now even to think about it. One morning I begged to go back to the
hotel and rest, and nurse was so disappointed that I told her she
could go out and I would stay alone. I dug around in my trunk and
got rather homesick, looking at the things I had at home. I found
some jacks but no ball, so I thought I would go down to a near-by
shop, and buy one. I slipped down and out, before I had time to
think about mother making me promise not to go anywhere alone. I
turned a corner or two, but didn't find the right kind of a shop.
It was cloudy, and sort of foggy, and crowds and crowds of people
were pushing along. I knew all at once that I was lost, and I began
to feel a lump in my throat, bigger than any ball you ever saw, and
just then I saw a tall man coming towards me. I saw only his legs,
but they looked so Americanish that I rushed up, and said, 'Please
take me to the L---- Hotel,' He stopped at once and said, 'Well, I
certainly will; I am going there myself.' He was a minister from
New York. He laughed when I told him about the jacks, and then he
talked to me in such a nice way about going out alone, that it made
a great impression on me. I found mother and nurse in such a state
when I got back. I was kissed and then put to bed to eat my supper,
but the minister came to call in the evening, and when I had
promised never to do such a thing again, they let me get up. He was
so nice, and brought me a ball. I play jacks every day now, and
think of America and nice 'things like that. I shall be glad to get
there again.
"Yours truly,
"GLADYS.
"P.S.--I can probably beat you at jacks when I get back, I practice
so much."
"I'll get mine out to-day," said Ethelwyn, "and we'll see whether she
can or not. When will she come home, mother?"
But mother was reading Aunty Stevens's letter, and did not hear.
"The Home is getting on beautifully," she said presently. "There are
ten pale little children out there now. Dick is quite well and strong
again, and helps with the work in every way. They are very anxious that
we shall come on this summer."
"O let's; for my birthday," said Ethelwyn. "Can't we, mother?"
"I will see. But Grandmother Van Stark would like one of you to come out
and stay with her for a few days. Peter is coming in this afternoon and
will take one of you out."
"O me!" they cried at once.
"Let's pull straws," suggested Ethelwyn; so she ran to find the broom.
It was she who drew the longest straw, and Beth drew a long breath,
saying with cheerful philosophy, "Well, I am thankful not to leave
mother. I'd prob'ly cry in the night, and worry dear grandmother." So
every one was satisfied, and Ethelwyn, dimpling delightfully under her
broad white pique hat, bade them good-bye, and took her place beside
Peter in the roomy old phaeton.
"Are you any relation of St. Peter's?" she asked politely, after they
were well on the way.
"Nobody ever thought so," said Peter, looking down at her with a twinkle
in his eye.
"Well, I didn't know," she said. "I thought I'd like to ask you some
questions about him if you were. We have had a good deal about him at
Sunday-school lately. I'm studying my lessons nowadays for a prize; they
are going to give a sacrilegious picture to the child that knows her
verses the best by Easter, and I think maybe I'll get it, for I'm only
about next to the worst now."
"How many are there of you?"
"O, a lot; but if I do get it, I shall ask for a goat and cart instead.
We have plenty of pictures at home, but we are much in need of a goat
and cart."
Peter had a peculiar habit, Ethelwyn afterwards told her grandmother, of
shaking after she had talked to him awhile, and gurgling down in his
throat. She felt sorry for him. "He was prob'ly not feeling well; maybe
what Aunt Mandy calls chilling," she said.
She found grandmother making pumpkin pies, for the minister and his wife
were coming to dinner the next day. Grandmother was famous for making
pumpkin pies, and never allowed any one else to make them.
"It's my grandmother's recipe," she said, and Ethelwyn nearly fell off
her chair trying to imagine grandmother's grandmother.
"I shouldn't suppose they would have been discovered then," she said,
after a struggle. "Pumpkin pies don't go out of style like clothes, do
they, grandmother?"
"Mine never have," said grandmother proudly. "I suppose Mandy never
makes pumpkin pies."
"Yes she does, but they don't grow in yellow watermelons; they live in
tin cans."
"Pooh!" said grandmother, "they can't hold a candle to these."
"No, but why would they want to?"
"Hand me that japanned box with the spices, please, dear. Now you'll see
the advantage of doing this sort of thing yourself; here are mustard and
pepper boxes in this other japanned box, but I know just where they
always stand, so I could get up in the night and make no mistake."
Just then grandmother was called away from the kitchen.
"Don't meddle and get into mischief, will you, deary?" she said. And
Ethelwyn promised.
She intended to keep her word, but while she was smelling the spices,
it struck her that it would be a good joke to season the pies from the
other box. "Like an April fool," she thought; so she took a spoon and
measured in a liberal supply of mustard and red pepper; then she went
out into the yard.
It was fortunate that the minister and his new wife were not coming
until the next day. Ethelwyn, however, spent a very unhappy afternoon.
That night she woke up sobbing, and crawled into grandmother's big bed.
"What's the matter, child?" said grandmother, sitting up in bed with a
start. "Are you sick?"
"Yes, grandmother, awful! You'll never like me again, I know." And then
she told her about the pumpkin pies.
"Well, child, I am thankful you told me," said grandmother with a sigh,
"for when you are as old as I am, and have a reputation for doing
things, it goes hard to make a failure of them, and I should have been
much mortified. Fortunately there are plenty of pie shells, and there is
more pumpkin steamed, so that I can season and put them together in the
morning. But I am glad, dear child, that your conscience wouldn't let
you sleep comfortably until you had told; be careful, however, never
again to break your word. Remember the Van Starks' watchword, 'Love,
Truth, and Honor.' Now cuddle down here and go to sleep."
Ethelwyn, feeling much relieved, slept in the canopy bed with
grandmother, until long past daylight. When she came down-stairs, the
great golden pies were coming out of the oven, and the minister and his
wife violated propriety and made Grandmother Van Stark proud and happy
by eating two pieces each.
_CHAPTER XVII_
_Out at Grandmother's_
Grandmother's house, I tell you most emphatic,
Is full of good times from cellar to the attic.
There came to Grandmother Van Stark's one day, a forlorn black tramp
kitten, mewing dismally.
Ethelwyn, who loved kittens devotedly, was melted to the verge of tears
by his wailing appeals in a minor key; so she cuddled him and fed him on
Lady Babby's creamy, foamy milk. In the intervals of eating, however, he
still wailed like a lost soul.
"The critter don't stop crying long enough to catch a mouse," said cook,
eyeing the disconsolate bundle of grief with strong disfavor.
"He almost did this morning, Hannah," said Ethelwyn in his defense. "I
saw him watching a hole, and he's so little yet, I grabbed him away.
Besides, I don't like mice myself, and I was so afraid I'd see one or
two."
"No danger; his bawling will keep them away," said Hannah, grimly.
"O, well then, his crying is some good, after all," returned Ethelwyn,
triumphantly. "That's a good deal nicer than killing the poor little
things."
"Humph!" said Hannah.
But Grandmother Van Stark had given orders that Johnny Bear--so named
from one of Ernest Thompson-Seton's illustrations, which Ethelwyn
thought he resembled--was to be treated tenderly and fed often, because
Ethelwyn loved him, and she herself loved to feed hungry people and
animals.
But one morning there was a great commotion over the discovery that a
mouse had been in Grandmother Van Stark's room.
"This is a chance for Johnny Bear to make a reputation as a mouser,"
said grandmother. "We will take him up-stairs to-night and he shall have
a chance to catch that mouse."
"O grandmother, I'm sure he will," said Ethelwyn, earnestly; so she
talked to him that afternoon about it.
It had rained in the afternoon,--a cold drizzly rain, so Nancy had
lighted a little snapping wood-fire in Grandmother Van Stark's
sitting-room. Into this opened the sleeping room in which was Ethelwyn's
small bed, and the big mahogany tester bed, where Grandmother Van Stark
had slept for more years than Ethelwyn could imagine.
Ethelwyn put Johnny Bear and his basket in front of the grate. It was
so "comfy" that he stopped yowling at once and began to purr.
"How does middle night look, Nancy?" said Ethelwyn, as she lay in her
little brass bed, watching the dancing shadows on the wall.
"Like any other time, only stiller," replied Nancy. "Go to sleep now,
Miss Ethelwyn."
So Ethelwyn presently fell asleep and woke up with a little start just
as the clock was striking twelve.
Johnny Bear was stirring around uneasily in the other room. He had been
very still; his stomach was full, and his body warm, so that there
really was no possible excuse for making a noise. In fact, there was a
faint scratching in the closet that concentrated his attention, and
froze him into a statue of silence.
Presently he pounced, and a little shriek, piteous and faint, told the
story. Then Johnny Bear played ball with his victim, and ran up and
down the room as gaily as if he had never known what it was to cry.
But all at once something went wrong; a crackle in the grate sent a
glowing coal over the fender and on the rug, where it smoldered and
smoked, and then ran out a little tongue of flame. So Johnny Bear began
to mew again loudly and uneasily, the clock struck twelve, and Ethelwyn
awoke.
"Hush, Johnny Bear, dear," she said softly from the other room; "you'll
wake up grandmother."
But grandmother was awake, and lifted her head just in time to see the
tongue of fire.
She was over the side of the bed in a minute, and, snatching up a
pitcher of water, dashed it over the rug.
Ethelwyn jumped up too and snatched Johnny Bear in her arms.
"I don't think twelve o'clock at night looks stiller, do you,
grandmother?" she asked. "Aren't you glad Johnny Bear came to live with
us, and--oh! oh!" he cried, for she had stepped on a soft little mouse,
lying quite still now on the floor.
"O Johnny, how could you?" she said sorrowfully, quite forgetting her
instructions to him in the afternoon.
"But he is brave, isn't he, grandmother?"
"Very," said grandmother, "and he shall have a saucer of cream in the
morning. But come now, chicken; I've put out the fire, and covered the
other, so I think we can sleep in peace."
So they both went to sleep, and Johnny Bear from that time on wept no
more.
The next morning, Ethelwyn joyfully told Hannah and Peter all about it.
Their praise was unstinted enough to suit even her swelling heart, and
she proudly took the saucer of cream to Johnny, saying, "There,
darling, everybody loves you now, even Peter and Hannah and Nancy,
because you did your duty so nobly. I knew you would, so I loved you all
the time."
"Miss Ethelwyn," said Nancy, appearing, "there are callers in the
drawing-room, and your grandmother wishes you to come in."
Ethelwyn went in, and was presented to several of the ladies of the
church, who had come to see about a reception to be given to the
clergyman and his new young wife. It was, Ethelwyn found with joy, to be
given at Grandmother Van Stark's.
"O may I stay up?" she begged, and grandmother, who always found it hard
to deny her grandchildren anything, said she might. When evening came,
Ethelwyn dressed in her best white frock, a little later than the hour
when she usually went to bed, came down the staircase with grandmother,
who was more stately and lovely than ever? In her black velvet gown,
with the great portrait brooch of Grandfather Van Stark, surrounded by
diamonds, in the beautiful old lace around her neck.
Grandmother was permitted to sit while receiving the guests. Between her
chair and where the clergyman and his wife stood, Ethelwyn slipped her
own little rocker, and sat there, highly interested in the streams of
people that came by.
"It's like a funeral," she announced during a slight lull.
Grandmother and the clergyman looked around startled.
"Why, child, what do you know about funerals?" asked grandmother, while
the clergyman, of course, laughed.
"'Vada took me and Beth once to a big mercession, and we went into a big
church and the folks all went up and looked at somebody, just like
to-night. 'Vada said it was a big gun's funeral, just like you and your
wife, you know," she concluded cheerfully, nodding to the clergyman.
"Well of all things--" began grandmother, but a new lot of people coming
in demanded her attention.
The clergyman and his wife, laughing heartily, shook hands with the new
people, and Ethelwyn was rather indignant to hear her remark repeated
several times.
"I'm not going to say anything more," she thought, "they always laugh
so."
She sat very quiet, indeed, until by and by the lights and the pink,
blue, and white gowns danced together in a rainbow, and then she knew
nothing at all about the rest of it, nor that the minister himself
carried her up-stairs and put her in Nancy's care.
But the first thing of which she thought in the morning, was the
refreshments, in which she had been so vitally interested the day
before; so she came very soberly down-stairs to a late breakfast.
"Well, chicken," said grandmother, "how did you like the reception?"
"Not very much," said Ethelwyn. "I'm so ashamed to think I didn't get
any ice cream--"
"There's some saved for you; and I think I see your mother and Beth
coming in the gate, I was so sorry they couldn't come last night."
"I do believe they _are_ coming," said Ethelwyn, standing on tiptoes,
"and, yes, see, they have Bobby and Nan with them, to help take me
home!"
There was a wild triple shriek from the surrey, followed by three small
forms climbing rapidly down. They were proudly escorted by Ethelwyn to
see Johnny Bear, the chickens, Peter, Hannah, and Nancy, all before
mother was fairly in the house and the surrey in the barn.
They ate the reception refreshments with such zeal that grandmother
said, "Well there! I was wondering what we would do with all the things
that were left, but I needn't have worried."
"No, the mothers are the only ones that need worry,--over the after
results," said Mrs. Ray burn, laughing.
They started home in the afternoon, all standing on the surrey steps and
seats to wave a farewell to dear Grandmother Van Stark as long as they
could see her.
Of course they played games going home, and this time Ethelwyn had
really made up one.
"I'll say the first and last letter of something in the surrey or that
we can see, and then whoever guesses it can give two letters." So she
gave "m----r," and Beth guessed mother at once; then Beth gave "h----s,"
and Bobby disgraced himself by guessing horse, but he was warm, because
it really was harness, and Nan guessed it. Then she gave "f----s," and
that took them a long time, because it didn't sound at all like
flowers, but Bobby finally guessed it, and then he gave them "g----s,"
which mother guessed as girls.
"You tell us a story, motherdy," said Ethelwyn, cuddling up close. "I
just love to hear you talk, I haven't heard you for so long."
"Were you homesick for me?"
"Not ezactly," said Ethelwyn, "but I had a lonesome spot for you all
whenever I thought about it."
Ethelwyn always pronounced the word "exactly" wrong. Her mother liked to
hear her say it, however, and one or two more; "for they will grow out
of baby-hood all too fast," she said.
"I went over to see Miss Helen Gray yesterday," said Mrs. Rayburn, "and
she told me some funny stories about Polly, her parrot. You know she is
really a very remarkable bird. Ever since Miss Helen has lived alone,
she and Polly have been great friends, and it seems as though Polly
really understands things she says to her. She bought her in New
Orleans, where she boarded next door to the Cathedral. So Polly soon
learned to intone the service, not the words, but exactly the
intonation.
"One day Miss Helen, who allowed her all sorts of liberties, let her
out, but first she made her tell where she lived. '1013 H---- Street,'
Polly said. 'Will you be good and not get lost?' 'Yep,' said Polly, so
she went out, and Miss Helen heard her talking in the yard. A lady came
along beautifully dressed.
"'La, how fine,' said Polly.
"The lady looked around angrily, thinking it was a boy.
"'Didn't see me, did you?' said Polly, and then the woman saw the funny
little green bird on the lawn and she petted and complimented her until
Polly felt very much puffed up.
"Miss Helen went in for a few minutes, though, and when she came out,
Polly was gone, stolen probably by some one that slipped up behind her.
"Poor Miss Helen grieved and grieved over her, and offered great
rewards, but to no avail. In about a year she went to Florida, and one
day, going by a bird fancier's that she knew, the man invited her to
come in, saying that he had a lot of new parrots to show her.
"O I wonder: if Polly is there!' she said, and told him about her.
"'No, I haven't any that know as much as that,' said he; 'but there is
one who looks as if she understood things, but she won't, or can't,
talk.'
"So Miss Helen went in, and there, sure enough, was her poor Polly
huddled up sulkily in a cage.
"'Polly,' called Helen, and Polly started and came to the front of the
cage.
"'Helen, Helen,' she called, going perfectly wild; '1013 H---- Street.
I'll be good! Yep! Yep! Yep!' and then she began to intone the service.
"The bird fancier was astonished enough.
"'I bought her and some six others from two sailors,' he said, 'but I
never dreamed she could talk!'
"Miss Helen paid him a big price and went off with Polly on her finger
chattering like one mad."
"O I'd love to see her," cried Beth.
"Well go over there some day. Here we are at home."
"I'm glad," said Ethelwyn. "It's nice to go away, but it's nicer to come
back."
_CHAPTER XVIII_
_How They Bought a Baby_
Spend your money
Speed you, honey,
Quick as you can fly
Up the street,
Toys and sweet
Money burns to buy.
And all this time they had saved their birthday money!
It was accidental, for they had in the multitude of other events and
presents, forgotten they had it until one morning, in emptying their
banks for "peanut" nickles, with a dexterity born of long practice, they
discovered the two gold coins, for they each had been given one, of
course, and they rushed off at once to show them.
"Haven't we saved this money, though?" they said, full of pride, and
then they straightway sat down to make plans for spending it.
"Let's each buy a puppy for a parting gift to Bobby and Nan," suggested
Ethelwyn, as she and Beth were soon going away to visit the Home.
"Yes, sir, let's," said Beth. "They dearly love Bose, and Mr. Smithers,
our vegetable man, has six and will sell us two, I know."
Mr. Smithers said he would be charmed--or words to that effect--to sell
them two Newfoundland puppies at five dollars each, and they struck a
bargain at once.
It was easier to do because mother had gone to town on business and was
to be away all day.
Mr. Smithers promised to bring them in that afternoon, and they went off
to wait until then with what patience they could muster.
They met Joe on their way to the barn, and noticed that his usual ruddy
countenance was grave and pale.
"My sister is sick," he explained, "and she's getting no better."
"Why don't you tell mother?" asked Ethelwyn.
"O it's everything your mother's done for us this summer, without
bothering her more," he said. "I'm going to try to get my sister up in
the country, but--I can't yet awhile."
"Will it cost very much, Joe?"
"No, not much, but there's so many of us to feed and clothe that we
never have any money left for anything else."
"Mother will help, I know," said Ethelwyn, and they went up to the
house, pondering deeply.
"Those horrid puppies! I wish we'd never heard of them," said Ethelwyn.
"Then we could give Dick the money. What did you think about them for?"
"You did yourself."
"No, I didn't. Anyway, let's watch for Mr. Smithers at the back garden
gate, and tell him not to bring them."
So they went down through the garden, and, looking over the gate, they
saw a very sulky little colored girl carrying a long limp bundle of
yellow calico, with a round woolly head protruding at the top.
"O that cunning baby I Where'd you get him?" they cried both at once,
opening the gate to look at him.
The sulky nurse shifted the bundle to her other shoulder.
"Allus had him, mos'," she said; "him or 'nuther one, perzactly like
him, to lug roun' while ma's washin'."
"Don't you like to play with him?" asked Ethelwyn in a shocked tone.
"No, I don't," was the emphatic reply; "nor you wouldn't needa, ef you
had it to do contin'ul."
"Why, you can play he's a doll."
"He's showin' off now, but when he gits to bawlin', you ain't a gwine to
make no mistake 'bout his bein' nuffin' 'tal but a cry-baby," she
continued, preparing to move on.
"Would you sell him?" asked Beth eagerly.
"Yessum, I sholy would," said his sister with a gleam of interest; "we
ain't a gwine to miss him, wid six mo'! I'll sell him easy fo' a
dolla'."
There was a hurried consultation between Beth and Ethelwyn.
"It's cheaper, and would leave nine dollars for Joe. Bobby could keep
him one day, and Nan the next, or we could get something else for one of
them. I think Nan would like him the best."
"We will buy him," said Ethelwyn, at the end of the consultation.
There was a moment of hesitation, and then the yellow bundle went into
Ethelwyn's outstretched arms.
Beth went off to get the money. She ran breathlessly down the street to
get the change, she was so afraid the girl would change her mind and
take back the baby.
There was no doubt but that the girl was in rather a dubious state of
mind over it, but the silver dollar clinched her resolution, and she
walked firmly off, without a backward glance in the direction of the
gurgling Samuel Saul, which was the alliteral name of the yellow bundle.
Ethelwyn and Beth, after a further consultation, took him to the attic.
They considered it providential that Sierra Nevada was assisting in the
laundry, and that the coast was therefore free from all observers.
Samuel Saul was rocked in the cradle in which the ancestors of the
children, as well as themselves, had been rocked, and he, well contented
with the motion and not ill pleased with his surroundings, presently
fell into a delicious slumber.
"'Rockabye baby on the tree top,'" came from the open attic window, and
floated down to Joe currying Ninkum, and to 'Vada, Mandy, and Aunt
Sophie in the laundry.
Joe smiled at the cheerful refrain, and 'Vada, sure that they were in no
mischief, mopped her dripping brow, and went on with her work.
Watching Samuel Saul's peaceful slumbers grew a little monotonous after
a while, so Beth descended to the kitchen for a plate of cookies and a
glass of water, and leaving this substantial luncheon beside their
sleeping charge, they went down-stairs and for a while played on the
piano with more strength than anything else. After that they took more
cookies and went over to play with Bobby.
Bobby, making a chicken yard out of wire netting, was delighted to have
assistance, and they telephoned for Nan, who speedily joined them.
"Mother's gone to town to-day to see your grandfather, who owns a bank,
Bobby," said Ethelwyn.
"I expect it's on account of his losing a whole lot of money," rejoined
Bobby, standing on tiptoe on a box to pound in a nail.
"Where did he lose it? Were there holes in his pockets?" asked Beth,
unrolling the wire at Bobby's order.
"On change," said Bobby, with his mouth full of nails.
"Our money is in your grandfather's bank, and the Home money and
Grandmother Van Stark's. I hope he hasn't lost anybody's but his own,"
said Ethelwyn anxiously.
"You're not very polite," said Nan.
"Well I do, but if he lost only change, prob'ly it's his own, and
mother's gone to give him some more."
"Pooh!" said Bobby, "it's not--"
But before he could say anything more, excited voices were heard, and
four black and shining faces appeared over the top of the fence, while a
guilty eye looked through a knot-hole farther down.
"Has you all seen anything of a low down black pickaninny which is
los'?" This remark came from 'Vada.
"Which is _stole_," corrected a mountain of flesh, quivering with wrath.
"Is it Samuel Saul?" asked Ethelwyn.
"It is so; will you projus him?" asked the mountain.
"He's in the attic asleep; his sister sold him to us for a present to
Bobby and Nan--"
"O let's see him," cried Nan, with lively interest.
"You all is gwine to leab him alone--" began the mountain, when Mandy
turned ponderously in her direction.
"Will you, Martha Jane Jenkins, please kindly rec'lect dat you is
'sociatin' wid quality now, an' take a good care how you talk, though
sholy it may be de fus time dat you has ebber been in good sassity--"
"Dat is sholy de trufe w'en I has been wid you," said Martha Jane
Jenkins, wrathfully.
But now from the open attic windows were heard such piercing shrieks
that they all with one consent turned in that direction.
"Americky, you go bring me you brudda," instructed Martha, cuffing
soundly the girl with the guilty eye.