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[Illustration: Frontispiece.--The Funeral, p. 52]
LITTLE PITCHER-STORIES.
BABY PITCHER'S TRIALS.
BY
MRS. MAY.
BOSTON:
PUBLISHED BY CLARK & FISKE,
32 CORNHILL.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by
CLARK & FISKE,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
How the Little Pitcher made Sunshine, 7
CHAPTER II.
Flora Waits for the Sun to Drink up the Water, 19
CHAPTER III.
The Story of the Poor Robin, 30
CHAPTER IV.
"Going to Have a Funeral," 41
CHAPTER V.
Bertie Meets Jack Midnight at the Spring, 53
CHAPTER VI.
A Deadly Snare for the Muskrat, 65
CHAPTER VII.
Something in the Trap, 76
CHAPTER VIII.
Jack Pulls off the Warm Jacket, 84
CHAPTER IX.
Flora in Exile, 96
CHAPTER X.
Flora Goes to Ride in the Little Blue Cart, 105
CHAPTER XI.
She says Good-bye to the Soap Man, 114
CHAPTER XII.
And Loses her Way, 124
CHAPTER XIII.
Charley Swallows the Rooster, 133
CHAPTER XIV.
Happy Towzer, 142
CHAPTER XV.
Flora Never Opens the Big Gate, 152
BABY PITCHER'S TRIALS.
CHAPTER I.
HOW THE LITTLE PRINCESS MADE SUNSHINE.
It was raining fast, and it had rained for two days. This was the third.
Flora had become tired of the leaden sky and the wet earth. She had
watched the moving clouds and the swaying branches of the trees long
enough, and now she was ready for fair weather. But it seemed as if fair
weather would never come, and she looked in vain for a bit of blue sky.
There was not even a light streak. It was stormy without and it was
stormy within. The gray side of the sky was all that could be seen, and
the gray side of Flora's temper was out also. There was a sunny side to
both, but that was carefully hidden by the sober clouds.
Flora was tired of the big drops that chased each other down the pane.
She was tired of trying to look abroad through the wet glass and the
mist. When she did get a glimpse of the outer world there was nothing to
see, and that was the worst of it. There was nothing but muddy roads,
pools of water and little patches of green grass. It was not to be
borne.
Flora crept down from her high chair to the lowly footstool, leaned her
head upon her hand and sighed. Sister Amy had gone to school, and
Charley and Bertie were big boys. Of course they could go anywhere in
any weather, with "yubber" boots. How she envied them! Only she the
youngest of the flock, the Baby Pitcher, was forced to stay at home
because it rained. So she sighed. Mamma heard the sigh and said
inquiringly, "Well?"
"If I was a lady," said Flora, "a certain true lady, I wouldn't stay in
for the weather. I would put on my water-prooth and go a-fishing."
"In the rain?"
"I would."
Mamma laughed. Now Flora was not in a mood to be laughed at, so she shut
her eyes to keep back the tears, for she knew they would come if she did
not shut the covers down tightly. She did not keep them all back
however, for mamma saw two or three rolling slowly down her little
girl's cheek.
"Wouldn't go fishing without a water-prooth," she added, petulantly;
"might fall in and get wet."
Mamma did not laugh now. She was very grave. She had not had an easy
time of it since falling weather set in. She could do nothing right. All
her efforts had failed to amuse Flora. So mamma sighed.
Flora, forgetting that she must keep the covers shut down tightly,
opened wide her eyes and was astonished. Mamma looked so very sober. Was
she too going to cry because the pleasant sunshine staid away so long?
"I wouldn't," she said, earnestly. Mamma looked up. "I never would cry
for the rain," hastily brushing the moisture from her own cheek. "Ladies
don't, nor good children; only cross ones."
"I am glad to hear it," said mamma; but she did not smile.
"It will be pleasant when it clears off, I guess; don't you?"
"It generally is," said mamma, quietly; and then she went on with her
work and paid no more attention to Flora. Now that was unusual conduct.
What did mamma mean? In thinking about it, Flora forgot her own
troubles, and forgot all about the rain, though at that moment it was
beating fiercely against the window, and the cold wind was begging to
come in. By and by she carried the footstool to her mother's side and
seated herself demurely.
"I am going to tell you a story," she said. "It is a story, but it is
the truth, too. Want to hear it?"
Mamma assented.
"Well. Once, a good while ago, almost as much as a week, somebody went
a-fishing. It wasn't Charley or Bertie or Amy or me. His mother told him
never to do it because he might tumble in, you know. But he did; he
went."
"What a naughty boy!" said mamma, gravely.
"But he wasn't a boy."
"Excuse me," said mamma, "I thought he was."
"And he wasn't a girl."
"No?"
"No. You could never guess what he was."
"Then you will have to tell me."
"He was a fly."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, he was a fly; a sure enough fly. And where do you think the pond
was? Not a truly pond, but play it was, you know."
"It might have been the sirup pitcher or the plum jar. Flies are very
fond of sweets."
"But it wasn't. It was the cream jug. He was trying to catch some milk
and he tumbled in."
"What a pity!"
"Yes, and his mamma wasn't there, and the milk drownded him. And I hope
he will remember it as long as he lives, and never do so any more.
Wasn't that a good story?"
"It was a very good story."
"Did it make you feel better?"
"A great deal better; and now I will tell you a story."
"Oh, goody!"
Flora brushed the curls back from her face and prepared to listen.
"Once upon a time," said mamma.
"Long ago?"
"Not so very long ago."
"Much as a week?"
"Oh, no; not so much as a week. We will say about two days."
"Well."
"Once upon a time--"
"About two days ago?"
"Yes, dear. In a little white palace no larger than this house, there
lived a king and a queen, a tall princess and a little princess."
"Oh oo!" said Flora.
"And the king could not always remain in the pretty palace, because it
was necessary for him to go abroad to provide food and clothing for his
family. The queen, the tall princess and the little princess, were his
family."
"Yes," said Flora.
"And the tall princess could not always stay in the palace, because she
expected to be a queen herself some day, and her mamma--I mean the
queen--wanted her to be a wise one; so she sent her away to school every
morning. But the queen and the little princess stayed in the palace, and
it often happened that they were left at home together."
"Just like us."
"Yes, dear. The princess used to run about and play out of doors like
other little girls when the weather was pleasant, and when it was not
she amused herself in doors with her toys and her pets."
"Did she have a white mouse, do you think?"
"I think she had a white mouse."
"And a grandma?"
"I am almost certain that she had a grandma."
"But the grandma did not live in the palace?"
"Oh, no. The grandma lived in a house not far from the palace, and the
tall princess and the little princess used to visit her almost every
day."
"Well."
"The queen and the little princess were very happy together until
something happened. It was a long storm that happened, and there was no
sunshine in the palace for more than two days."
Flora, reminded of the rain, glanced at the window against which the big
drops were rattling merrily, but quickly turned to mamma again, for she
did not wish to lose one word of the story.
"Now when the sun did not shine in the palace it was a very gloomy
place, not like a palace at all, and the queen was sad and the princess
unhappy. The princess did not know why she was unhappy, but the queen
knew. It was because there was no sunshine to make little faces look
pleasant and cheerful. It made the queen sad to see the little princess
unhappy and discontented, so she thought she would try to make some
sunshine."
"Did she?"
"No," said mamma. "I am sorry to say that the poor queen worked very
hard, but she had forgotten how to make it."
"Too bad!" said Flora.
"But when the poor queen was quite discouraged the little princess
thought that she would try; and what her poor mamma--I mean the
queen--had failed to do, she did. The little princess made the
sunshine."
"Oh, goody!" exclaimed Flora, clapping her hands. "How did she do it?"
"Why," said mamma, smiling, and putting her arm round the little girl's
neck, "she brought her footstool to the queen's side and told the queen
a story."
"Just like me!"
"Yes, dear. And the queen was very happy because the palace was no
longer dark and gloomy; it was bright with the sunshine her little girl
had made."
"The princess, you mean."
"The princess was a little girl."
"And was the queen a lady?"
"The queen was the little girl's mamma."
"Oh, I know!" said Flora, jumping about in high glee, "I am the little
princess and you are the queen, and this is the palace."
"Yes," said mamma.
"And papa is the king, and sister is the tall princess."
"Yes, dear."
"And I hope," she added, earnestly, "that the princess will never forget
that she knows how to make sunshine."
"The queen hopes so too," said mamma.