_Sunday Night._
I have been hunting Sunday clothes in the barrels sent us by kind
friends,--the garments the children bring with them must be saved for
hard, every-day wear. This morning, when I eagerly exhibited the Sunday
things to the boys, I was doomed to disappointment. They expressed
boundless contempt for the short trousers, flouted the knickerbockers as
"meal pokes," and declined to wear the pleated and belted coats. Even
the little sailor suit I had found for Jason was refused with scorn, as
not being "for men." White shirts most of them accepted, but collars and
ties were different,--Taulbee argued that even preachers didn't wear
those, so why should he?
I was non-plussed for five minutes; then my eyes chanced to rest on
Killis, the noted traveller. Sending the others from the room, I handed
him a dark-blue suit, very little worn, and requested him to get into my
closet and put it on, just for my pleasure. He did so, and when I had
fastened a collar and a soft red tie on him, I invited him to look in my
glass. He was frankly delighted. "By dogs, now, did you ever see anybody
look as good as me?" he inquired.
[Illustration: "'By dogs, now, did you ever see anybody look as good as
me?'"]
"I think I never did," I replied with entire truth.
"If these breeches was just long, I'd keep these here clothes and wear
'em," he said.
"Short breeches," I assured him, "are the very latest style out in the
level country; and," I added, "a boy who has seen the world and ridden
on a railroad train is the very one to set new styles here,--the others
would all follow what you did."
"Dad burn my looks, then, if I don't keep these and wear 'em!"
"Very well," I said, carelessly; "go along now and let me dress."
My dress was half-way over my head when the entire dozen burst into my
room without knocking. Taking refuge in the closet, I let them examine
the "new-styles," and fight it out over disputed garments. Later, having
pinned all the collars, tied all the ties, parted all the hair, and at
the last moment washed difficult cracks in all the ears, I set forth
with my family for the "church-house," swelling more and more with pride
at every step. Never anywhere have I seen such an aristocratic-looking
set of boys.
After dinner, made wise by experience, I took them for a long walk up
Perilous, to a beautiful, retired glen where they could play, fight
(without weapons) and make all the noise they needed to.
On the way back, we met several women and girls on nags, and I was
pained to see that my boys did not remove their hats. When I told them
they must do so, Philip demanded why.
"To show the respect you feel for women," I replied.
"But I haint got none," he answered candidly; "they never done nothing
for me. I'd ruther take off my hat to a cow,--I git something back from
her!"
This from the namesake of the Pattern of Chivalry! Philip is very much
of a man, and a prodigious worker,--in the shop he does better work than
most of the grown-up boys, and is actually permitted to make walnut
furniture for the big house--but he certainly lacks minor virtues, such
as courtesy and cleanliness.
After supper I happened to ask Killis about his name, and told him I
thought he must be named for Achilles, a hero who lived several thousand
years ago, and was the greatest fighter of his time. There were
unanimous demands to hear all about him, and perforce I started in
telling tales of the Trojan War. This time there was no drowsiness, but,
as one great combat followed another, intense interest, and howls of
remonstrance when I tried to stop.
I have found acceptable literary food for my babes,--but alas, what they
want is not milk at all, but blood!
_Wednesday Bed-time._
Jason, my "little pet" as the others call him, resents any allusion to
the fact that he is small, and burns to play the man. In our garden
work, he seizes shovels and mattocks almost as large as himself from the
bigger boys, and whacks away joyously with them. To-day while we were
making gravel walks, I caught him wheeling Geordie's barrow, while
Geordie made feeble passes at the gravel-bank in the creek with Jason's
little broken-handled pick. Geordie explained,
"That 'ere little Jason says he's aiming to leave if you give him
little-boy jobs,--he wants big ones. I told him he could take my
wheel-borrow awhile,--that I were willing to trade jobs with him, to
favor him."
"I don't doubt you were," I said, sharply,--I begin to fear that
Geordie's energy and talent reside mostly in his tongue.
"He's able to do it all right," continued Geordie, imperturbably. "By
dogs, you ought to have seed him fight out two of them little
day-schools at a time yesterday! Any boy can fight like that ought to
labor some, and would have to if he weren't a pet!"
This evening while Keats gave me a glowing description of Nervesty's
vinegar-pies (it would appear that his affection for her has no few of
its roots in his stomach) and the other boys played numble-peg outside
my window, what were my grief and surprise to hear the most fearful
oaths I ever listened to issue from the sensitive lips of the "pure
scholar." Of course all the boys swear; but this was the worst ever.
Where can he have learned it, and his father such a perfect gentleman?
When I called him in and rebuked him, he was much downcast,--said he
didn't aim to cuss, but he had been at it so long he couldn't quit. I
told him the only way was to keep on trying, and how very, very happy it
would make me when he should succeed; and he promised to try and _try_,
"because," he added, almost in a whisper, "I like you." "And I _love_
you," I said, gathering his thin little body to my heart. How happy his
words made me,--they are the first to indicate that any of the boys care
for me. They have a great deal of reserve, and are hard to get
acquainted with, especially Nucky. But at least they are not leaving as
they did.