PRESTON KEEPING HOUSE.
Now I should not have told this bad story about Preston if I had not
had a better one to tell after it, "to take the taste out," as Flaxie
said about the orange.
Grandpa Pressy went home a little while after this, and took Ninny with
him, because he was not very well, and wanted her to amuse him; but
nobody felt alarmed about him, till, one day at noon, a message came
for Dr. and Mrs. Gray, that he was very ill.
As it happened, Dora Whalen had gone away that morning in the cars to
spend the day in Jersey City; and there was no one to take charge of
the house.
"Just as if _I_ couldn't do it," said Preston.
"Now, my son, do you really think you can be trusted?" said Mrs. Gray.
"Will you watch Flaxie carefully, and keep her out of mischief? I don't
want to take her to Aunt Jane's; for, if I take the baby there, that
will be quite enough."
"Poh, yes'm: guess I'm ten years old!"
"Dora won't be back till the last train. Are you sure you won't be
afraid to be left all alone in the house after dark, you two little
folks?"
"Yes'm, certain sure. What are you smiling for, mother? To think you've
got a boy that's smart enough to keep house?"
"Well, yes, it does make me happy to see my son so ready to please his
father and mother."
Then she hesitated a moment, turned to her husband, and said,--
"If we only knew just _how_ sick grandpa is, perhaps we could wait till
to-morrow."
"They would not have telegraphed if they had not needed us," said Dr.
Gray, decidedly.
"Yes, yes, I suppose you are right," said Mrs. Gray, looking
thoughtful, as she put on her bonnet before the glass. "There, baby and
I are ready. Have you charged Preston about locking up the house?"
"Yes; and Preston, my son, you must spend the evening in the kitchen:
it won't do to have a fire in the sitting-room till Dora comes. And
don't put a stick of wood in the stove after seven o'clock. Can you
remember?"
"Yes, sir."
"You'd better both go to bed by eight," said Mrs. Gray. "Dora has a
night-key, and can let herself in."
"O mother, mayn't I sit up till nine? I want to copy off my
_compersition_."
"Well, yes, if Flaxie is willing, and it isn't too cold in the kitchen.
But don't forget to tuck her into her little crib by eight. I've moved
it close to my bed, where you are to sleep."
"And is Preston goin' to sleep in the downstairs room? O, goody!" cried
Flaxie, crushing her mother's bonnet with a parting hug.
"Yes, darling; and you'll find your supper of baked apples and milk on
the table, covered with a napkin, and something nice beside, I won't
say what."
"I know--_squinch-perserve_," said Flaxie.
"Good-bye till to-morrow, my precious children. Don't give Dodo any
trouble; and, Preston, don't forget what father said about the fires."
It wasn't likely Preston would forget. He was one of those
slow-brained, faithful little fellows, who can't learn a
spelling-lesson, but who are pretty much at home with every thing
except books.
"He was always so different from Flaxie. We shall never be able to
leave Flaxie in charge of any thing; you might as well set a squirrel
to watch a weasel," said Dr. Gray.
"I know it," replied his wife; "but I never saw a child six years old
that _could_ take charge of any thing, did you?"
Flaxie began to call for her supper the moment her father and mother
and little Phil were out of sight.
"'Cause there's queam-cakes, too, I saw 'em. And then I guess I'd
better go see Lucy; she's spectin' me."
"No, _ma'am_, Flaxie Frizzle," said Preston, firmly. "You're not going
further than the weeping-willow this day; and I shan't let you do that
if you don't behave."
The new tone of command rather awed little Miss Frizzle; and, to
Preston's surprise, she began to cry.
"I want to go to heaven," said she, throwing the kitten angrily across
the room. "I've got tired o' waitin' to go to heaven."
Preston could not help laughing; for Flaxie looked very, very little
like an angel.
"God won't let me peek in, and he won't take me up there," went on the
child, sulkily. "You needn't laugh, Preston; you don't know what I want
to do. I've got sumpin' for Rosa, and I want to carry it to her."
"Why, Rosa is dead."
"No; she's in heaven. Here's sumpin' I want her to have," said Flaxie,
opening a little box, and displaying a China lamb. "I _'tended_ it for
her, and I'm _'termined_ she shall have it."
Flaxie was crying still, but her anger was gone; she was crying for
dear little Rosa.
"Won't you let me go and carry the lamb to Rosa?"
"Why, where do you want to go?"
"O, I want to go and put it side o' the flowers," replied Flaxie.
"Well, I'll go with you; only you act very queer, Flaxie."
He gave his little sister his hand; and she led him along Elm Street
and up the hill to the cemetery.
"O, is that what you mean?" said he.
"Yes," replied Flaxie, kneeling and placing the white lamb on Rosa's
grave, along with the myrtles and evergreens that had just been
planted there. "That's for _you_, Rosa! I 'tended it for you, when
you's sick, and I'm 'termined you shall have it."
"How will she get it up in heaven?" asked Preston, in a whisper.
"I don' know. God will see 'bout it. Isn't it a _beau_-ful little lamb?"
"O, yes."
"Well, I was cross to Rosa; and now I've made it all up," said Flaxie,
skipping out of the burying-ground with a very light heart, while her
brother followed her in silence.
Next minute she was laughing.
"O, I want to see your new steam-_nengine_, Preston! May I, if I won't
do any thing naughty?"
"Yes."
"And will you gi' me lots o' _cardinnum_ seeds?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll be _just_ as good," said Miss Flaxie.
At precisely seven o'clock, Preston put a large stick of wood in the
kitchen stove; and, as little sister had been very obedient, he lighted
the alcohol lamp in his steam-engine, and set the pretty machine
puffing across the floor like a thing alive. Miss Frizzle, having eaten
two suppers, was in a very quiet mood, and threw herself on her knees
beside Preston, with her chin upon his shoulder, to watch the wonderful
plaything.
"I'll tell you what it is, Flaxie," said Preston, with an air of wisdom
that was not lost upon his listener; "I know how this engine is put
together as well as father does; and I'll bet you I could make one, if
I only had the tools, and knew how to use em!"
"S'pose you could, honest?"
"Yes, to be sure. There, Flaxie, the clock is striking eight. Now
you'll have to go to bed."
Flaxie's forehead began to pucker, and her elbows to jerk.
"Then you must go, too, Pres Gray."
"O, but I want to fix up my compersition, so I can play Saturday. Come,
now, if you'll go to bed first, I'll give you all my fire-crackers."
Miss Frizzle's brows smoothed.
"And the pin-wheels too? Fire-crackers isn't much."
"Ye-es; and the pin-wheels too. I'll fire 'em for you. Only you'll have
to go to bed as quick as scat, or I'll take it all back."
Flaxie went; but, as for lying still, that wasn't in the bargain.
"Water! water!" called she, when snugly tucked in. "Please bring me
some water, Preston, or I shall dry to death."
Preston had seated himself at his work, and copied off in staring
letters about three lines:--
"APPLES."
"Apples is the most frout always yoused. Apples is said to grow in
almost any country."
His arm ached already.
"There," said he, carrying Flaxie a mug of water. "And you just lie
still, little sister. If you speak again, it will cost you a pin-wheel."
Then he went on, with great labor.
"In some climates it is so warm it is said they have been discovered by
the crab-apples; they was some men got the seed from the crab-apple,
and planted it."
"Pres-tun!" cried Flaxie again. "You may take _one_ pin-wheel. I've got
to speak, 'cause it _unsleeps_ me not to have you come to bed. Just
_one_ pin-wheel. So, there!"
"Yes, yes," said Preston; "I'll be there in just sixteen minutes, if
you don't speak again."
"Some takes the apples, and makes cider of them. Old cider is yoused
for vinegar.
"PRESTON S. GRAY."
This ended the "compersition;" but, in Preston's haste to keep his word
and get to bed in just sixteen minutes, he made a mistake, and wrote on
the back of it, "Potatoes."
He smiled to see Flaxie sound asleep already, then knelt down, and
prayed, "Now I lay me," with a very solemn feeling. The house seemed
strangely quiet. Where could Dodo be? Preston had heard the last train
rush by a half-hour before.
"I think God _will_ be sure to take care of me to-night, so I can take
care of Flaxie," thought he, creeping into bed. "He must know father
and mother have gone off, and Flaxie isn't much more'n a baby." And,
with that, he fell asleep, holding little sister by the hand.
About midnight, he was wakened by the smell of smoke. If he had not
been downstairs, and if he had not felt, even in sleep, the care of the
house, I dare say he would not have waked. "What's this? Why, what is
it?" thought he, raising himself on his elbow, and sniffing.
The bedroom opened out of the sitting-room, and the kitchen was just
beyond. That was where the smoke must come from; for it was the only
room that had a fire in it.
Preston rose softly, and went into the kitchen. It was on fire!
Probably some coals had fallen out of the stove door when the last
stick was put in, and had been smouldering on the floor ever since. Now
the floor, the sink, the drop-table, and the sitting-room door were in
flames.
What should be done?
Preston reflected. He could not write a very deep "compersition;" but
he was just the boy to have his wits about him when they were needed.
"The first thing is to get Flaxie out of the house," thought he. "The
flames are spreading to the bedroom."
In a twinkling he had her in his arms, rolled her in a shawl, and set
her on the front door-stone.
"Don't cry, Ducky Dilver," said he, locking her out. "I'll come after
you if you'll be good."
Then, leaving the sleepy child sobbing in utter bewilderment, Preston
rushed back, and dipped water from the barrel to put out the flames.
It was a hard fight for a small boy. He could not help wondering at
himself to feel how strong he was. Pailful after pailful he dashed on;
and, when the barrel gave out, he turned to the pump in the sink. Ah,
but the sink door was ablaze! As fast as the fire was quenched in one
place, it broke out in another; but Preston mastered it after awhile.
"O, if it hadn't been for my nose," thought the brave little boy,
wading across the floor; "if it _hadn't_ been for my nose! Wonder if
the fire has struck through to the cellar?"
It had not; but there seemed to be a smoky smell down there; and our
hero went down boldly, and dashed water upon the ceiling, never
minding that it ran back and wet him all over.
Quite satisfied at last that all was right, he went to the front door,
and let in tearful little Flaxie.
"What'd you put me out for? Say, what'd you put me out for?"
"So I could put out the fire, you little, good-for-nothing baby,"
replied Preston, kissing her tenderly. "What if you'd burnt up, and I'd
burnt up, too, Flaxie? I guess 'twould have been the last time mother'd
have left _us_ to keep house!"
And, when Dodo got home next morning, she found them fast asleep with
the sun full in their eyes. "To think I should have missed the train
last night for the first time in all my life," sobbed the faithful
creature, on hearing the story. "If any harm had come to you children,
I never could have forgiven myself."