flinging aside the packet in his hurry. Agamemnon, jumping upon the
piazza at the same moment, trod upon the paper parcel, which exploded
at once with the shock, and he fell to the ground, while at the same
moment the paste "fulminated" into a blue flame directly in front of
Mrs. Peterkin!
[Illustration]
It was a moment of great confusion. There were cries and screams. The
bells were still ringing, the cannon firing, and Mr. Peterkin had just
reached the closing words: "Our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred
honor."
"We are all blown up, as I feared we should be," Mrs. Peterkin at
length ventured to say, finding herself in a lilac-bush by the side of
the piazza. She scarcely dared to open her eyes to see the scattered
limbs about her.
[Illustration]
It was so with all. Even Ann Maria Bromwick clutched a pillar of the
piazza, with closed eyes.
At length Mr. Peterkin said, calmly, "Is anybody killed?"
There was no reply. Nobody could tell whether it was because everybody
was killed, or because they were too wounded to answer. It was a
great while before Mrs. Peterkin ventured to move.
But the little boys soon shouted with joy, and cheered the success of
Solomon John's fireworks, and hoped he had some more. One of them had
his face blackened by an unexpected cracker, and Elizabeth Eliza's
muslin dress was burned here and there. But no one was hurt; no one
had lost any limbs, though Mrs. Peterkin was sure she had seen some
flying in the air. Nobody could understand how, as she had kept her
eyes firmly shut.
[Illustration]
No greater accident had occurred than the singeing of the tip of
Solomon John's nose. But there was an unpleasant and terrible odor
from the "fulminating paste."
Mrs. Peterkin was extricated from the lilac-bush. No one knew how she
got there. Indeed, the thundering noise had stunned everybody. It had
roused the neighborhood even more than before. Answering explosions
came on every side, and, though the sunset light had not faded away,
the little boys hastened to send off rockets under cover of the
confusion. Solomon John's other fireworks would not go. But all felt
he had done enough.
Mrs. Peterkin retreated into the parlor, deciding she really did have
a headache. At times she had to come out when a rocket went off, to
see if it was one of the little boys. She was exhausted by the
adventures of the day, and almost thought it could not have been worse
if the boys had been allowed gunpowder. The distracted lady was
thankful there was likely to be but one Centennial Fourth in her
lifetime, and declared she should never more keep anything in the
house as dangerous as saltpetred beef, and she should never venture to
take another spoonful of potash.
THE PETERKINS' PICNIC.
There was some doubt about the weather. Solomon John looked at the
"Probabilities"; there were to be "areas of rain" in the New England
States.
Agamemnon thought if they could only know where the areas of rain were
to be they might go to the others. Mr. Peterkin proposed walking round
the house in a procession, to examine the sky. As they returned they
met Ann Maria Bromwick, who was to go, much surprised not to find them
ready.
Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin were to go in the carryall, and take up the lady
from Philadelphia, and Ann Maria, with the rest, was to follow in a
wagon, and to stop for the daughters of the lady from Philadelphia.
The wagon arrived, and so Mr. Peterkin had the horse put into the
carryall.
A basket had been kept on the back piazza for some days, where anybody
could put anything that would be needed for the picnic as soon as it
was thought of. Agamemnon had already decided to take a thermometer;
somebody was always complaining of being too hot or too cold at a
picnic, and it would be a great convenience to see if she really were
so. He thought now he might take a barometer, as "Probabilities" was
so uncertain. Then, if it went down in a threatening way, they could
all come back.
[Illustration]
The little boys had tied their kites to the basket. They had never
tried them at home; it might be a good chance on the hills. Solomon
John had put in some fishing-poles; Elizabeth Eliza, a book of poetry.
Mr. Peterkin did not like sitting on the ground, and proposed taking
two chairs, one for himself and one for anybody else. The little boys
were perfectly happy; they jumped in and out of the wagon a dozen
times, with new india-rubber boots, bought for the occasion.
[Illustration]
Before they started, Mrs. Peterkin began to think she had already had
enough of the picnic, what with going and coming, and trying to
remember things. So many mistakes were made. The things that were to
go in the wagon were put in the carryall, and the things in the
carryall had to be taken out for the wagon! Elizabeth Eliza forgot her
water-proof, and had to go back for her veil, and Mr. Peterkin came
near forgetting his umbrella.
Mrs. Peterkin sat on the piazza and tried to think. She felt as if she
must have forgotten something; she knew she must. Why could not she
think of it now, before it was too late? It seems hard any day to
think what to have for dinner, but how much easier now it would be to
stay at home quietly and order the dinner,--and there was the
butcher's cart! But now they must think of everything.
At last she was put into the carryall, and Mr. Peterkin in front to
drive. Twice they started, and twice they found something was left
behind,--the loaf of fresh brown bread on the back piazza, and a
basket of sandwiches on the front porch. And, just as the wagon was
leaving, the little boys shrieked, "The basket of things was left
behind!"
[Illustration]
Everybody got out of the wagon. Agamemnon went back into the house, to
see if anything else were left. He looked into the closets; he shut
the front door, and was so busy that he forgot to get into the wagon
himself. It started off and went down the street without him!
He was wondering what he should do if he were left behind (why had
they not thought to arrange a telegraph wire to the back wheel of the
wagon, so that he might have sent a message in such a case!), when
the Bromwicks drove out of their yard, in their buggy, and took him
in.
They joined the rest of the party at Tatham Corners, where they were
all to meet and consult where they were to go. Mrs. Peterkin called to
Agamemnon, as soon as he appeared. She had been holding the barometer
and the thermometer, and they waggled so that it troubled her. It was
hard keeping the thermometer out of the sun, which would make it so
warm. It really took away her pleasure, holding the things. Agamemnon
decided to get into the carryall, on the seat with his father, and
take the barometer and thermometer.
[Illustration]
The consultation went on. Should they go to Cherry Swamp, or Lonetown
Hill? You had the view if you went to Lonetown Hill, but maybe the
drive to Cherry Swamp was prettier.
Somebody suggested asking the lady from Philadelphia, as the picnic
was got up for her.
But where was she?
"I declare," said Mr. Peterkin, "I forgot to stop for her!" The whole
picnic there, and no lady from Philadelphia!
It seemed the horse had twitched his head in a threatening manner as
they passed the house, and Mr. Peterkin had forgotten to stop, and
Mrs. Peterkin had been so busy managing the thermometers that she had
not noticed, and the wagon had followed on behind.
Mrs. Peterkin was in despair. She knew they had forgotten something!
She did not like to have Mr. Peterkin make a short turn, and it was
getting late, and what would the lady from Philadelphia think of it,
and had they not better give it all up?
[Illustration]
But everybody said "No!" and Mr. Peterkin said he could make a wide
turn round the Lovejoy barn. So they made the turn, and took up the
lady from Philadelphia, and the wagon followed behind and took up her
daughters, for there was a driver in the wagon besides Solomon John.
Ann Maria Bromwick said it was so late by this time they might as well
stop and have the picnic on the Common! But the question was put
again, Where should they go?
[Illustration]
The lady from Philadelphia decided for Strawberry Nook,--it sounded
inviting. There were no strawberries, and there was no nook, it was
said, but there was a good place to tie the horses.
Mrs. Peterkin was feeling a little nervous, for she did not know what
the lady from Philadelphia would think of their having forgotten her,
and the more she tried to explain it the worse it seemed to make it.
She supposed they never did such things in Philadelphia; she knew they
had invited all the world to a party, but she was sure she would never
want to invite anybody again. There was no fun about it till it was
all over. Such a mistake,--to have a party for a person, and then go
without her; but she knew they would forget something! She wished they
had not called it their picnic.
There was another bother! Mr. Peterkin stopped. "Was anything broke?"
exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin. "Was something forgotten?" asked the lady
from Philadelphia.
No! But Mr. Peterkin didn't know the way; and here he was leading all
the party, and a long row of carriages following.
[Illustration]
They all stopped, and it seemed nobody knew the way to Strawberry
Nook, unless it was the Gibbons boys, who were far behind. They were
made to drive up, and said that Strawberry Nook was in quite a
different direction, but they could bring the party round to it
through the meadows.
The lady from Philadelphia thought they might stop anywhere, such a
pleasant day; but Mr. Peterkin said they were started for Strawberry
Nook, and had better keep on.
So they kept on. It proved to be an excellent place, where they could
tie the horses to a fence. Mrs. Peterkin did not like their all
heading different ways; it seemed as if any of them might come at her,
and tear up the fence, especially as the little boys had their kites
flapping round. The Tremletts insisted upon the whole party going up
on the hill; it was too damp below. So the Gibbons boys, and the
little boys, and Agamemnon, and Solomon John, and all the party, had
to carry everything up to the rocks. The large basket of "things" was
very heavy. It had been difficult to lift it into the wagon, and it
was harder to take it out. But, with the help of the driver, and Mr.
Peterkin, and old Mr. Bromwick, it was got up the hill.
[Illustration]
And at last all was arranged. Mr. Peterkin was seated in his chair.
The other was offered to the lady from Philadelphia, but she preferred
the carriage cushions; so did old Mr. Bromwick. And the table-cloth
was spread,--for they did bring a table-cloth,--and the baskets were
opened, and the picnic really began. The pickles had tumbled into the
butter, and the spoons had been forgotten, and the Tremletts' basket
had been left on their front door-step. But nobody seemed to mind.
Everybody was hungry, and everything they ate seemed of the best. The
little boys were perfectly happy, and ate of all the kinds of cake.
Two of the Tremletts would stand while they were eating, because they
were afraid of the ants and the spiders that seemed to be crawling
round. And Elizabeth Eliza had to keep poking with a fern-leaf to
drive the insects out of the plates. The lady from Philadelphia was
made comfortable with the cushions and shawls, leaning against a rock.
Mrs. Peterkin wondered if she forgot she had been forgotten.
John Osborne said it was time for conundrums, and asked, "Why is a
pastoral musical play better than the music we have here? Because one
is a grasshopper, and the other is a grass-opera!"
Elizabeth Eliza said she knew a conundrum, a very funny one, one of
her friends in Boston had told her. It was, "Why is----" It began,
"Why is something like----"--no, "Why are they different?" It was
something about an old woman, or else it was something about a young
one. It was very funny, if she could only think what it was about, or
whether it was alike or different.
The lady from Philadelphia was proposing they should guess Elizabeth
Eliza's conundrum, first the question, and then the answer, when one
of the Tremletts came running down the hill, and declared she had just
discovered a very threatening cloud, and she was sure it was going to
rain down directly. Everybody started up, though no cloud was to be
seen.
There was a great looking for umbrellas and waterproofs. Then it
appeared that Elizabeth Eliza had left hers, after all, though she had
gone back for it twice. Mr. Peterkin knew he had not forgotten his
umbrella, because he had put the whole umbrella-stand into the wagon,
and it had been brought up the hill, but it proved to hold only the
family canes!
[Illustration]
There was a great cry for the "emergency basket," that had not been
opened yet. Mrs. Peterkin explained how for days the family had been
putting into it what might be needed, as soon as anything was thought
of. Everybody stopped to see its contents. It was carefully covered
with newspapers. First came out a backgammon-board. "That would be
useful," said Ann Maria, "if we have to spend the afternoon in
anybody's barn." Next, a pair of andirons. "What were they for?" "In
case of needing a fire in the woods," explained Solomon John. Then
came a volume of the Encyclopaedia. But it was the first volume,
Agamemnon now regretted, and contained only A and a part of B, and
nothing about rain or showers. Next, a bag of pea-nuts, put in by the
little boys, and Elizabeth Eliza's book of poetry, and a change of
boots for Mr. Peterkin; a small foot-rug in case the ground should be
damp; some paint-boxes of the little boys'; a box of fish-hooks for
Solomon John; an ink-bottle, carefully done up in a great deal of
newspaper, which was fortunate, as the ink was oozing out; some old
magazines, and a blacking-bottle; and at the bottom a sun-dial. It was
all very entertaining, and there seemed to be something for every
occasion but the present. Old Mr. Bromwick did not wonder the basket
was so heavy. It was all so interesting that nobody but the Tremletts
went down to the carriages.
[Illustration]
The sun was shining brighter than ever, and Ann Maria insisted on
setting up the sun-dial. Certainly there was no danger of a shower,
and they might as well go on with the picnic. But when Solomon John
and Ann Maria had arranged the sun-dial they asked everybody to look
at their watches, so that they might see if it was right. And then
came a great exclamation at the hour: "It was time they were all going
home!"
The lady from Philadelphia had been wrapping her shawl about her, as
she felt the sun was low. But nobody had any idea it was so late!
Well, they had left late, and went back a great many times, had
stopped sometimes to consult, and had been long on the road, and it
had taken a long time to fetch up the things; so it was no wonder it
was time to go away. But it had been a delightful picnic, after all.
THE PETERKINS' CHARADES.
Ever since the picnic the Peterkins had been wanting to have
"something" at their house in the way of entertainment. The little
boys wanted to get up a "great Exposition," to show to the people of
the place. But Mr. Peterkin thought it too great an effort to send to
foreign countries for "exhibits," and it was given up.
There was, however, a new water-trough needed on the town common, and
the ladies of the place thought it ought to be something
handsome,--something more than a common trough,--and they ought to
work for it.
Elizabeth Eliza had heard at Philadelphia how much women had done, and
she felt they ought to contribute to such a cause. She had an idea,
but she would not speak of it at first, not until after she had
written to the lady from Philadelphia. She had often thought, in many
cases, if they had asked her advice first, they might have saved
trouble.
Still, how could they ask advice before they themselves knew what they
wanted? It was very easy to ask advice, but you must first know what
to ask about. And again: Elizabeth Eliza felt you might have ideas,
but you could not always put them together. There was this idea of the
water-trough, and then this idea of getting some money for it. So she
began with writing to the lady from Philadelphia. The little boys
believed she spent enough for it in postage-stamps before it all came
out.
[Illustration]
But it did come out at last that the Peterkins were to have some
charades at their own house for the benefit of the needed
water-trough,--tickets sold only to especial friends. Ann Maria
Bromwick was to help act, because she could bring some old bonnets and
gowns that had been worn by an aged aunt years ago, and which they had
always kept. Elizabeth Eliza said that Solomon John would have to be a
Turk, and they must borrow all the red things and cashmere scarfs in
the place. She knew people would be willing to lend things.
Agamemnon thought you ought to get in something about the Hindoos,
they were such an odd people. Elizabeth Eliza said you must not have
it too odd, or people would not understand it, and she did not want
anything to frighten her mother. She had one word suggested by the
lady from Philadelphia in her letters,--the one that had "Turk" in
it,--but they ought to have two words.
"Oh, yes," Ann Maria said, "you must have two words; if the people
paid for their tickets they would want to get their money's worth."
Solomon John thought you might have "Hindoos"; the little boys could
color their faces brown, to look like Hindoos. You could have the
first scene an Irishman catching a hen, and then paying the
water-taxes for "dues," and then have the little boys for Hindoos.
A great many other words were talked of, but nothing seemed to suit.
There was a curtain, too, to be thought of, because the folding-doors
stuck when you tried to open and shut them. Agamemnon said that the
Pan-Elocutionists had a curtain they would probably lend John Osborne,
and so it was decided to ask John Osborne to help.
[Illustration]
If they had a curtain they ought to have a stage. Solomon John said he
was sure he had boards and nails enough, and it would be easy to make
a stage if John Osborne would help put it up.
All this talk was the day before the charades. In the midst of it Ann
Maria went over for her old bonnets and dresses and umbrellas, and
they spent the evening in trying on the various things,--such odd caps
and remarkable bonnets! Solomon John said they ought to have plenty of
bandboxes; if you only had bandboxes enough a charade was sure to go
off well; he had seen charades in Boston. Mrs. Peterkin said there
were plenty in their attic, and the little boys brought down piles of
them, and the back parlor was filled with costumes.
Ann Maria said she could bring over more things if she only knew what
they were going to act. Elizabeth Eliza told her to bring anything she
had,--it would all come of use.
The morning came, and the boards were collected for the stage.
Agamemnon and Solomon John gave themselves to the work, and John
Osborne helped zealously. He said the Pan-Elocutionists would lend a
scene also. There was a great clatter of bandboxes, and piles of
shawls in corners, and such a piece of work in getting up the curtain!
In the midst of it came in the little boys, shouting, "All the tickets
are sold, at ten cents each!"
"Seventy tickets sold!" exclaimed Agamemnon.
"Seven dollars for the water-trough!" said Elizabeth Eliza.
"And we do not know yet what we are going to act!" exclaimed Ann
Maria.
But everybody's attention had to be given to the scene that was going
up in the background, borrowed from the Pan-Elocutionists. It was
magnificent, and represented a forest.
"Where are we going to put seventy people?" exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin,
venturing, dismayed, into the heaps of shavings, and boards, and
litter.
The little boys exclaimed that a large part of the audience consisted
of boys, who would not take up much room. But how much clearing and
sweeping and moving of chairs was necessary before all could be made
ready! It was late, and some of the people had already come to secure
good seats, even before the actors had assembled.
"What are we going to act?" asked Ann Maria.
"I have been so torn with one thing and another," said Elizabeth
Eliza, "I haven't had time to think!"
"Haven't you the word yet?" asked John Osborne, for the audience was
flocking in, and the seats were filling up rapidly.
"I have got one word in my pocket," said Elizabeth Eliza, "in the
letter from the lady from Philadelphia. She sent me the parts of the
word. Solomon John is to be a Turk, but I don't yet understand the
whole of the word."
"You don't know the word, and the people are all here!" said John
Osborne, impatiently.
"Elizabeth Eliza!" exclaimed Ann Maria, "Solomon John says I'm to be a
Turkish slave, and I'll have to wear a veil. Do you know where the
veils are? You know I brought them over last night."
"Elizabeth Eliza! Solomon John wants you to send him the large
cashmere scarf!" exclaimed one of the little boys, coming in.
"Elizabeth Eliza! you must tell us what kind of faces to make up!"
cried another of the boys.
And the audience were heard meanwhile taking their seats on the other
side of the thin curtain.
"You sit in front, Mrs. Bromwick; you are a little hard of hearing;
sit where you can hear."
"And let Julia Fitch come where she can see," said another voice.
"And we have not any words for them to hear or see!" exclaimed John
Osborne, behind the curtain.
"Oh, I wish we'd never determined to have charades!" exclaimed
Elizabeth Eliza. "Can't we return the money?"
"They are all here; we must give them something!" said John Osborne,
heroically.
"And Solomon John is almost dressed," reported Ann Maria, winding a
veil around her head.
"Why don't we take Solomon John's word 'Hindoos' for the first?" said
Agamemnon.
[Illustration]
John Osborne agreed to go in the first, hunting the "hin," or
anything, and one of the little boys took the part of the hen, with
the help of a feather duster. The bell rang, and the first scene
began.
It was a great success. John Osborne's Irish was perfect. Nobody
guessed the word, for the hen crowed by mistake; but it received great
applause.
Mr. Peterkin came on in the second scene to receive the water-rates,
and made a long speech on taxation. He was interrupted by Ann Maria as
an old woman in a huge bonnet. She persisted in turning her back to
the audience, speaking so low nobody heard her; and Elizabeth Eliza,
who appeared in a more remarkable bonnet, was so alarmed she went
directly back, saying she had forgotten something. But this was
supposed to be the effect intended, and it was loudly cheered.
Then came a long delay, for the little boys brought out a number of
their friends to be browned for Hindoos. Ann Maria played on the piano
till the scene was ready. The curtain rose upon five brown boys done
up in blankets and turbans.
"I am thankful that is over," said Elizabeth Eliza, "for now we can
act my word. Only I don't myself know the whole."
"Never mind, let us act it," said John Osborne, "and the audience can
guess the whole."
"The first syllable must be the letter P," said Elizabeth Eliza, "and
we must have a school."
Agamemnon was master, and the little boys and their friends went on as
scholars. All the boys talked and shouted at once, acting their idea
of a school by flinging pea-nuts about, and scoffing at the master.
"They'll guess that to be 'row,'" said John Osborne, in despair;
"they'll never guess 'P'!"
[Illustration]
The next scene was gorgeous. Solomon John, as a Turk, reclined on John
Osborne's army-blanket. He had on a turban, and a long beard, and all
the family shawls. Ann Maria and Elizabeth Eliza were brought in to
him, veiled, by the little boys in their Hindoo costumes.
This was considered the great scene of the evening, though Elizabeth
Eliza was sure she did not know what to do,--whether to kneel or sit
down; she did not know whether Turkish women did sit down, and she
could not help laughing whenever she looked at Solomon John. He,
however, kept his solemnity. "I suppose I need not say much," he had
said, "for I shall be the 'Turk who was dreaming of the hour.'" But he
did order the little boys to bring sherbet, and when they brought it
without ice insisted they must have their heads cut off, and Ann Maria
fainted, and the scene closed.
"What are we to do now?" asked John Osborne, warming up to the
occasion.
"We must have an 'inn' scene," said Elizabeth Eliza, consulting her
letter; "two inns, if we can."
"We will have some travellers disgusted with one inn, and going to
another," said John Osborne.
[Illustration]