NAPOLEON BONAPARTE
The entire household was startled to be awakened at three o'clock the
next morning by the mad ringing of an alarm clock. Shirley wept, Mrs.
Willis and Rosemary were sure it was the telephone and Winnie scolded
vigorously and, still scolding, traced the noise to Sarah's bed.
Sure enough, the clock was there and Sarah admitted that she had set it.
"I wanted to be sure and get up early," she explained. "I have to get
my pig and go and see the Gay family."
But she further conceded that she had not meant to rise at the witching
hour of three A. M. Her intention had been to set the alarm for
half-past five and her mistake was due to the fact that she had not set
an alarm clock before.
"And never will again," commented Winnie, bearing the offending clock
away with her for safe-keeping. "Not if I have anything to say, will
you ever touch an alarm clock."
Breakfast was half an hour later than usual, in consequence of this
performance, and Sarah was in a fever of impatience to reach the pig
pens. When finally excused from the table, she shot through the door
and was back before her mother and sisters had left the dining-room.
Loud sounds of altercation in the kitchen proclaimed her return.
"You can't bring that in here--go away, Sarah Willis!" came Winnie's
voice. "Where did you get that dirty beast?"
"He's mine--he's a pig," countered Sarah, who always assumed that
Winnie was intensely ignorant in matters of natural history. "Mr.
Hildreth gave him to me."
There was the noise of a scuffle, the slam of a door and then Sarah's
wail:
"Oh, you've hurt him! And he's sick--you're the most cruel woman I
ever knew and I'll tell Mother so!"
Mrs. Willis opened the swinging door into the kitchen and Rosemary and
Shirley pressed close behind her. Sarah stood on the back porch, a
young pig in her arms, and Winnie occupied the center of the kitchen
floor.
"We don't keep our pigs in the parlor--not in this house," said Winnie
firmly. "Nor yet in the kitchen--as long as I'm in it."
Rosemary thought then, as she had often thought before, how easily her
mother settled differences and with how few words. It took scarcely
five minutes for Mrs. Willis to examine the pig and praise his
possibilities to Sarah; to suggest a comfortable box in the woodshed as
his logical home--where he might have fresh air in abundance and yet be
close to Sarah if he needed her attention; and to enlist the sympathies
of Winnie--whose bark was always loud and whose bite had never
materialized yet--to the extent that she provided a piece of soft
flannel to line the box and warm milk to comfort the interior of the
little pig.
His pigship was a runt, as Mr. Hildreth had said, and deprived of his
fair share of nourishment was bony and far from prepossessing.
Rosemary had no desire to touch him, but Shirley was fascinated and she
and Sarah put him to bed in the box and covered him up with all the
care and devotion they had hitherto showered on dolls. As Richard
observed, when he came to tell them he was starting for the Gay farm,
even a pig could be killed by kindness.
"Mother said she'd get me a bottle for him," babbled Sarah as she
emerged clean and damp from Winnie's polishing and joined Richard on
the step. "Hugh is going to take her to Bennington this morning and
she'll buy it then. And I can bring him up by hand and teach him
tricks. His name is--what is a good name for him, Richard?"
"Napoleon Bonaparte," supplied Richard with mischievous promptness.
"You can call him 'Bony' for short, you know."
The practicality of this suggestion charmed Sarah beyond words, and the
pig was immediately christened. "Bony" he became in that hour and
"Bony" he remained, with the use of his full name on state occasions,
long after he was as plump as any of his more fortunate brothers and
sisters.
"Where do the Gays live?" asked Rosemary, when she and Shirley had
joined the two sponsors and they were all walking over the field that
led to the back road.
"Their land joins Rainbow Hill," returned Richard, "and if I had my
way, we'd be better neighbors. The Gays are hard up and proud and the
Hildreths are busy and like to keep to themselves. I don't know now
whether Louisa and Alec will be glad to see me bringing three strangers
to meet 'em, but my honest opinion is they need someone to say 'Hello'
and be friendly without prying."
Rosemary looked at him speculatively.
"Perhaps Mother had better go to see Mrs. Gay first," she suggested,
with a little touch of her mother's own generalship.
"There isn't any Mrs. Gay," said Richard soberly. "They're
orphans--all six of 'em. And Warren and I have it figured out that
grown people frighten them--Louisa and Alec shut up like clams when
they meet anyone in town. They won't think you and Sarah and Shirley
mean to boss their affairs. Maybe they'll be friends with you."
The three girls drew closer to Richard as they approached a
tumbled-down fence. Six year old Shirley expressed, in a measure,
their feelings when she stopped Richard as he attempted to lift her
over, with the observation that she had never seen an orphan.
"An orphan hasn't any mother or father, you know, Shirley," said
Richard, smiling. "You'll find Kitty Gay a little girl very much like
yourself. Show her how lovely a little girl named Shirley Willis can
be."
"We'll know eight orphans then, in a minute," declared Sarah, her
statistical mind functioning even as she helped to replace the fence
bars. "The Gays are six and you and Warren are two; so you did see an
orphan before, Shirley."
"For mercy's sake, forget the orphan part of it," begged poor Richard.
"Don't say 'orphan' once--I didn't bring you up here to look at the
Gays. They're no side show."
Rosemary laughed, then sobered instantly as a turn in the lane brought
them face to face with a tow-headed lad, carrying two pails of water.
He was about the age of Jack Welles, she decided, but infinitely
thinner and lacking Jack's solid build.
"'Lo, Dick!" he said cordially. "Want me?"
Richard introduced the three girls with more ease than Rosemary had
expected. Alec Gay was undeniably shy, but he asked them to come to
the house and meet his sister, Louisa. Richard took one pail and Alec
the other, and they went on.
"Louisa!" shouted Alec as they came in sight of a weather-beaten house
set in a fenced enclosure of rank grass where a cow grazed peacefully.
A girl appeared in the doorway, a tow-headed girl with blue eyes like
her brother's, and thin shoulders, like his, too. She wore a faded
blue dress and a black apron and looked clean and neat.
This was Louisa Gay and noting that she glanced uncertainly into the
doorway, after Richard had introduced them, Rosemary tactfully
suggested that they sit on the stoop.
"We can't stay long and it is too nice to go indoors," she said
sincerely.
"The house doesn't look very nice this morning," apologized Louisa, "to
tell the truth, everything is in a mess; but if we stay out here, the
children will come hunting for me and they're a mess, too. There isn't
much choice, either way."
She sat down beside Rosemary who kept fast hold of Shirley lest she
start an exploring tour of her own.
"Where's the Kitty girl?" asked Shirley frankly.
As she spoke a stream of children poured out of the house--or it seemed
like a stream, though when they were counted they were but four. Each
and every one of them had light hair and blue eyes like Alec and
Louisa, all were tanned and freckled and all were shouting madly. The
youngest was a baby, the oldest a year or so older than Sarah. Two
were boys and two girls.
"Jim, Ken, Kitty and June," said Alec glibly. "For goodness' sake, do
keep still," he admonished the children. "Can't you see we have
company?"
Richard, who evidently felt at home, had gone on into the kitchen with
the pail of water and came out in time to hear Alec's remark.
"We're not company," he said quickly. "We're neighbors."
Shirley, after staring a few seconds at Kitty, began to talk to her as
though she were an old friend. Sarah went over to look at the cow and
Jim and Ken followed her. The baby, June, climbed into Rosemary's lap
and sat quietly there.
"She never goes to strangers," marveled Louisa, leaning over to
straighten out the crumpled little skirts. "Look Alec, she likes her."
Alec was looking and so was Richard. Rosemary made a pretty picture
there in the sunlight, her lovely vivid face turned to Louisa, her arms
about the tousled little figure on her knees.
"It's so nice to have a girl of my own age to talk to," Louisa said
appreciatively. "I never have time to go down to town any more and I
don't see the girls I used to know."
"But in the winter?" suggested Rosemary, "You go to school, winters,
don't you?"
Louisa's lips tightened.
"I didn't last winter and I don't intend to this," she announced with
curious defiance. "There's no one to take care of the children except
Alec and me. We tried taking turns staying home, but neither one of us
could learn much that way so we gave it up."
Richard had come over, so he said, to borrow a file and presently he
declared he must get back to work. June was handed back to Louisa,
Sarah summoned from her lecture on pigs--to which the boys were giving
rapt attention, and Shirley, with difficulty, detached from Kitty and a
dilapidated rope swing.
"You'll come over and see us, won't you?" said Rosemary eagerly.
"No," interposed Alec, standing straight and tall beside his sister.
The monosyllable sounded ungracious but Rosemary, looking at Alec, saw
that he did not mean to be discourteous. He looked a little unhappy, a
little shy, a bit afraid, even. And Louisa's blue eyes were wistful.
"Then we'll come see you," promised Rosemary gravely.
"I'm glad you said that," approved Richard, leading the way down the
road. "Alec never goes anywhere that he doesn't have to and Louisa is
getting to be just like him. First thing those kids know, they'll be
queer."
"Am I queer?" asked Sarah in sudden alarm.
"Not yet, but you want to be mighty careful," Richard warned her.
"Lots of people get queer, thinking too much about pigs, I've heard."
"I won't talk about any pig but my darling Bony," declared Sarah. "I
won't get queer talking about him."