Produced by D. Alexander and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE WOODLAWN SERIES.
Bertie's Home:
OR,
THE WAY TO BE HAPPY.
BY MRS. MADELINE LESLIE.
BOSTON:
WOOLWORTH, AINSWORTH & COMPANY.
NEW YORK:
A. S. BARNES & COMPANY.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
A. R. BAKER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
[Illustration: Mr. Curtis tying Duke. Vol. I., p. 93.]
[Illustration: THE WOODLAWN SERIES.]
BERTIE; OR, THE WOODLAWN SERIES.
BY MRS. MADELINE LESLIE.
16mo. 6 vols., Illustrated.
I. BERTIE'S HOME.
II. BERTIE AND THE CARPENTERS.
III. BERTIE AND THE MASONS.
IV. BERITE AND THE PLUMBERS.
V. BERTIE AND THE PAINTERS.
VI. BERTIE AND THE GARDENERS.
TO
HARRY, NELLIE, AND WILLIE SAMPSON;
ALSO,
To the Memory of their Deceased Brothers and Sister,
BERTIE, FRANKEY AND EMMA,
THESE LITTLE BOOKS ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.
If the perusal prompt them and other readers to imitate the virtues of
our hero in his efforts to _be_ good, and to _do_ good, the wishes of
the author will be realized.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
THE RIDE, 11
CHAPTER II.
THE PURCHASE, 23
CHAPTER III.
WOODLAWN, 32
CHAPTER IV.
THE PLAN, 44
CHAPTER V.
THE DONKEY, 55
CHAPTER VI.
DRAGGING STONES, 64
CHAPTER VII.
THE BOY TEACHER, 77
CHAPTER VIII.
THE UNDERPINNING, 88
CHAPTER IX.
THE CELLAR, 90
CHAPTER X.
BERTIE AND WINNIE, 110
CHAPTER XI.
THE KIND BOY, 124
CHAPTER XII.
THE CROSS WORKMAN, 135
CHAPTER XIII.
THE NEW AVENUE, 148
Bertie's Home.
CHAPTER I.
THE RIDE.
When I was a child I used to glance at the first sentence in a new book
to see whether it looked interesting. If it began, "There was once a
boy, who lived in a fine house," I was encouraged to go on.
Now I wish to make these little books very interesting to my young
readers. I want to have the words so simple that they can be read and
not skipped over, and at the same time my object is to give you useful
information. As you will learn, I am to tell you in these six volumes
many things about building a house, and to explain the different kinds
of labor or trades which are necessary for such a purpose; but first I
shall introduce you to the family of Mr. Curtis, a gentleman who loves
children and whom I am sure you will love before the book is finished.
Quite a number of years ago, a carriage drawn by two dapple-gray horses
was passing slowly through the main street of a beautiful village, which
I shall call Oxford.
There were five persons in it. On the front seat was a gentleman whose
keen, sparkling eye and laughing mouth always made people wish to learn
more of him. By his side were two children, Herbert and Winifred, or,
as they were usually called, Bertie and Winnie.
The back seat was occupied by Mrs. Curtis and her nurse. The lady was
just recovering from a long and painful illness, and still looked very
pale. She was supported by cushions, and sometimes as the carriage
rolled slowly over the smooth gravelled road she fell asleep. But now
Mrs. Curtis was wide awake, her eyes gazing through the large glass in
the side of the carriage at the beautiful prospect before them.
"Oh, look at that lake!" she exclaimed; "isn't it lovely? See the wooded
banks, and that pretty green slope. I've dreamed of a home in just such
a spot."
Mr. Curtis stopped the horses, and leaning from the carriage, gazed all
about him. It was indeed a lovely view. The village of Oxford was
situated in a valley sheltered on three sides by hills; and here in a
little cleft between them a small lake lay nestled, almost shut from
view by the thick trees which grew down close to the banks.
As the gentleman gazed right and left, his eye at last rested on a
slight elevation where the ground was more open, and from which it ran
down with a gentle slope to the water. The green here and there was
dotted with a fine spreading elm, or a huge oak, which looked as if they
might have weathered the storms of a hundred years.
"What are you stopping so long for, papa?" asked Bertie, wondering at
his father's unusual silence.
He did not seem to hear the question, for he presently turned to his
wife and asked, smiling,--
"Would you like a house on that hill, Cecilia? There, just beyond the
cluster of chestnut trees, is the spot I should choose."
"Oh, Lawrence! everything seems so quiet and peaceful in this neat
village, a home there would be almost a paradise."
After one more glance at the fresh greensward, where the summer sun was
casting such pleasant shadows under the grand old trees, Mr. Curtis
spoke to the horses to go on, the road winding round the lake so that
except for the trees they could have seen it for half a mile.
Presently he stopped a man at the side of the road, and asked,--
"Is there a tavern in this village?"
"No, sir," was the smiling reply; "there's little need of a tavern here,
so far away from the world."
"Is there any place where I could bait my horses and get a dinner for
my family?"
"Yes, sir; there's a farm-house a quarter of a mile back, where
travellers sometimes stop. If they're not through dinner, they'll give
you some and welcome."
"Oh, sir," said Mrs. Curtis, "we couldn't think of intruding unless they
would allow us to pay them."
The man walked on, after describing the house, laughing to himself.
The house stood on the main street leading to the city, the villagers
finding ready access thereto by a stage-coach running twice a day.
Everything about the farm looked neat and thriving. It was almost the
only house in the village which exhibited any pretensions to elegance.
It had a bow window on the south side, and three Luthern windows in the
roof. There was a garden filled with flowers, and at the side a road or
avenue leading to the immense barns in the rear.
[Illustration: Mr. Taylor's Farm-house. Vol. I. p. 20.]
In answer to Mr. Curtis' knock, a young girl opened the door, and
presently called her mother to answer the question whether they could
put up there for an hour.
"Walk right in," she answered, cordially; "dinner will be ready in a few
minutes. If you'll please, sir, to drive the horses round to the barn,
one of our men will take care of them."
Mrs. Curtis was soon resting on a sofa in a cool, pleasant parlor,
inhaling the fragrance of the June roses, which came through the open
window; the children were running about the farm-yard, almost wild with
delight, and nurse was following them, nearly as much pleased as they
were.