HOME-LESSONS AND JACK-O'-LANTERNS.
IT was hard for the Little Colonel to start back to school after her
long holiday. Hard, in the first place, because she was a month behind
her classes, and had extra home-lessons to learn. Hard, in the second
place, because a more gorgeous October had never been known in the
Valley, and all out-doors called to her to come and play. In the lanes
the sumach flamed crimson, and in the avenues the maples turned gold. In
the woods, where the nuts were dropping all day long, the dogwood-trees
hung out their coral berries, and every beech and sweet gum put on a
glory of its own.
"Oh, mothah, I can't study," Lloyd declared one afternoon. "I don't care
whethah the Amazon Rivah rises in South America or the South Pole; an' I
think those old Mexicans were horrid to give their volcanoes an' things
such terrible long names. They ought to have thought about the trouble
they were makin' for all the poah children in the world who would have
to learn to spell them. I nevah can learn Popocatepetl. Why didn't they
call it something easy, like--like Crosspatch!" she added, closing her
book with a bang. "That's the way it makes me feel, anyhow. It is going
to take all afternoon to get this one lesson."
[Illustration: "THE PLAN WORKED LIKE A CHARM."]
"Not if you put your mind on it. Your lips have been saying it over and
over, but your thoughts seem to be miles away."
"But everything interrupts me," complained Lloyd. "The bumble-bees an'
the woodpeckahs an' the jay-birds are all a-callin'. I'm goin' in the
house an' sit on the stair steps an' put my fingahs in my yeahs. Maybe I
can study bettah that way."
The plan worked like a charm. In less than ten minutes she was back
again, glibly reciting her geography lesson. After that all her
home-lessons were learned on the stairs, where no out-door sights and
sounds could arrest her attention.
She was in the midst of her lessons one afternoon, her book open on her
knees, and her hands over her ears, when she felt, rather than heard,
the jar of a heavy chair drawn across the porch. Dropping her hands from
her ears, she heard her mother say: "Take this rocker, Allison. I'm so
glad you have come. I have been wishing that you would all
afternoon."
"Oh, it is Miss Allison MacIntyre!" thought Lloyd. "I wish I didn't have
to study while she is heah. I love to listen to her talk."
Thinking to get through as soon as possible, she turned her attention
resolutely to her book, but, after a few moments, she could not resist
stopping to lift her head and listen, just to find out what subject they
were discussing. Although Miss Allison was her mother's friend, Lloyd
claimed her as her own especial property. But all children did that.
Such was the charming interest with which she entered into comradeship
with every boy and girl in the Valley, that they counted her one of
themselves. A party without Miss Allison was not to be thought of, and a
picnic was sure to be a failure unless she was one of the number.
The two little knights, Keith and Malcolm, were privileged, by reason of
family ties, to call her auntie, but there were many like Lloyd who put
her on a pedestal in their affections, and claimed a kinship almost as
dear. Presently Lloyd caught a word that made her prick up her ears, and
she leaned forward, listening eagerly.
"Sister Mary's children are coming out next Saturday. I was lying awake
last night, wondering what I could do to entertain them, when it popped
into my head that Saturday will be the last day of October, and of
course they'll want to celebrate Hallowe'en."
"Sister Mary's children," repeated Lloyd to herself, with a puzzled
expression, that suddenly turned to one of joyful recollection. "Oh, she
means the little Waltons! I wondah how long they've been back in
America?"
Her geography slipped unnoticed to the floor, as she sat thinking of her
old playmates, whom she had not seen since their departure for the
Philippines, and wondering if they had changed much in their long
absence. There were four of them, Ranald (she remembered that he must be
fourteen now, counting by his cousin Malcolm's age) and his three
younger sisters, Allison, Kitty, and Elise. Some of the happiest days
that Lloyd could remember had been the ones spent with them in the big
tent pitched on the MacIntyre lawn; for no matter how far west was the
army post at which their father happened to be stationed, they had been
brought back every summer to visit their grandmother in the old Kentucky
home.
Lloyd had not seen them since their father had been made a general, and
they had gone away on the transport to the strange new life in the
Philippines. Although many interesting letters were sent back to the
Valley, in which the whole neighbourhood was interested, it happened
that Lloyd had never heard any of them read. Her old playmates seemed to
have dropped completely out of her life, until one sad day when the
country hung its flags at half-mast, and the black head-lines in every
newspaper in the land announced the loss of a nation's hero.
Lloyd remembered how strange it seemed to read the account, and know it
was Ranald's father who was meant. She thought of them often in the
weeks that followed, for Papa Jack could not pick up a newspaper without
reading some touching tribute to the brave general's memory, some
beautiful eulogy on his heroic life, but somehow the strange experiences
her little playmates were passing through seemed to set them apart from
other children in Lloyd's imagination, and she thought of them as people
in a book, instead of children she had romped with through many a long
summer day.
As she listened to the voice on the porch she found that Miss Allison
was talking about her sister, and telling some of the interesting things
that had happened to the children in Manila. It was more than the
Little Colonel could endure, to sit in the house and hear only snatches
of conversation.
"Oh, mothah, _please_ let me come out and listen," she begged. "I'll
study to-night instead, if you will. I'll learn two sets of lessons if
you'll let me put it off just this once." There was a laughing consent
given, and the next moment Lloyd was seated on a low stool at Miss
Allison's feet, looking up into her face with an expectant smile, ready
for every word that might fall from her lips.
"I was telling your mother about Ranald," began Miss Allison. "She asked
me how it came about that such a little fellow was made captain in the
army."
"Oh, was he a _really_ captain?" cried Lloyd, in surprise. "I thought it
was just a nickname like mine that they gave him, because his father was
a general."
"No, he was really a captain, the youngest in the army of the United
States Volunteers, for he received his appointment and his
shoulder-straps a few weeks before his twelfth birthday. He'll never
forget that Fourth of July if he lives to be a hundred; for those
shoulder-straps meant more to him than all the noise and sky-rockets and
powder-burns of all the boys in America put together. You see he had
been under fire at the battle of San Pedro Macati. He had gone out with
his father, a short time after they landed in Manila, and the general in
command invited them out on the firing line. Before they realised their
peril, they suddenly found themselves under a sharp fire from the enemy.
One of the staff said afterward that he had never seen greater coolness
in the face of as great danger, and all the officers praised his
self-possession. For a little while the bullets whizzed around him thick
and fast. One hit the ground between his feet. Another grazed his hat,
but all he said as one hummed by was, 'Oh, papa, did you see that? It
looked like a hop-toad.'
"It was a terrible sight for a child's eyes, for he saw war in all its
horrors, and his mother did not want him to take the risks of any more
battle-fields, but he was a true soldier's son, and insisted on
following his father wherever it was possible for him to go. At the
battle of Zapote River he was in no danger, for he had been put in a
church tower overlooking the field. But that was a terrible ordeal, for
all day long he stood by the window, expecting any minute to see his
father fall. All day long he looked for him, towering above his men, and
whenever he lost sight of him for awhile, he leaned out to watch the
litters the men were carrying into the church below where they brought
the dead and dying. It was always with the sickening dread that the
still figure on some one of them might be that of his beloved father.
Sister Mary sent me a copy of the official announcement, that gave him
the rank of captain. It mentions his coolness under fire. You may
imagine I am quite proud of that little document, for I always think of
Ranald as he was when I had him with me most, a sensitive little fellow
with golden curls and big brown eyes, as silent and reserved as his
father. You see I know that his courage has no element of daring
recklessness. So many things he did showed that, even when he was a
baby. It is just quiet grit that takes him through the things that
hardier boys might court. That, and his strong will.
"At first he was appointed aide-de-camp on his father's staff, and went
with him on all his expeditions, and rode on a dear little Filipino
pony. The natives called him the Pickaninny Captain. He was under fire
again at the capture of Calamba, and soon after he was made an aide on
Gen. Fred. Grant's staff. Once while under him he was ordered back in
charge of some insurgents' guns that had fallen into the hands of the
Americans, to be turned in at headquarters. So you see he was a
'really' captain as you called him."
"Oh, tell some more, Miss Allison," begged Lloyd, thinking that the
subject might be dropped, when Miss Allison paused for a moment.
"Well, I hardly know what else to tell. His room is full of relics and
trophies he brought home with him,--shells and bullets and bolos--great
savage knives with zigzag two-edged blades--flags, curios,--all sorts of
things that he picked up or that the officers gave him. His mother can
tell you volumes of interesting experiences he has had, but he is as shy
and modest as ever about his own affairs, and maybe he'll never speak of
them. He'll tell you possibly of the deer which the English consul gave
him, and the pet monkey that followed him everywhere, even when it had
to swim out through a rice swamp after him; maybe he'll mention the
Filipino pony that the officers gave him when he came back to America,
but he rarely speaks of those graver experiences, those scenes of battle
and bloodshed."
"It doesn't seem possible that it is Ranald who has seen and done all
those things," said the Little Colonel, thoughtfully. "When you play
with people and fuss with them, and slap their faces when they pull your
hair, or throw away their marbles when they break your dolls, as we
did, when we were little, it seems so queah to think of them bein'
_heroes_."
Miss Allison laughed heartily. "That's a universal trouble," she said.
"We never can be heroes to our family and neighbours. Even brass buttons
and shoulder-straps cannot outshine the memory of early hair-pullings."
"Tell about the girls," said Lloyd, fearing that if a pause were allowed
in the conversation Miss Allison would begin talking about something
less entertaining than her nephew and nieces. "Do they still love to
play papah dolls and have tableaux in the barn?"
"Yes, I am sure they do. They didn't have as exciting a time as Ranald,
for of course they stayed at home with their mother in the palace at
Manila. But it was interesting. It had queer windows of little sliding
squares of mother-of-pearl, that were shut only when it rained. They
could peep through and see the coolies in their capes and skirts of
cocoa-nut fibre, and the big hats, like inverted baskets, that made them
look as if they had stepped out of Robinson Crusoe's story.
"On one side of the palace was the Pasig River, where the natives go by
in their long skiffs. On the other side were the sights of the streets.
Sometimes it was only an old peanut vendor whom they watched, or a man
with fruit or boiled eggs or shrimps or dulce. Sometimes it was the
seller of parched corn, squatting beside the earthen pot of embers which
he constantly fanned, as he turned the ears laid across it to roast. And
sometimes the ambulances went by on their way to the hospital, reminding
them that life on the island was not a happy play-day for every one. I
am sure that the Lady of Shalott never saw more entertaining pictures in
her magic mirror than the panorama that daily passed those windows of
mother-of-pearl.
"Time never dragged there, you may be sure. Sometimes they were invited
to spend an afternoon on the English war-ship, and the young officers
gave them a spread and a romp over the ship. Allison still keeps an old
hat with the ship's ribbon on it for a hat-band, which a gallant little
midshipman gave her to remind her of the good times they had had
together on the vessel. The English consul and vice-consul frequently
invited them to tiffin or to parties, and their garden of monkeys was
open to their little American neighbours at all times.
"Coming home the transport stopped in a Japanese harbour for a week. The
faithful old Japanese servants, Fuzzi and her husband, who had lived
with them in California and followed them to the Philippines, were with
them on the transport. This place where they stopped happened to be
their native town, so they took the children on land every day and gave
them a glimpse behind the scenes of Japanese life, which few foreigners
see.
"Then Allison had a birthday, while they were homeward bound, away out
in the middle of the Pacific, and the ship's cook surprised her by
making her a magnificent birthday cake with her name on it in icing. Oh,
they've had all sorts of unusual experiences, and many, no doubt, that I
have never heard of, although they have been back in America a year. But
now that they have taken a house in town I expect to have them with me a
great deal. And that brings me to the matter I came up to see you both
about. They are coming out Saturday, and I want you to help me give them
a Hallowe'en party."
"Another holiday!" exclaimed Lloyd, clapping her hands. "I had forgotten
that there was anything to celebrate between Fourth of July and
Thanksgiving. I never went to a Hallowe'en party in my life, but it
sounds as if it would be lots of fun."
"Do you remember the old house at Hartwell Hollow that has been vacant
so long?" asked Miss Allison. "The coloured people say it is haunted.
Of course we do not believe such foolish things, or any of the
foolishness of Hallowe'en in fact, but as long as we're going to
resurrect the old superstitions, it is appropriate to have a haunted
house for the purpose. The landlord says that it is that report which
keeps it vacant. I saw him this morning, and got his permission to use
it for the party. I think we can make an ideal spot of it. I'll have it
swept and cleaned, and on Saturday afternoon I want you both to come and
help me decorate it."
"Of course the only lights must be Jack-o'-lanterns," said Mrs. Sherman,
entering into the plan as heartily as if she had been Lloyd's age. "The
corn-field is full of pumpkins. Walker can make lanterns all day if
necessary. It will take nearly a hundred, will it not, Allison?"
"I think so, although we will light only the down-stairs rooms, but
there ought to be some large ones on the porches. We'll try all the old
charms that we tried when we were children; bake a fate cake, melt lead,
bob for apples, and observe every silly old custom that we can think of.
The house is unfurnished except for an old stove in the kitchen, but I
can easily send over enough tables and chairs."
Miss Allison went away soon, after they had finished all their plans,
and Lloyd stood looking after her as long as she was in sight.
"How can I wait until Saturday?" she asked, with a wriggle of
impatience. "I'm so glad she asked us to help. Getting ready for things
is nearly as much fun as the things themselves. But Hallowe'en pahties
and home-lessons don't mix very well. I'll be thinking about that now,
instead of my lessons. Oh, mothah, it seems to me I nevah can learn to
spell that old volcano. I knew how last week, but I missed it again
yestahday when we had review in spelling."
"I have thought of a way to mix Hallowe'en and home-lessons in such a
way that you will never forget one word, at least," said her mother.
"Tell Walker to bring the largest, roundest pumpkin that he can find in
the field, and put it on the bench by the spring-house. Call me when he
is ready."
Wondering what pumpkins and volcanoes had to do with each other, but
charmed with the novelty of her mother's way of teaching spelling, Lloyd
went skipping down the path to give the order to Walker. It was only a
little while until she was back again.
"It is the biggest pumpkin I evah saw," she reported. "It was too big
fo' Walkah to carry. He had to bring it up on a wheelbarrow."
Taking a carving-knife as she passed through the kitchen, Mrs. Sherman
caught up her dainty skirts and followed Lloyd down the path to the
spring-house. It was late in the afternoon and a touch of frost was in
the air. The yellow maple leaves were floating softly down from the
branches above the path, and wherever the sun touched them on the ground
lay a carpet of shining gold.
"See, mothah, isn't it a whoppah?" cried Lloyd, trying to put her arms
around the mammoth pumpkin on the bench. "It is a beauty," answered Mrs.
Sherman, as she began deftly outlining a face on one side of it, with
the sharp carving-knife. First she drew two large circles in the yellow
skin where the eyes were to be cut, a triangle for the nose, and a
grinning crescent just below for the mouth.
"Now," she said, passing the knife to Lloyd, "carve the letters P-O in
each circle. It does not matter if they are crooked. They are to be cut
out with the circle afterwhile. Now in the triangle put the word CAT and
the letter E after it, and in the crescent the word PET and the letter
L. Now what does the face say to you?"
"The eyes say popo, the nose cat-e and the mouth pet-l," answered
Lloyd, laughing at the comical face outlined on the pumpkin.
"Shut your eyes and spell Popocatepetl," said Mrs. Sherman.
"Why, it is just as easy," cried Lloyd, as she rattled it off. "I can
see each syllable grinning at me, one aftah the othah. I am suah I'll
nevah fo'get it now. I like your way of teaching, bettah than
anybody's."
Presently, as she scooped out the seeds while her mother made a mandarin
hat of the slice she had cut off below the stem, she said, "Old
Popocatepetl will make the biggest Jack-o'-lantern of them all. It's a
good name for him, too, because he'll be all smoke and fiah inside aftah
the candles are lighted. We can put him ovah the front doah. I wondah
what Allison and Kitty and Elise will think of him. Oh, mothah, do you
remembah the time that Kitty set all the clocks and watches in the house
back a whole hour and made everybody late fo' church? And the time she
folded a grasshoppah up in everybody's napkin, the night the ministah
was invited to Mrs. MacIntyre's to dinnah, and what a mighty hoppin'
there was as soon as the napkins were unfolded?"
Once started on Kitty's pranks, Lloyd went on with a chapter of don't
you remember this and don't you remember that, until the sun went down
behind the western hills and old Popocatepetl grinned in ugly
completeness even to the last tooth in his wide-spread jaw.