beginning to rise, like the
folds of a little child's shroud; and Tot's mamma threw up her hands
again and fell among all the unfeeling stones and pebbles.
Will ran all the way home and went straight to the barn and harnessed
the horse, and then went into the house and into the sitting-room and
snatched a shawl from the lounge, and--"Jerusalem Crickets!" was all he
had breath enough left to say. Tot had surprised somebody, indeed.
Down by the river, in the dusk and the river damp, as they waited, came
Will, striding along with what looked like a bundle of old shawls upon
his shoulder; and presently, parting the folds like the calyx of a
flower, Tot's rosy face blossomed out.
"Peekabo!" she said, with a sweet sound of laughter. "O mamma, mamma!"
It was wonderful how quickly mamma recovered; and it was more wonderful
still how ever Tot escaped sudden death, then and there, from
suffocation. But, bless you! You need not worry, it was larks to Tot.
What a triumphal procession home it was. Tot, in her little night-dress
sat in her mother's lap, and told her adventures; and Will sat in the
darkest corner and said not a word, but resolved that no story more
fabulous than that of George Washington and his hatchet should ever
again pass his lips. His lip quivered, as much as a boy's lip is ever
allowed, when Tot said:
"And I brought home a whole pottet full to cwack."
"Never mind, to-night. Wait till to-morrow," said mamma.
Tot went obediently to sleep, and woke in the morning to find beside her
pillow, such lots of candy--her Sugar River candy she thought, all
cracked and ready to eat.
"It tastes dus 'ike any tandy," said Tot.
They didn't tell her then, the illusion was so dear to her childish
heart. But, when she was a little older, Tot laughed as long and as
gleefully as anyone over the story of the little girl who went to Sugar
River for sugar plums.