quite unconscious of any thing funny in his proceedings. Mamma kept
perfectly sober while she proposed to build a rough shed for Major out
of some boards on the place. Ned was full of interest at once; and
with some help from Calvin, the corner under the apple tree was so
sheltered that there would be no need of the umbrella hereafter.
So Major lived in clover, and was a happy horse; for Cockletop, the
lame chicken, and Bobtail, the cat, welcomed him to their refuge, and
soon became fast friends. Cockle chased grasshoppers or pecked about
him with meditative clucks as he fed; while Bob rubbed against his
legs, slept in his shed, and nibbled catnip socially as often as his
constitution needed it.
But Major loved the children best, and they took good care of him,
though some of their kind attentions might have proved fatal if the
wise old beast had not been more prudent than they. It was pleasant to
see him watch for them, with ears cocked at the first sound of the
little voices, his dim eyes brightening at sight of the round faces
peeping over the wall, and feeble limbs stirred into sudden activity by
the beckoning of a childish hand.
The neighbors laughed at Ned, yet liked him all the better for the
lesson in kindness he had taught them; and a time came when even Mr.
White showed his respect for old Major.
All that summer Neddy's horse took his rest in the green meadow, but it
was evident that he was failing fast, and that his "good time" came too
late. Mamma prepared the children for the end as well as she could,
and would have spared them the sorrow of parting by having Major killed
quietly, if Ned had not begged so hard to let his horse die naturally;
for age was the only disease, and Major seemed to suffer little pain,
though he daily grew more weak, and lame, and blind.
One morning when the children went to carry him a soft, warm mash for
breakfast, they found him dead; not in the shed, where they had left
him warmly covered, but at the low place in the wall where they always
got over to visit him.
There he lay, with head outstretched, as if his last desire had been to
get as near them as possible, his last breath spent in thanking them.
They liked to think that he crept there to say good by, and took great
comfort in the memory of all they had done for him.
They cried over him tenderly, even while they agreed that it was better
for him to die; and then they covered him with green boughs, after Ned
had smoothed his coat for the last time, and Posy cut a lock from his
mane to make mourning rings of.
Calvin said he would attend to the funeral, and went off to dig the
grave in a lonely place behind the sand-bank. Ned declared that he
could not have his horse dragged away and tumbled into a hole, but must
see him buried in a proper manner; and mamma, with the utmost kindness,
said she would provide all that was needed.
The hour was set at four in the afternoon, and the two little mourners,
provided with large handkerchiefs, Ned, with a black bow on his arm,
and Posy in a crape veil, went to drop a last tear over their departed
friend.
At the appointed time Calvin appeared, followed by Mr. White, with a
drag drawn by black Bill. This delicate attention touched Neddy; for
it might have been bay Kitty, and that would have marred the solemnity
of the scene.
As the funeral train passed the house on its way down the lane, mamma,
with another crape veil on, came out and joined the procession, so full
of sympathy that the children felt deeply grateful.
The October woods were gay with red and yellow leaves, that rustled
softly as they went through the wood; and when they came to the grave,
Ned thanked Calvin for choosing such a pretty place. A pine sighed
overhead, late asters waved beside it, and poor Major's last bed was
made soft with hemlock boughs.
When he was laid in it, mamma bade them leave the old waterproof that
had served for a pall still about him, and then they showered in bright
leaves till nothing was visible but a glimpse of the dear white tail.
The earth was thrown in, green sods heaped over it, and then the men
departed, feeling that the mourners would like to linger a little while.
As he left, Mr. White said, with the same gravity which he had
preserved all through the scene,--
"You are welcome to the use of the team and my time, ma'am. I don't
wish any pay for 'em; in fact, I should feel more comfortable to do
this job for old Major quite free and hearty."
Mamma thanked him, and when he was gone, Ned proposed that they should
sing a hymn, and Posy added, "They always sing, 'Sister, thou art mild
and lovely' at funerals, you know."
Mamma with difficulty kept sober at this idea but suggested the song
about "Good old Charlie," as more appropriate. So it was sung with
great feeling, and then Posy said, as she "wiped her weeping eyes,"--
"Now, Ned, show mamma our eppytap."
"She means eppytarf," explained Ned, with a superior air, as he
produced a board, on which he had printed with India ink the following
words,--
"Here lies dear old Major. He was a good horse when he was young. But
people were not kind to him when he was old. We made him as happy as
we could. He loved us, and we mourn for him. Amen."
Ned's knowledge of epitaphs was very slight, so he asked mamma if this
one would do; and she answered warmly,--
"It is a very good one; for it has what many lack,--the merit of being
true. Put it up, dear, and I'll make a wreath to hang on the
gravestone."
Much gratified, Ned planted the board at the head of the grave, Posy
gathered the brightest leaves, and mamma made a lovely garland in which
to frame the "eppytap."
Then they left old Major to his rest, feeling sure that somewhere there
must be a lower heaven for the souls of brave and faithful animals when
their unrewarded work is done.
Many children went to see that lonely grave, but not one of them
disturbed a leaf, or laughed at the little epitaph that preached them a
sermon from the text,--
"Blessed are the merciful."
VI.
WHAT THE GIRLS DID.
"I'm so disappointed that I can't go; but papa says he can't afford it
this summer. You know we lost a good deal by the great fire, so we
must all give up something;" and Nelly gave a sigh, as if her sacrifice
was not an easy one.
"I'm sorry, too, for I depend on hearing all about your adventures
every summer. It is almost as good as going myself. What a pity
Newport is such an expensive place," answered Kitty Fisher, Nelly's
bosom friend.
"I dare say papa could manage to let me go for a week or so; but my
outfit would cost so much I dare not ask him. One must dress there,
you know, and I haven't had a new thing this summer," said Nelly.
"I'm sure your old things as you call them, are nice enough for any
place. I should think I was made, if I had such a lovely wardrobe;"
and Kitty's eye roved round the pretty room where several gowns and
hats were strewn as if for a survey.
"Ah, my dear, you don't know how quickly fashionable women spy out
make-shifts, and despise you for them. All the girls I should meet at
Newport would remember those clothes and I shouldn't enjoy myself a
bit. No, I must stay at home, or slip away to Aunt Becky's, up in New
Hampshire, where no one minds your clothes, and the plainer they are
the better. It is as dull as tombs up there, and I long for the sea,
so it seems as if I _couldn't_ give up my trip."
"Why not go to a cheaper place?" asked Kitty, adding, with sudden
excitement, "Now look here! This is just the thing, and I can go too,
so you won't be lonely.
"Mary Nelson wrote me the other day, begging I'd come down to Oceana,
and stay with her. It's a nice, quiet place, with a beach all to
ourselves, lighthouse, rocks, fishing, boats, and all sorts of
agreeable things. Not a bit fashionable, and every one wears old
clothes and enjoys him or her self in a sensible way."
"What's board there?"
"Ten a week, with bath-house, boats, and an old carriage thrown in."
"Who is there?"
"Several teachers resting, a family or two of children, and a lot of
boys camping out on the Point."
"And old clothes really will do?"
"Mary says she lives in her boating-dress, and went to an evening party
in a white morning-gown. I'd quite decided to go and have a nice free
time, after you were off; but now you come with me, and for once see
what fun we poor folks can have without any fuss or feathers."
"I will. Papa wants me to go somewhere, and will not think my expenses
down there are extravagant. I'll pack to-day, and to-morrow we will be
off."
Next day they _were_ off, to be heartily welcomed by Mary, and speedily
made at home by Marm Wolsey, as the old lady who kept the house was
called. It was a delightfully quiet, pleasant place, with big rooms
plainly furnished, but clean and full of fresh sea breezes day and
night. Being founded on a rock, the boats were moored almost at the
door, the bath-house was close by, on a smooth beach, and the
lighthouse twinkled Cheerfully, through fog or moonlight, just over the
Point.
Such pleasant times as the girls had; taking early dips in the sea,
lying in hammocks on the airy piazza through the hot hours, rowing,
fishing, scrambling over the rocks, or sitting in shady nooks, working
and reading.
No one thought of clothes; and when Nelly timidly put on a delicate
silk one day, she was told finery was not allowed, and a merry
resolution was passed that no one should "dress up" under penalty of a
fine. So flannel boating suits were all the fashion: and Miss Phelps
would have rejoiced at the sight of half-a-dozen rosy-faced girls
skipping about the rocks in a costume as simple and sensible as the one
she recommends.
Of course the campers on the Point soon discovered the mermaids in the
Cove, and, by a series of those remarkable accidents which usually
occur at such times, got acquainted without much ceremony.
Then the fun increased amazingly, and the old house saw gay doings; for
the lads had bonfires, concerts by moonlight on the rocks, and picnics
in every available cove, grove, and sea-weedy nook the place could
boast.
The mothers of the flocks of riotous children were matrons to the
girls; and the shy teachers came out amazingly when they found that the
three friends were not fashionable city ladies, but lively girls, bent
on having an agreeable and sociable time.
Nelly particularly enjoyed all this, and daily wondered why she felt so
much better than at Newport, forgetting that there her time was spent
in dressing by day, and dancing in hot rooms half the night, with no
exercise but a drive or a genteel sail, with some one to do the rowing
for her.
"It is the air and the quiet, I fancy," she said one day, when a month
had nearly gone. "I'm getting so brown papa won't know me, and so fat
I have to let out all my things. I do believe I've grown several
inches across the shoulders with all this rowing and tramping about in
a loose suit."
"Just so much health laid up for next winter. I wish I could afford to
bring down a dozen pale girls every season, and let them do what you
have been doing for a month or two. Poor girls, I mean, who lose their
health by hard work, not by harmful play," said Mary, who knew
something about the dark side of life, having been a governess for
years, with little brothers and sisters to care for, and an invalid
mother.
"It is so cheap here I should think most any one could afford to come,"
said Nelly, feeling a virtuous satisfaction in the thought of the money
she had saved by this economical trip.
"Ah, what seems cheap to you would be far beyond the means of many a
poor girl who only makes three or four dollars a week. I've often
wondered why rich people don't do little things of that sort more. It
must be so pleasant to give health and happiness at such small cost to
themselves."
"If papa were as well off as he was before the fire, I _could_ do
something of that sort, and I'd like to; but now I can do nothing," and
Nelly felt rather uncomfortable at the memory of the seventeen easy
years she had passed without ever thinking of such things.
"Girls, I've got an idea, and you must give me your advice at once,"
cried Kitty, bouncing in with her hat half off and her eyes full of fun.
"Tell on. What is it?" asked Nelly, ready for any thing.
"Well, you know the boys have been very polite to us in many ways; they
break camp in two days, and we ought to give them a farewell of some
sort, to show that we are grateful for their civility. Don't you think
so?"
"Of course! What shall we do?"
"We have had picnics and water parties, and sings and dances in our
parlor, so we _must_ get up something new."
"Have a masquerade; it's such fun to fix up dresses," said Nelly, who
rather longed to show some of her neglected splendor.
"We might borrow the old barn, to have a grand time. There's no hay in
it, so we could light it up splendidly," added Kitty, seizing upon the
idea with delight.
"How about supper?" asked prudent Mary, remembering the appetites of a
dozen hearty lads sharpened by sea air and exercise.
"I'll pay for the supper. I've saved so much by my cheap trip, I can
spare twenty dollars as well as not," cried Nelly, bound to have the
thing done handsomely if at all.
"Bless you, child, it needn't cost half that! Don't go and be
extravagant, for we can have cake of Marm Wolsey, and make lemonade
ourselves; it won't cost much, and the boys will be just as well off as
if we had a grand spread."
"You let me manage that part of the affair. I have ordered suppers at
home, and I know what is proper. I will go up to town by the first
boat to-morrow, and be back in time to help about dresses, and trimming
up the barn. Marm will lend us sheets, and with green boughs, flowers,
and candles, we can make a lovely room for our little party. I'll
bring down some colored candles, and get some old-fashioned dresses at
home, and do any errands for you."
Here Nelly stopped for breath, and the others fell to discussing what
they would "go as." Their fellow-boarders were taken into the secret,
and in an hour Marm Wolsey's whole establishment was in a ferment.
Notes of invitation were dispatched; and replies on birch-bark came
pouring in with most agreeable promptitude.
The campers accepted to a man, and were soon seen ravaging the little
town for red flannel and fisherman's toggery, or shouting with laughter
in their tents as they fabricated horse-hair beards, Indian wampum and
Roman armor.
Next morning Nelly departed, charged with sundry very important
commissions, and the rest fell to work decorating the barn and
overhauling their wardrobes, while good-natured Marm "het the big oven"
and made cake till the air smelt as if a gale from the Spice Islands
had blown over the Point.
At four, the boat came in; but no one saw Nelly arrive, for the whole
flock had gone over the rocks to get hemlock boughs in the grove.
When Mary and Kitty returned, they ran to the big room where they held
their confabulations, and there found Nelly looking over a bundle of
old brocades. Something odd in her face and manner made them both say
at once,--
"What's the matter? Has any thing gone wrong?"
"I'm afraid you will think so, when I tell you that I have ordered no
supper, got no pretty candles or flowers, and only spent two dollars of
my money," said Nelly, looking both amused and anxious.
"Lost your purse?" cried Kitty.
"No."
"Thought better of it, like a wise child," said Mary.
"I brought something down that you didn't ask for, and may be sorry to
have; but I couldn't help it. Look out there and see if that isn't
better than bon-bons or finery."
Nelly pointed to a rock not far from the window, and both her friends
stared in surprise; for all they saw was a strange girl sitting there,
gazing out over the sea with an expression of wordless delight in her
tired, white face and hungry eyes.
"Who is it?" whispered Mary.
"My little seamstress," answered Nelly. "I went to get her to fix my
dress, and found her looking so pale and used up my heart ached. All
the while she was fitting me, and I was telling her about our fun down
here, she kept saying with a little gasp as if for fresh air,--
"'How beautiful it must be, Miss Nelly! I'm so glad you are enjoying
so much and look so well.'
"Then what you once said, Mary, came into my head, and my money burnt
in my pocket till I broke out all of a sudden, saying,--
"'Wouldn't you like to go down with me for a week and get rested and
freshened up a little, Jane?'
"Girls, if I had asked her to go straight to heaven, or do any lovely
thing, she could not have looked more amazed, delighted, and touched.
"'O, Miss Nelly, you are too good. I'm afraid I ought not to leave
work. It seems almost too splendid to believe.'
"I wouldn't hear a word, for my heart was set on doing it when I saw
how she longed to go. So I said she could help us with our dresses,
and I must have her come on that account if no other.
"Then she said she had nothing fit to wear, and I was so glad to be
able to tell her that none of us wore nice clothes, and hers were quite
fit. I just made her put on her bonnet, brought her away in the
twinkling of an eye, and there she is enjoying rest, fresh air,
sunshine and her first view of the sea."
"Nelly, you are an angel!" and Kitty hugged her on the spot, while Mary
beamed at her with tears in her eyes, as she said, quietly,--
"I did not think my little sermon would be so soon and beautifully
taken to heart. The sight of that poor child, sitting there so happy,
is better than the most splendid supper you could have ordered. I
shall always love and honor you for this, dear."
Nelly's face was a pretty mixture of smiles and tears, as her friends
kissed and praised her. Then she said, brightly,--
"Now we will have nothing but our cake and lemonade, and make up in
good spirits for the supper we have lost. Flowers will do for favors,
and tallow candles will help the moon light up our 'hall.' See my
Bo-Peep dress; and here are lots of things for you. To-morrow Jane
will help us, and we will be splendiferous."
Three happy faces bent over the old brocades, three busy tongues
chattered gaily of trains and flounces, and three pairs of friendly
eyes peeped often at the quiet figure on the rocks, finding greater
satisfaction in that sweet little tableau than in any they could plan.
Merry times they had next day, for Jane's skilful fingers worked
wonders, and gratitude inspired her with all manner of brilliant ideas.
She was introduced as a friend; any deficiencies in her wardrobe were
quietly supplied by Nelly, and she proved herself an invaluable ally,
enjoying every minute of the precious time.
Nothing could have been prettier in its way than the old barn, draped
with sails and sheets, with flags and pennons from the boats, great
peonies and green boughs for decorations. Candles and lanterns
twinkled their best, and the great doors at both ends stood wide open,
letting in floods of moonlight, fresh air and lovely glimpses of the
sea.
The neighbors all came to "peek," and the hearty laughter of the big
brown fishermen clustered round the door was good to hear, as the
comical, quaint, or charming figures entered the room. Tow-headed
children roosted on the beams, women in calico gowns sat staring in the
stalls, while babies slept placidly in the hay-racks, and one meek cow
surveyed the scene with astonished eyes.
Powhattan, St. George, Brother Jonathan, Capt. Cuttle, Garibaldi and
other noble beings came from the camp, to find Bo-Peep in a ravishing
little costume, with a Quakeress, Sairey Gamp, Dolly Varden and a host
of other delightful ladies ready to receive them.
What happy hours followed, with the promenades, and plays, and homely
yet delightful surroundings. The barn was so cool, so spacious, and
every thing was so free and simple, that every one "went in and enjoyed
himself like a man," as Capt. Kyd gracefully remarked to Mary Nelson,
who was capitally and cheaply got up as the Press, dressed in
newspapers, with a little telegraph, posts, wires and all, on her head.
Fruit, cake and lemonade was all the feast, spread on the big rock in
front of the barn, and no one complained; for moonlight, youth and
happy hearts lent their magic to the scene.
"Never had such a good time in my life," was the general verdict when
the party broke up at eleven, and the gallant guests departed, to
return the compliment by a charming serenade an hour later.
"Now that just puts the last touch to it. So romantic and delicious!"
sighed Nelly, listening luxuriously to the melodious strains of that
college favorite, "Juanita."
"It's all like a beautiful dream to me," sighed Jane, who was peeping
through the blinds with the other pretty white ghosts, and enjoying the
whole thing to her heart's core.
Kitty threw out some flowers, and when each youth had stuck a relic in
his button-hole, the sailor hats disappeared, leaving only the musical
assurance that "Her bright smile haunts me still," to echo over the
rocks and die away in the lapping of the tide upon the shore.
A quiet week followed, and the girls spent it teaching Jane to row and
swim, taking her to drive in the old wagon, and making her "have a good
time."
She was so blissfully happy and improved so much that Nelly had serious
thoughts of applying to her father for more money, so that Jane might
stay longer. But though she said not a word about her little charity,
the truth crept out, and several of the ladies quietly made up a
handsome sum for Jane.
They gave it to Nelly, asking her to use it and say nothing of them,
lest it should annoy the little seamstress. So Nelly, when her own
time was up had the pleasure of telling Jane she was to stay some weeks
longer, and of slipping into her hand the means so kindly provided for
her.
She had no words in which to thank these friends, but her happy face
did it as she bade them good-by, when they left her smiling, with wet
eyes, among the roses in the lane.
"Our visit has been a success, though it wasn't Newport, hey, Nelly?"
said Kitty, as they rumbled away in the big omnibus.
"Oh, yes! I've had a lovely time, and mean to come next summer and
bring another Jane, to go halves with me; it gives such a relish to
one's fun somehow," answered Nelly, contentedly tying on her last
year's hat.
"Old clothes, wholesome pleasures and a charitable deed are all the
magic that has made your month so happy and so helpful," said Mary,
putting an affectionate arm about the shoulders in the now faded jacket.
"And good friends; don't forget to add that," answered Nelly, with a
grateful kiss.
VII.
LITTLE NEIGHBORS.
TWITTER THE FIRST.
"Mamma, I do wish I had a nice, new play. Can't you make me one?" said
Bertie, pensively surveying the soles of his shoes, as he lay flat on
his back with his heels in the air.
"No, dear, I couldn't possibly stop now, for I must write my letters,
or they won't be in time, and papa will be disappointed."
"Then I wish I had somebody to play with me! A jolly little chap who
would amuse me and make me laugh," continued Bertie, and, dropping his
legs, he lay for a moment, looking as if he really did need a playmate
very much.
"Tweet! tweet!" said a little voice, in such a brisk tone that the boy
stared about him eager to see who spoke.
One pane of the long window that opened on the balcony was fixed like a
door, so that the room might be ventilated. This pane stood open, and
perched upon its threshold was a sparrow peering in with an inquisitive
air, and a bold "Tweet! tweet!" as if he said,--
"Here's a little friend all ready to play with you."
"Oh, mamma, see the cunning bird! He wants to come in! Don't stir, and
may be he'll hop down and eat the crumbs of my luncheon on the table.
It's Cocky Twitters; I know him by his tail, with only two feathers in
it, and his twinkling eye, and his little fat body," cried Bertie,
lying as still as a statue, and looking with delight at the new-comer.
You see Bertie lived near a square where many English sparrows had
their homes, and all winter the kind child fed his little neighbors.
Day after day he strewed crumbs in the balcony, and day after day the
birds came to peck them gratefully, or to fly away with the big bits to
their nests. So they learned to know and love and trust each other,
and the passers-by often saw a pretty sight up in the sunny balcony
where the delicate boy stood with his feathered friends about him; some
at his feet, some on his shoulders, some boldly stealing crumbs from
his basket, and the more timid hopping about on the wide balustrade,
catching such stray mouthfuls as reached them.