Charlie. We mustn’t leave her that way, she might fall. You’ll have to
tie her in the tree.’
“Betty had on a new pinafore made out of strong gingham. She took it off
and with Charlie’s knife they slit it into strips from neck to hem and
knotted them together and Charlie climbed the tree and tied the gingham
around my waist and to the trunk of the tree so that I couldn’t fall out.
“Then Charlie ran to the house for help, and it didn’t take Father and
Stanley long to get there. Stanley carried me down to the lower branches
and handed me to Father, and in a little while I felt all right again.
“I thought Father would think I was brave, but he didn’t at all. He was
cross because Charlie had urged me to do such a foolish thing and because
I hadn’t had courage to say I was afraid. He said we would have to take
our own money to buy gingham for another apron for Betty. We did, and
Aggie made it, and it was prettier than the one she had torn up, for
Aggie worked a cross-stitch pattern in red around the hem.
“For a long time I could not bear to go near grandfather’s persimmon
tree, and I have never forgotten the lesson I learned that day.”
DOGS
Bobby wanted a dog. He never remembered having wanted anything so
much in all his life before. If he had his choice, he would prefer a
mahogany-colored bull terrier, he told Grandma, but would gladly take any
kind of a dog—even a common yellow dog.
“It’s a shame you can’t have a dog,” said Grandma sympathetically. Every
boy should have a dog, I say. We always had dogs—collies and hounds and
ordinary dogs, and once we had a wonderful fox terrier. He belonged to
brother Charlie, who loved dogs as much as any one I ever knew, though
I had some claim on him, too. The way we got Sport, that was his name,
well—you might like to hear about that.
“Mother was going to the city to visit Uncle John, and Charlie and I were
going along. Neither of us had ever been on the steam cars before, and we
were all excited about it. We talked of nothing else for days. I hardly
noticed my new buttoned shoes or my velvet bonnet. Mother was excited,
too, at the last. She wore a brown dress with a great many buttons up
the front and a bonnet with a plume. I thought she looked beautiful, and
I think Father did, too, for when he had put us in the train at Clayville
it seemed as if he couldn’t leave us. He took us into the train and found
us seats, and told Mother over and over where she was to change cars and
what to do if Uncle John shouldn’t be there to meet us, and gave her so
many directions that Mother got nervous.
“‘Yes, yes, dear, I know. Do go now or the train will start before you
get out.’
“Father laughed and got off. Then he came rushing back all out of breath
just as the train was starting because, after all he had forgotten to
give Mother the tickets.
“With a ringing of bells and a puffing of the engine we were off,
and Charlie and I settled down to a day of solid enjoyment. We had a
nice lunch that the girls had packed—chicken and pickles and election
cake, with apples and cookies to eat between times. Everything seemed
wonderful! The fine red plush seats, the conductor in his blue uniform
and brass buttons, the rushing at such a swift pace through the
country—it was like fairyland to me.
“But I got car-sick, and then pretty soon Charlie got a cinder in his
eye. Poor Mother had her hands full. She made a pillow for me with the
wraps and I lay down, but I didn’t get any better. A lady across the
aisle handed Mother a piece of stiff writing paper and told her to pin it
inside my dress. Mother did, but it only scratched my chest and didn’t
help me. Mother got a flaxseed out of her bag and put it in Charlie’s
eye. It worked the cinder out, but his eye was red and swollen, and we
were all glad when we came to the city. Uncle John was waiting for us,
and we got on a horse car and rode to within a short distance of his home.
“The next morning we felt fine and started out to explore with
our cousins, Lily and Tom. The street was lined on each side with
horse-chestnut trees, and children were picking up the glossy, brown nuts
in baskets. But Charlie and I didn’t think much of picking up nuts we
couldn’t eat. Charlie didn’t like the city at all. The houses were too
tall and dark to suit him and the back yards too little and the grass not
meant to be trodden on. A fellow couldn’t whistle or make a bit of noise
without annoying some one, and there were no dogs, except an occasional
fat pug or a curly poodle.
“Lily and Tom took us to the park at the end of the street for a walk.
Charlie said it wasn’t as big as our cow pasture, and Tom said he knew it
was and that anyhow we had no seats in our cow pasture. Just then a horse
car went along, and after that Charlie wouldn’t do anything but sit on
a bench and watch the horse cars come and go. He had found one thing he
liked in the city, though he said that if he owned the cars he would have
nice, sleek, well-fed horses like Father’s instead of such skinny ones.
“Sometimes Lily and I would play in the park with our dolls. One
afternoon, a couple of days before we were to start for home, I was
sitting on the bench beside Charlie when what should come running around
the corner but a dirty, little, white dog with black spots! Not that we
could see the black spots then. He was too dirty for that, all covered
with mud and blood. His tongue was hanging out, and he ran as if he were
exhausted, in a zigzag line, blindly. He was limping, too.
“I think Charlie would have run right out and picked the poor dog up,
but he saw us almost as soon as we saw him. And when Charlie gave a low
whistle, he ran over and crawled under the bench we were sitting on. He
was hardly out of sight when around the same corner came a crowd of boys
and men, waving sticks and clubs, and led by a policeman, brandishing a
revolver, all of them yelling, ‘Mad dog! Mad dog! Mad dog!’
“There was some shrubbery behind the bench, but still if they came over
they would be sure to see the dog. I was so frightened that I hardly
breathed while they poked with their sticks around the low bushes that
grew in clumps here and there. The fact that we sat so quietly saved the
dog’s life, for they thought we had not even seen the dog. They went
hurrying on and were soon all out of sight—or we thought they were. But
it happened that a boy had fallen behind and turned back home just in
time to see Charlie get poor Sport out from under the bench.
“He gave the alarm, and Charlie and I, with the dog wrapped in Charlie’s
coat, had hardly reached the kitchen and explained things to Tom, who
was making a kite in the back yard, when we could hear shouting down the
street.
[Illustration: _Charlie and I with the dog reached the kitchen_]
“We looked around for a hiding place. There was none. Then Tom thought
of the attic. He and Charlie and the dog would hide in the attic. Up
the back stairs they rushed and on up to the attic. I slipped into the
sitting room where Lily was practicing and picked up a book just as there
came a loud knocking at the front door.
“Aunt Mary went to the door, and she was very indignant and cross when a
policeman asked her to give up a mad dog. Whoever heard of such a thing?
A mad dog, indeed! She had no dog at all, nor ever had had a dog, she
said. He was welcome to come in if he wanted to and look for himself. But
Aunt Mary was so sincere that the officer apologized for troubling her
and went away, taking the crowd with him.
“When the boys came down from the attic and brought the dog, Mother and
Aunt Mary were frightened and didn’t know what to do with him. But Tom
found a big box and they put him in that until Uncle John came home.
“‘Is he really mad, John?’ asked Aunt Mary anxiously as Uncle John
examined the little dog.
“‘No more mad than I am,’ Uncle John answered, and he declared that he
was a valuable little dog, too, but that if he were turned over to the
police he would be shot. He didn’t know what to do with him, as they had
no room for a dog.
“Charlie begged so hard to take the dog home with us, and he was so
pretty and cute after he had had a bath and a rest, licking our hands and
wagging his stubby tail, that Mother finally consented. Charlie named him
Sport because he said that name suited him.
“And going home Charlie and I rode most of the time in the baggage car
with Sport, and we were so busy taking care of him that we were not sick
a bit and didn’t get any cinders in our eyes.”
THE LAST INDIAN
“Last summer,” began Alice one evening when the children came to
Grandma’s room, “when we were in the country we went to the valley where
the last Indians in this county were seen—the last wild Indians, I mean.”
“Were there any wild Indians around when you were a little girl,
Grandma?” asked Bobby eagerly.
“Well, no,” said Grandma thoughtfully. “But my Father remembered
very well when bands of Indians went through the country on hunting
expeditions. They were thought to be of the Delaware tribe, but were
called Cornplanter Indians, probably because they cultivated large fields
of corn as well as hunted and fished for their living. It was customary,
during the winter, for bands of these Indians to hunt deer and other game
in the forests. They would follow the chase for weeks at a time. Father
said that as each deer was killed it was carefully dressed and hung high
in some near-by tree, beyond the reach of wolves and dogs. At the close
of the hunting season the carcasses were gathered together and taken to
the Indian camp.
“But though the Indians were gone when I was a little girl, there were
many things left to remind us of them. Old trees, blazed to mark Indian
trails, still stood, and arrowheads and darts were often ploughed up in
the fields. My brothers had quite a collection of them, and they also had
a tomahawk that looked very much like a hatchet.
“And there was one Indian left, too. I almost forgot about him—old John
Cornplanter. He was supposed to have belonged to the Cornplanter Indians,
but no one knew much about him. He lived alone on an unsurveyed piece of
land and was seldom seen except when he brought his skins to sell or came
to the store for occasional supplies. He lived as his forbears had lived,
by hunting and fishing, and, like them, he had a cornfield.
“He made few friends because he was gruff and short of speech and surly
in manner. He had a quick temper which flared up at the least thing, and
some of the men and boys teased him on purpose to make him angry. Father
said it wasn’t right.
“One day when Father and my brother Stanley were coming through our woods
they heard a noise like that of some one groaning. Hunting around, they
presently found the Indian, John Cornplanter, helpless and unconscious,
with what turned out to be a broken leg. They carried him into the cabin
in the sugar grove and Stanley went for the doctor. The doctor set his
leg. For a time they thought he would die, for he had been exposed to
the weather for hours before Father found him. But he got better, though
slowly, and for weeks he lay on one of the bunks in the cabin, and Father
took care of him and Mother sent him things he liked to eat.
“At first I was afraid to go near the cabin, but after a while I got
brave enough to venture in with Father. Then it wasn’t long till Charlie
and I were visiting Cornplanter every day, carrying him food and cool
drinks.
“When he got better, he wove pretty baskets and carved things out of wood
and made Charlie a bow and arrow. After he got well and went home, he
often came back to see us, bringing presents of fish or game, or maybe
a basket of wild strawberries or early greens. Charlie and I liked to
walk back with him through the woods as far as the edge of our farm, and
sometimes he would build a fire and we would have a meal of some kind of
game, cornbread baked on a stone heated in the fire, and wild honey.
“He taught Charlie new ways to set traps and cure skins, and he showed me
where the first trailing arbutus was to be found, hiding, fragrant and
pink, under the brown leaves. He knew where the mistletoe grew and where
the cardinal built her nest, and he could mimic any kind of a bird or
animal.
“But no one knew John as we did. As he grew older his manner became
gruffer and his temper shorter. People were afraid of him, and there was
some talk of making him leave the country.
“In the winter he would go for miles and miles hunting and trapping,
for even then game was not so plentiful as it had been. One winter
Cornplanter brought a deer he had shot and dressed to Orbison’s woods
and hung it in a tree, just as his people before him had done, until he
should be ready to take it the rest of the way home.
“That night there was a light fall of snow. The next morning some boys on
their way to school spied the deer hanging in the tree and, thinking to
tease John, they moved the deer to the very top of the tree and fastened
it there. Then they went on to school, not thinking but that the Indian
would immediately discover the deer.
“But Cornplanter was old and his sight was poor. When he came along a
little later, he saw only that the deer was not where he had left it,
and, thinking that it had been stolen, he set out to follow the tracks
the boys had made in the snow.
“Mr. Carson, on his way to the store, saw John stalking along, head down,
in the direction of the schoolhouse, but thought nothing of it. When he
got to the store he would not have mentioned the fact had he not found
the men there gravely shaking their heads over the joke the boys had
played on John Cornplanter. It wasn’t safe to joke with John, they said.
Bud McGill, who had helped move the deer, had gone around to the store
and told about it. So when Mr. Carson said he had seen John going in the
direction of the schoolhouse, they were all greatly disturbed. Several
men started immediately for the schoolhouse. No telling what John might
do!
[Illustration: _Mr. Carson saw John going in the direction of the
schoolhouse_]
“In the meantime John had arrived at the schoolhouse and opening the door
without knocking, stepped inside, closed the door, and leaned against it.
He was a forbidding figure, dressed in furs from head to foot, a gun at
his side, a dark frown on his face. He looked at the teacher.
“‘Where deer?’ he demanded. ‘Where deer?’
“He thought his deer had been stolen. He had followed the tracks to the
schoolhouse and now he wanted the deer.
“We all knew what the boys had done. We looked at each other, waiting for
some one to speak.
“John Cornplanter waited, too, his back to the door.
“I thought about Charlie, at home sick. If he had been there, he might
have straightened things out. I was the only other person who knew John
Cornplanter well and did not fear him. I went over to him and explained
as well as I could about the deer just being moved and not stolen, and
that the boys were only in fun and meant no harm. When I finished, it was
so quiet you could have heard a pin drop. Cornplanter did not like to
be teased. Would he think it a joke on himself that he had not seen the
deer, or would he be furious?
“Suddenly he smiled, and the teacher with a sigh of relief announced
morning intermission.
“A few minutes later when a group of anxious men came in sight of the
schoolhouse they stopped to listen in amazement to a series of unusual
sounds—a bull frog croaking hoarsely, an owl calling to its mate, a
cardinal singing sweetly, the long-drawn-out wail of the whip-poor-will,
the joyful note of the lark, the sharp barking of a squirrel.
“And what they saw surprised them even more, for there was the Indian,
surrounded by children, as he mimicked for their amusement one after
another of the animals and birds he knew so well.
“It’s bedtime now, so run along and we’ll have another story soon.”
A PRESENT FOR MOTHER
“Goody, goody!” sang Pink, dancing into Grandma’s room one evening, “It’s
only four weeks till Christmas.”
“And I’m saving all my allowance for Christmas presents,” Bobby
announced. “I’m going to get Mother an umbrella—hers is slit and it has a
long handle—or a sparkly comb for her hair or some silk stockings.”
“Why!” exclaimed Grandma in surprise. “How did a little boy ever think of
such nice, appropriate things?”
“Oh, Mother always makes a list,” Alice explained carefully. “She puts
down all the things she’d like to have, and we pick from that. You
see, the first year we bought our own presents to give, Bobby got her
an iron-handle at the five-and-ten-cent store and she always uses an
electric iron, and I gave her a book that she already had, so after that
she made us a list. But Bobby won’t have money enough for any of the
things he named,” she said, with scorn for her brother’s idea of prices.
“I know very well he won’t.”
“Well, you might all three go together,” Grandma suggested, “just as
brother Charlie and I did once for a present we got for our mother. Her
birthday came in November, and we wanted to give her something nice—a
real store present—so we put our money together. Of course there was
nothing at our store, but twice a year, in the spring and again in the
fall, Mr. Simon, the peddler, came straight from the city, and it was
from him that we planned to buy Mother’s present.
“Mr. Simon was no common peddler, no, indeed. He was little and round and
fat and bald-headed—not handsome at all, but one of those people whose
looks you never think about after you know them. He always staid over
night with us, and because Father would take no money for keeping him he
left tucked away some place a little present that Mother said more than
paid his bill.
“We all liked to see Mr. Simon come. He brought Father the latest news
from the city and told Mother and the girls about the newest fashions and
customs. I remember when he told Mother how some people were putting wire
screens over their windows to keep the flies out, and how she laughed
and said, ‘The very idea of shutting out the fresh air like that!’
“He would tell stories to us children and recite poetry, and when he
opened up his packs in the evening, how we all crowded around!
“He didn’t show everything at all the houses, but he did at ours—fine
Irish linens, velvets and satins, beads and brooches and wonderful shawls.
“It was a shawl that Charlie and I meant to buy for Mother—a soft,
creamy, silk shoulder shawl. Aunt Louisa had just such a shawl, and when
Mr. Simon was showing his things that spring we decided on that shawl the
minute we saw it. We coaxed Mother to try it on, and she threw it around
her shoulders to please us. It was so soft and lovely and the creamy tint
was so becoming to Mother that we would have bought it immediately, but,
alas! when we slipped out to count our money we didn’t have enough—not
nearly enough.
“‘But we don’t need it till fall,’ said Charlie. ‘Let’s get Mr. Simon
to keep it for us till he comes next time, and then we’ll have enough
money.’
[Illustration: _Mother threw the shawl around her shoulders to please
us_]
“When we went back to the sitting room the shawl had been put away in its
flat little box. At the first opportunity we asked Mr. Simon if he would
save it for us, and he said he would.
“‘It won’t be too much trouble, carrying it around so long?’ I asked as
an after-thought.
“‘Not a bit of trouble,’ he answered cheerfully. ‘’Tis no heavier than
one of your own black curls.’
“But the next day we forgot all about the shawl, for Mother had lost her
best brooch. It was a cameo with a carved gold border set around with
pearls. It had been Father’s wedding present to Mother, and she always
wore it even with her everyday print dresses. That brooch looked as well
on a common gown as it did on a fine silk. Mother said it was like some
people, they were so fine and wonderful that they were at home in any
company.
“Mother missed the brooch that night when she went to take it off. She
had gone back downstairs and searched carefully all over the sitting-room
floor, but she hadn’t found it. She didn’t mention losing it until after
Mr. Simon had gone. Then we hunted all over the house and the yard and
the garden, and Charlie kept on hunting when everyone else had given up.
He climbed the trees and looked in all the bird nests around, because he
had heard that sometimes, when birds are building, they carry valuable
things to their nests. And he searched in every other unlikely place you
could think of, but he didn’t find the brooch.
“We were very busy that summer, for besides our regular work we had to
earn enough money to pay for Mother’s shawl. I weeded in the garden
for five cents a day, and Charlie picked potato bugs, and we sold
blackberries and did all sorts of things. When it was time for Mr. Simon
to come again we had our reward, for safely hidden away under a loose
board in the attic floor, was enough money to pay for Mother’s present.
“But by this time we had changed our minds about what we wanted to give
her—instead of the shawl we thought we would give her a brooch. We met
Mr. Simon at the gate and asked him anxiously if he had saved the shawl,
for we were afraid that maybe he wouldn’t like our not taking it in the
spring.
“‘Indeed, I did,’ he answered. ‘I haven’t so much as opened that box
since I was here before.’
“Then Charlie and I told him that if he could sell the shawl to someone
else we would like to buy instead a brooch for Mother. He said he could
sell the shawl, but why buy our mother a brooch when she already had one
so much finer than anything he had to offer? We told him about Mother’s
brooch being lost, and he was awfully sorry. We selected a new brooch,
and Mother was pleased with it and fastened it into her collar right away.
“The next morning I came into the sitting room, after seeing Mr. Simon
off, to find Father and Mother talking seriously together.
“‘I can’t understand it,’ Father was saying. And I saw that Mother held
in one hand the cream-colored shawl that Charlie and I had meant to buy
for her.
“‘Oh, is that what Mr. Simon left this time?’ cried Belle, coming in just
behind me. ‘Who gets it, Mother, Aggie or me? I think I ought to have
it because I am going to be married, but Aggie will say it’s her turn
because I got the lace collar last time.’
“But Mother did not answer, and we saw with surprise that in her other
hand she held her brooch—not her new brooch, but the one that had been
lost.
“‘It was in the box with the shawl,’ she said quietly, and looked at
Father. How had the brooch come into Mr. Simon’s possession, they were
wondering, and why had he returned it in this mysterious way? Had he
found it the night Mother lost it and had he now repented of having kept
it?
“‘You had the shawl around your shoulders the night you lost the brooch,
Mother,’ Belle said. ‘Maybe the brooch got fastened in it then.’
“‘That would be perfectly possible,’ said Father gravely, ‘but how many
times do you think Simon has showed that shawl in the last six months?’
“Then I found my voice.
“‘Oh, not once, Father!’ I cried. ‘He never even opened the box since
he was here last time. He said so himself.’ And I told them how he had
been saving the shawl all that time for Charlie and me. Mother laughed
happily and said we were dear children, and Father picked up the county
paper with an air of relief.
“Next time I think, yes, I know that next time we shall have a Christmas
story.”
A CHRISTMAS BARRING OUT
’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
Bobby and Alice and Pink had hung their stockings by the living-room
mantle and, though it was very, very early, they decided to go to bed.
They always wanted to go to bed early on Christmas Eve. Morning seemed to
come so much more quickly when they went to bed early. They wouldn’t even
wait for a story. They would just say good night to Grandma and go right
to bed.
“Why!” exclaimed Grandma in surprise, when they had explained their
intentions to her, “you mustn’t go to bed so soon. You’d be awake in the
morning before daylight! Come in and visit with me a while and I’ll see
if I can’t think up a story to tell you, the same as on other nights.”
So they went in and sat down on their stools in front of the fire.
Grandma put on her spectacles, but, instead of her knitting, she took
up her Bible. The children were very still while she read the story of
the first Christmas—how in a stable in Bethlehem the baby Christ was
born, and how an angel appeared to the shepherds, who were watching their
flocks, and told them about the Savior’s birth, and then a host of angels
came and praised God, saying, “Glory be to God on high, and on earth
peace, good will toward men,” just as we sing today on Christmas.