“THE FINNY-CASTICS.”
POLLIO didn’t learn much during his first term at school, except
mischief. He learned to whoop like a wild Indian, and stand on his head
like the clown at a circus. Eliza said that whoop was “enough to split
her ears in two,” and he never entered the house without it.
But it was midsummer now, and vacation had begun. Fourth of July was
coming; and Judge Pitcher, before going away to attend court, had
bought Teddy and Pollio a good supply of pin-wheels and fire-crackers.
Posy did not fancy such noisy playthings, and he had given _her_ some
money to buy “Hop-clover” a dress.
It would not be the Fourth till to-morrow; but Pollio had fired off
nearly all his crackers, and was now frightening Posy by climbing the
ridge-pole of the barn. While she was running back and forth, clasping
her hands, and begging him to come down, their kind old Quaker friend,
Mr. Littlefield, drove up to the gate.
“Hurry, hurry!” cried Posy: “the _Earthquake’s_ coming.”
The Quaker laughed to hear himself called an _earthquake_: though
he did shake the floor a little when he walked; for he was a fleshy
man,—as large as Judge Pitcher.
“How does thee do, Josephine?” said he, patting her curls as he entered
the yard. “Where’s thy little brother?”
Then, spying him on the roof of the barn, he exclaimed, “Napoleon,
Napoleon, come down here! Thee shouldn’t play the monkey like that!”
“Napoleon” obeyed quickly.
“Now tell me what makes thee climb such high places? Thee’ll break thy
neck yet.”
“Oh! I told Posy I was going to; and you wouldn’t have me tell her a
lie, would you?” replied Pollio with a very serious face.
The Quaker would not allow himself to smile at this. “Is thy mother
willing to have thee do so?”
Pollio knew she was not; and he hung his head, and began to beat the
dirt in the road with a stick. He was very fond of Mr. Littlefield, and
did not like to have the good man know he ever did wrong.
“Stop, my son! Is it possible thee kills snakes?”
For Pollio was crushing a little snake with his stick.
“No, sir: ’twas dead in the first place, and I just killed it a little
more.”
The Quaker smiled, and went into the house with the children. He
staid to tea; and at the table he observed once or twice that Pollio
did not obey his mother the very moment she spoke, and he feared his
little pet was growing naughty. “Napoleon,” said he, as the little boy
came skipping out after supper to see him mount his horse. (He would
never call him Pollio, though he disliked his real name, for “Napoleon
Bonaparte was a fighting-man.”) “Napoleon!”
“Sir?” said Pollio.
“Thee is a great favorite of mine, Napoleon; but I have a word to say
against thy conduct to-day.”
Pollio cast down his eyes. Mr. Littlefield was an old-fashioned man,
who did not use very good grammar; but everybody loved him dearly, and
Pollio would rather have been chidden by almost any one else.
“Thee has one of the best mothers that ever lived, my boy. I want thee
always to mind thy mother.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And remember this: A child that won’t mind its mother won’t mind its
God!”
“Click, clack,” went the horse’s hoofs; and Pollio stood on the fence
till horse and rider were far out of sight. Still these words rang in
his ears:—
“A child that won’t mind its mother won’t mind its God.”
Next morning he and Teddy were wakened by the firing of guns; and both
sprang out of bed with a bound, and Pollio with a “whoop.” He had a
new “pair o’ clo’es,” which he was not to wear till next Sunday; but
I grieve to say, that, thinking he could not do too much for his
country, he put them on, and ran down stairs after Teddy.
Posy, who slept in the next room with Edith, wished also to do
something for her country, but fell asleep, and forgot it.
The two boys rushed out of doors as if there were no time to be lost;
but it was so very early that nobody was to be seen but Beppo, and Muff
the gray cat, whose tail had a yellow tip, as if it had been scorched.
The village-boys, who had been firing guns and ringing bells, had gone
to bed to make up their sleep; and there was no sound now except from
time to time the crowing of a cock, or the braying of Judge Pitcher’s
donkey, which Pollio called by mistake “the Yankee.”
There were “fairies’ tablecloths” on the grass,—I mean spiders’
webs,—covered with dew: the flowers hung their heads, and the trees
hardly stirred. The world did not look natural to the two little boys
at this early hour.
“Let’s go in the barn and take a nap,” yawned Teddy, not half as wide
awake as his brother.
“How now, boys? what makes you so sober?” called out somebody from the
piazza. “Come up here and see what I’ve got for you.”
The words were very refreshing; but at the same time Nunky let fly
three beautiful red, white, and blue balloons, the largest and gayest
ever seen.
Teddy was as wide awake now as Pollio, and cut as many capers of
delight.
“So you like them, do you?” laughed Nunky. “They are for you and Posy,
from your ‘thee-and-thou friend.’”
“Oh! he’s the goodest man that ever lived, ’cept you!” shouted Pollio.
“Can’t you say thank you?”
“Fank you,” said Pollio with a fearful pull at his front-hair; and over
he went in a somerset.
The strings were long, and the balloons flew up like birds into the
morning sky.
“Oh, if they had only made such things when I was a boy! It’s sad to
think how much I’ve lost!” said Nunky with a make-believe sigh.
Pollio was very sorry for his uncle. It must be hard to grow up and not
care for balloons! Nunky would never, never, be a boy again: his good
times were over.
“Poor Nunky! He has got to stay old,” thought Pollio as the young man
walked into the house with a bounding step.
He was very far from old, and, as for good times, felt much happier
than either of his little nephews, if they had only known it. Teddy
had gone in swimming the day before without leave, and naughty Pollio
had just got a grass stain on the knees of his new “pair o’ clo’es;” so
how could either of the boys be quite happy?
When they went in to breakfast, their mother and aunt Ann were talking
about the Fantastics.
“Billy Barstow and a few other wild boys are to ride colts and mules,”
said aunt Ann; “and I’m afraid somebody will get hurt.”
“Oh, no! everybody will keep out of the way,” returned uncle Rufus.
“The Fantastics will pass by at eight o’clock, and then the danger will
be over.”
“I want to see the ‘Finny-castics,’” said Pollio, flourishing his fork.
“Do you know what they are, General?”
“Yes, sir. Wigs on their faces, and things; but they won’t scare _me_ a
bit!”
“No, they won’t scare you if you stand close by Nunky or me,” said
mamma; “but you must keep out of the streets.”
“Now, little ones,” added she, holding up a warning finger as they all
left the table, “I have your father’s orders that you are not to go off
the grounds to-day, or even out of the yard, without leave. You can see
the Fantastics from the fence perfectly well; but remember you are not
to go into the street, Pollio. Do you hear?”
“Yes, mamma.”
He rushed past her as he spoke, lest she should see his Sunday clothes.
He had heard all she said, and fully intended to obey; but what he
wanted just now was to teach Posy to fly her new balloon.
She was quite as pleased with it as he had expected.
“Which do you love best, Posy,—Nunky, or the thee-and-thou man?”
“Which gave me the b’loon?”
“Mr. Littlefield.”
“Then I love _him_ best.”
As the gay toys rose higher and higher, she thought how her angel
sister Alice would like them, and wondered if this wasn’t a good time
to send her a present.
Pollio thought not. He didn’t believe they could find a string in town
long enough to reach to heaven.
“Why Posy,” said he with some contempt for her ignorance, “heaven’s the
other side the moon: it’s more’n twenty miles off.”
Posy gave it up then: twenty miles was too far. And she was rather glad
she need not part with her balloon, even to the “heaven-folks.”
In talking, Pollio, who always flourished his arms a great deal, had
let go the string; and now his balloon had flown up, up, out of reach.
Oh, dear! It seemed so glad to go, like a bird let out of a cage! How
far would it fly? Pollio forgot entirely that he was forbidden to leave
the yard, and darted out, leaving little Posy gazing up, half hoping
the baby would get a present, after all.
The balloon was a long time in coming down; but Pollio found it at last
sticking fast to the top of the fence on the other side of the street,
quarter of a mile from home. It was entirely ruined, of course.
“Well, I never!” sighed he, surveying it mournfully.
In climbing back over the sharp-pointed fence, he tore his new clothes
badly; but by that time bugles and tin horns were sounding in the
distance, and he could see a moving black mass, which he knew must be
the Fantastics.
“Guess I’ll stay here and watch ’em come up,” thought he, rubbing
the dirt off his knees. “Oh, but mamma said I mustn’t!” was his next
thought.
“There! God spoke to me then!” whispered he to himself with a look of
awe; for he had never forgotten Nunky’s talk about “God’s voice.” “_He_
spoke to me then: I _felt_ him speak!”
Pollio stood for a moment with his hand on his “jag-knife pocket.” So
far, he had not meant to do wrong. He had run out of the yard and down
the street without once thinking of his mother’s warning, and, if he
would go back now, she was sure to forgive him. But _would_ he go back?
He looked down the street. The Fantastics were so near by this time,
that he could discern the horses. Wouldn’t it be fun to wait till they
came in sight, and then throw up his cap and shout!
“Poh! anybody must be a baby to be afraid of the ‘Finny-castics’!
Mamma fought I’d better stay side of _her_!” Then he remembered Mr.
Littlefield’s words: “The child that won’t mind its mother won’t mind
its God;” and there was another thump under the “jag-knife pocket.”
He knew very well he ought to run back to the house before the
“Finny-castics” got any nearer; but the noise of the trumpets and
tin pans was so lively, that it set his feet dancing, and his arms
flying. He could see his mother and all the rest of the family in the
front-yard; though they could not see him, for he was hidden by a clump
of trees and a bend in the road.
“I won’t stop—yes, I will! I’ll go home—no, I won’t!”
Thus his thoughts swung back and forth; and, before he had made up his
mind whether to stay or not, he _had_ staid, and the “Finny-castics,”
with their horses and mules, were close at hand.
Pollio had seen the same sight the year before, but not so near; oh,
not _half_ so near! And weren’t they awful?
They did not look like men, but like all sorts of horrid creatures that
you dream of at night, after eating too much supper. Some wore coats
and hats; and some wore gowns and bonnets, with paper flowers the size
of dinner-plates, and bunches of feathers as big as brooms.
But it was not the dress Pollio minded, so much as the faces. How they
did stare at him, and grin at him, those faces!—with mouths wide
enough to take him right in, with monstrous noses, puffed cheeks,
glaring eyes,—white faces, yellow faces, monkey’s faces, and faces as
black as a shoe.
Pollio knew that these were all masks, or what he called “wigs,” and
that they were worn by harmless Rosewood boys, who did it only for fun.
Pollio knew this well enough. But you can’t always recollect all you
know: you hardly ever can when you are taken by surprise. Before he
stopped to think, he screamed; but, after he had screamed, he laughed
to think how silly it was.
“Poh, nothing but _wigs_! Glad Posy isn’t here. Guess _she’d_ be
scared!”
While he stood trembling and gazing, he saw an object that fairly made
his hair stand on end. It was Billy Barstow, with a wolf’s head on his
shoulders, and on the head a big ruffled cap. It was the very image of
the wolf that ate up Red Riding Hood.
Billy was seated on a frisky colt that wouldn’t walk soberly along with
the horses and mules, but danced round and round on one side of the
procession. Pollio never thought of being afraid of the colt; but the
wolf with the frilled cap on was fearful.
“Rum te dum diddlety dum! Hullo, my little man! Get up here and ride?”
cried the wolf, shaking his cap-strings, opening his jaws, and showing
his long white teeth.
Pollio knew it wasn’t a wolf; for it drummed with its hands on a tin
pan. But, oh, it did _seem_ awful! It seemed exactly like _the_ wolf
that pretended to be Red Riding Hood’s grandmother; and, if poor Red
Riding Hood felt much worse than Pollio, I am sorry for her.
“Oh, oh! lemme ’lone!” screamed the little fellow, running, or trying
to run; for he was in such a panic that his legs hardly moved, except
to tremble.
Instead of being sorry that he had frightened a poor little child,
Billy Barstow thought it fine sport, and turned his colt round to chase
Pollio. Cruel Billy! But no: he did not mean to be cruel; he was only
thoughtless. Billy _never_ stopped to think.
The colt, as full of fun as his master, pranced up and down, then
whirled about, reared, and planted his fore-feet upon Pollio, who had
fallen flat on the ground.
It was now Billy Barstow’s turn to be frightened; for the child lay as
still as if he were dead.
“Help, help!” screamed Billy. But the Fantastics had gone some distance
by this time, and were making such a din with their pans and horns,
that they scarcely heard the scream; or, if any of them did hear it, I
suppose they thought Billy was a noisy fellow not worth minding.
Mrs. Pitcher, aunt Ann, Nunky, and the children, were still standing in
the yard. They had seen the colt prancing round and round; and aunt Ann
had said, “I’m so glad none of the children are out there!” for they
all thought Pollio was in the yard. Nobody had missed him yet, not even
Posy.
So when they heard the wolf call out “Help, help!” they only laughed,
and thought it was some of Billy’s nonsense. But in half a minute more
the wolf had ridden to the gate with flying cap-ruffles, and shouted
out through his long white teeth,—
“Quick, quick! He’ll be dead before you get there! And I can’t leave my
colt! Run,—run to Pollio!”
Wasn’t it too bad for Billy to tell the story in that dreadful way,
especially as he didn’t really know whether Pollio was much hurt or
not? But it was just like Billy.
Everybody was terribly frightened; and Posy screamed so, that Edith had
to hold her, while the others ran as fast as they could down the street
to Pollio.
He was not killed: they knew that very soon, for he cried lustily.
“O my precious!” said mamma, kneeling beside him, “tell me where you
are hurt. Is it your head?”
But the child was too bewildered to answer. He did not seem to know
what had happened, only it was something horrible, and he could not
stir.
“It’s of no use talking to him yet, sister Frances: the first thing is
to get him home,” said Nunky. “Here, Dick, I’ll try to take him up in
my arms if you’ll help by raising his feet.”
Dick did his best, but he hurt Pollio; and aunt Ann had to take Dick’s
place, because her touch was more gentle. She and Nunky, between them,
managed somehow to get the child home, though it was hard work; and
they were forced to walk very slowly. Pollio groaned and sobbed all the
way.
“Why doesn’t he speak? I’m afraid his head is hurt,” said his mother,
walking beside him very anxiously.
“Oh! he’ll talk by and by, and tell us all about it: he’s a little
stunned now,” replied Nunky, who never thought any thing was quite as
bad as it seemed.