[Illustration: FRITZ AND DON. Page 158.]
MIXED PICKLES
BY
EVELYN RAYMOND
NEW YORK:
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.
46 EAST FOURTEENTH STREET.
COPYRIGHTED, 1892,
BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.
_Electrotyped and printed by_
ALFRED MUDGE & SON, BOSTON.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I. 5
“ II. 18
“ III. 30
“ IV. 42
“ V. 53
“ VI. 60
“ VII. 77
“ VIII. 85
“ IX. 99
“ X. 113
“ XI. 122
“ XII. 130
“ XIII. 142
“ XIV. 151
“ XV. 169
“ XVI. 186
“ XVII. 194
“ XVIII. 204
“ XIX. 218
“ XX. 231
“ XXI. 241
“ XXII. 252
“ XXIII. 262
“ XXIV. 273
MIXED PICKLES
CHAPTER I.
“Oh!” gasped Grandmother Capers, throwing her hands upward with a
gesture of dismay; “oh, what a terrible infliction!” And she began
rocking herself violently to and fro, and screwing her lips about in
the manner which, with her, always denoted extreme perturbation. Then
she glanced across the pleasant room to a lounge and its occupant.
“I hope--it will not be that!” responded Grandmother Kinsolving,
feebly. She still held the bomb-like telegram between her trembling
fingers, and was as yet too much overpowered by the announcement it
contained to have a better answer ready.
“It is our own house, is it not, mother?” demanded Aunt Ruth, with some
asperity.
A voice from the lounge took up the conversation.
“They can’t come here; that is all there is about it. If they do,
I shall leave.” The speaker’s tone was decided and aggressive. It
caused the eyes of the other three persons in the apartment to fasten
themselves upon the fretful face above the great pillows.
Only one of the three, however, had courage to reply. That one was Aunt
Ruth, who should have been soft and yielding by nature had she lived up
to her name. But she did not; neither did the plain garb of a Friend
which she wore appear to have its customary effect in subduing the
quick temper with which she had been born.
“If thee wishes to leave, thee is at perfect liberty to do so. The
Kinsolving homestead cannot open its doors to one branch of the family
and exclude another. Thee and thy kin are welcome here; so is dear
Content; so shall my sister Lydia’s children be.”
With that, which was even more determined in tone than the invalid’s
had been, Ruth Kinsolving ended all remark upon the telegram, and went
away to answer it.
“Grandmother, I shall not stay! I--I won’t have everything upset by a
lot of young ones!”
“There, there, Melville! don’t worry, that’s a dear. You know it is so
bad for you. Besides, I am sure that Grandmother Kinsolving will not
really take in such a lot of children to torment us all with.” The old
lady in the easy-chair turned toward the one in the straight-back with
a cajoling expression.
But the lovely old Friend had had time to regain her wonted calmness,
and if the tone in which she responded was gentle in the extreme, it
was also equally firm.
“Ruth has spoken the right word, though I wish that she had done so
more patiently. When Oliver built this house he built it big and roomy.
‘There must be space enough in it to hold all our household and the
children which shall come after them,’ he said. Lydia’s flock must find
a resting-place beneath the old roof-tree; but, if they are anything
like their mother before them, they will not bring unhappiness to
anybody.”
A quiet sadness stole over the placid features under the snowy cap, and
no one not utterly selfish would have disturbed the mistress of the
homestead by any further objection.
When the feeble lad, who absorbed as his right so much of the family
attention, again began his impatient protest, Grandmother Kinsolving
rose and followed Ruth.
Then arose such a howl of distress as speedily drove Grandmother Capers
to the verge of hysterics and brought Content flying in from the
orchard, where she had been writing a letter to her father.
“O Melville! what has happened? Are you worse,--suffering so terribly?
Can I do anything for you?”
Melville ceased shrieking and broke into a subdued roar, as ominous to
his slave, Grandmother Capers, as it was amusing to Content. But she
veiled the mirth in her brown eyes, and went on speaking in that sort
of soothing fashion which mothers use to a fretful infant.
Suddenly the cripple became silent, and looked up into his cousin’s
face with an eagerness of expression that showed how little real his
grief had been. “Say, Content, does Aunt Ruth know that my heart is
affected, and that the doctor says I must have perfect quiet?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. You forget, Melville, that I am almost a
stranger to our aunt.”
“But--but she’s your aunt, you know; you ought to know her!” exclaimed
the lad.
“Maybe I ought; but then, you see, I don’t. I never saw her till last
Thursday, as you know; while you have lived with her for three years.”
“And hated her all that time!” cried Melville, bitterly.
“Nonsense!” laughed Content.
“True! I--I wish she’d die, or get married!”
Even Grandmother Capers was shocked at this; and spoke reproachfully to
her idol.
“You should not say that, darling. Ruth is a good woman. She means
well, even if her manner is unpleasant.”
Melville opened his lips to retort, but Content was too loyal to allow
this. “Why, Mrs. Capers! Can you really think that? It seems to me Aunt
Ruth is so charming. She is so delightfully honest and true. From the
first time I looked in her face I felt that I should be safe and happy
with her. And as for grandma, I cannot tell you how lovely she appears
to me. Papa used to tell such wonderful stories of her goodness that I
was almost afraid to come and live with her; I was sure I should shock
her a dozen times a day; but if I do she is too kind to show it.”
“Why, Content! She thinks you are perfect. She held you up as an
example to me yesterday, till I hated her almost as much as I do my
aunt.”
Into the midst of this mutual admiration talk broke a sound which was
even more startling than the telegraph reading had been.
Clitter-ty-clatter! Yaw, whoop-la!
Melville raised himself upon his pillows, Grandmother Capers screamed,
and Content ran to the window. Outside stood a tiny dog-cart, drawn by
a sturdy little pony, driven by a lad who could not have seen more than
eight summers, though his face bore freckles enough to have resulted
from a dozen.
“Hello!” cried the licorice-stained mouth of the small teamster. “Is
this my grandmother’s house?”
“Maybe; what is your grandmother’s name?” said Content.
“I--er--I forget! It’s--it’s--dang it! Why ain’t Paula here! She
knows everything, and she’d know what it is. You see I came on ahead;
me and Pretzel here. Ain’t she a stunner? Uncle Fritz give her to
me--give me the hull turnout. Say, do you live here? Have you got a
grandmother what’s an old Quaker lady, and lives in a big homestead
with pigs and chickens and folks? Say, this is a big house, ain’t it?
I bet a cent this is the very place! Won’t you just step in and ask if
my grandmother does live here? ’Cause I’m all tuckered out. This cart
shook me up awful, comin’ up hill.”
The speaker paused from lack of breath, and Content sprang through the
low window-sash and held out her arms to the little fellow.
“I’ve no need to go and ask, for I am sure that you are my little
cousin Fritz. Is it not so?”
“Yep. Anyhow, I’m Fritz; but who the mischief are you?”
“I’m Content; Content Kinsolving; aged fifteen, and your Uncle
Benjamin’s only child. But where are the rest of your party? The
telegram said that all of Aunt Lydia’s children were coming.”
“Oh, they be; when they get ready. Paula,--she’s a stick,--she told
Uncle Fritz that she could not come till she had stopped to the hotel
and freshened herself. She’s always a freshening herself, Paula is, but
I’m sure I don’t know why, for she never does a blessed thing to get
herself messed. Octave, now--Octave, she is a jolly one! she’s always
messing, but she never freshens. I like Octave.”
“Indeed! most boys do like their sisters. But come, come quickly to
dear grandmother! She will be so glad to see you!” and Content slipped
her arm fondly about the child’s waist, as he still sat in the cart.
“How do you know? I’m a ‘terror,’ Fritzy Nunky says, unless I’m good.
And the trouble is, I can’t stay good. I can be delightful sometimes,
for little short times; then I forget and cut up. I used to try not to,
but I’ve given it up now.”
The satisfied and aged expression which settled upon the boyish face
was funny in the extreme, and Content laughed more heartily than she
had yet done since she parted with her father at Osaka, in far-away
Japan.
“I know she will ‘like’ you; I do”; and she kissed again the pretty,
dirty face of the young traveller, and lifted him out upon the grass.
“Where’s the stable?”
“Around this way. Can you lead your horse?”
“I can, but I don’t want to. I’m tired. Where’s the hostler?”
“There is none.”
Little Fritz opened his big eyes. “What’ll we do then?”
“I’ll lead him around to the barn.”
Content took hold of the bridle, but, small as he was, this was more
than the chivalrous nature of little Fritz could allow.
“Excoose me; but I’m the gentleman,” he said, with grave dignity, and
took the bridle from his cousin’s grasp.
She allowed him his will, finding in him something so lovable that he
was already assured of one welcome in the household, no matter how the
rest might yet regard him.
One of the farm hands was just putting up the stock for the night, and
to him Fritz gave the care of his new possession, with a matter-of-fact
manner which surprised the farmer into accepting it without protest.
“Rub her down well, boy, and don’t drink her till she’s cold. That’s
what Fritzy Nunky said. I don’t know much about horses myself, but I
do know that she isn’t a ‘him’ like you called her, Content,” laughed
the tired little fellow, slipping his warm hand into his cousin’s cool
clasp.
The “boy,” who was a gray-haired father of many children, received
the young horse owner’s directions in silent amazement, and looked
after the pair as they left the barn-yard and entered the kitchen as
if he didn’t quite know whether he should believe his own ears or not.
Finally, he gave a low whistle, and ejaculated: “Jimminetty!” To him
it appeared as if the self-possessed child and his dashing little
turnout had dropped from the skies; but somehow he felt no reluctance
to rubbing the tiny mare “down well,” as he had been ordered, nor did
he attempt to “drink her” until she was perfectly cool and it was safe
to let her plunge her velvet nostrils into the trough of spring water
at the barn-yard gate.
Meanwhile, Content and the new arrival had entered the mansion by the
kitchen, and had, after many pauses by the way, caused by the guest’s
curiosity, arrived at Grandmother Kinsolving’s quiet room, where Aunt
Ruth stood tying on her gray bonnet, preparatory to going out and
dispatching her return message of welcome to the guardian of her sister
Lydia’s children.
Both mother and daughter stared at Content, but for a moment each
supposed she had picked up her small companion from among the
“boarders” who frequented their mountain settlement, and who strolled
about over the pleasant roads at all hours.
“Well, and whom have you brought to visit me now, Content?” asked
grandmother, smiling hospitably upon the little man.
“Can’t thee guess, Grandma?”
“Oh, she needn’t bother to guess. I’d just as lief tell her. I’m your
little grand-boy, I reckon. Anyhow, I’m Fritzy Pickel.”
“Pickel! Not Pickel--not my daughter Lydia’s Pickel?” cried the dear
old lady, finding this second shock almost too much for even her
credulity. It had been enough to receive that unexpected telegram
from Mr. Fritz Pickel, the uncle and guardian of her dead daughter’s
family, announcing that he had, after a five years’ absence, returned
to America, and had brought all his wards with him, and expected, as a
matter-of-course, to leave them with their maternal grandmother while
he went journeying about on a six months’ business tour.
The telegram had not mentioned any time for arriving, but the
Kinsolvings had taken it for granted that it would not be before the
following day.
“Ho! I suppose I am,” laughed Fritz, junior. “Fritzy Nunky says we’re
quite a jar full. He calls us ‘mixed pickles,’ and says he don’t
know which he likes best, the sweet or the sour. I say, are you my
grandmother, truly? ’Cause you don’t look like grandmothers mostly
does. Lotta Hartmann, she had a grandmother, and, my! I wouldn’t ha’
kissed her for a cent. But I’ll kiss you, if you like.”
Had Grandmother Kinsolving known it, she was receiving the highest
compliment little Fritz ever bestowed upon any one; and she certainly
did “like,” for she opened her arms wide and the boy flew to them with
a swift response of love in his generous little heart.
So there was welcome number two, or three; for the farmer at the barn
may be counted upon as having given his in his undemonstrative way.