The twelfth of October was Rose's birthday, but no one seemed to
remember that interesting fact, and she felt delicate about mentioning
it, so fell asleep the night before wondering if she would have any
presents. That question was settled early the next morning, for she was
awakened by a soft tap on her face, and opening her eyes she beheld a
little black and white figure sitting on her pillow, staring at her with
a pair of round eyes very like blueberries, while one downy paw patted
her nose to attract her notice. It was Kitty Comet, the prettiest of all
the pussies, and Comet evidently had a mission to perform, for a pink
bow adorned her neck, and a bit of paper was pinned to it bearing the
words, “For Miss Rose, from Frank.”
That pleased her extremely, and that was only the beginning of the
fun, for surprises and presents kept popping out in the most delightful
manner all through the day, the Atkinson girls being famous jokers and
Rose a favourite. But the best gift of all came on the way to Mount
Windy-Top, where it was decided to picnic in honour of the great
occasion. Three jolly loads set off soon after breakfast, for everybody
went, and everybody seemed bound to have an extra good time, especially
Mother Atkinson, who wore a hat as broad-brimmed as an umbrella, and
took the dinner-horn to keep her flock from straying away.
“I'm going to drive auntie and a lot of the babies, so you must ride the
pony. And please stay behind us a good bit when we go to the station,
for a parcel is coming, and you are not to see it till dinner-time. You
won't mind, will you?” said Mac, in a confidential aside during the wild
flurry of the start.
“Not a bit,” answered Rose. “It hurts my feelings very much to be told
to keep out of the way at any other time, but birthdays and Christmas it
is part of the fun to be blind and stupid, and poked into corners. I'll
be ready as soon as you are, Giglamps.”
“Stop under the big maple till I call then you can't possibly see
anything,” added Mac, as he mounted her on the pony his father had sent
up for his use. “Barkis” was so gentle and so “willin',” however, that
Rose was ashamed to be afraid to ride him; so she had learned, that she
might surprise Dr. Alec when she got home; meantime she had many a
fine canter “over the hills and far away” with Mac, who preferred Mr.
Atkinson's old Sorrel.
Away they went, and, coming to the red maple, Rose obediently paused;
but could not help stealing a glance in the forbidden direction before
the call came. Yes, there was a hamper going under the seat, and then
she caught sight of a tall man whom Mac seemed to be hustling into
the carriage in a great hurry. One look was enough, and with a cry of
delight, Rose was off down the road as fast as Barkis could go.
“Now I'll astonish uncle,” she thought. “I'll dash up in grand style,
and show him that I am not a coward, after all.”
Fired by this ambition, she startled Barkis by a sharp cut, and still
more bewildered him by leaving him to his own guidance down the steep,
stony road. The approach would have been a fine success if, just as Rose
was about to pull up and salute, two or three distracted hens had not
scuttled across the road with a great squawking, which caused Barkis
to shy and stop so suddenly that his careless rider landed in an
ignominious heap just under old Sorrel's astonished nose.
Rose was up again before Dr. Alec was out of the carryall, and threw two
dusty arms about his neck crying with a breathless voice,
“O uncle, I'm so glad to see you! It is better than a cart-load of
goodies, and so dear of you to come!”
“But aren't you hurt, child! That was a rough tumble, and I'm afraid you
must be damaged somewhere,” answered the Doctor, full of fond anxiety,
as he surveyed his girl with pride.
“My feelings are hurt, but my bones are all safe. It's too bad! I was
going to do it so nicely, and those stupid hens spoilt it all,” said
Rose, quite crestfallen, as well as much shaken.
“I couldn't believe my eyes when I asked 'Where is Rose?' and Mac
pointed to the little Amazon pelting down the hill at such a rate. You
couldn't have done anything that would please me more, and I'm delighted
to see how well you ride. Now, will you mount again, or shall we turn
Mac out and take you in?” asked Dr. Alec, as Aunt Jessie proposed a
start, for the others were beckoning them to follow.
“Pride goeth before a fall better not try to show off again, ma'am,”
said Mac, who would have been more than mortal if he had refrained from
teasing when so good a chance offered.
“Pride does go before a fall, but I wonder if a sprained ankle always
comes after it?” thought Rose, bravely concealing her pain, as she
answered, with great dignity,
“I prefer to ride. Come on, and see who will catch up first.”
She was up and away as she spoke, doing her best to efface the memory
of her downfall by sitting very erect, elbows down, head well up, and
taking the motion of the pony as Barkis cantered along as easily as a
rocking-chair.
“You ought to see her go over a fence and race when we ride together.
She can scud, too, like a deer when we play 'Follow the leader,' and
skip stones and bat balls almost as well as I can,” said Mac, in reply
to his uncle's praise of his pupil.
“I'm afraid you will think her a sad tomboy, Alec; but really she seems
so well and happy, I have not the heart to check her. She has broken
out in the most unexpected way, and frisks like a colt; for she says she
feels so full of spirits she must run and shout whether it is proper or
not,” added Mrs. Jessie, who had been a pretty hoyden years ago herself.
“Good good! that's the best news you could tell me,” and Dr. Alec rubbed
his hands heartily. “Let the girl run and shout as much as she will it
is a sure sign of health, and as natural to a happy child as frisking is
to any young animal full of life. Tomboys make strong women usually, and
I had far rather find Rose playing football with Mac than puttering over
bead-work like that affected midget, Ariadne Blish.”
“But she cannot go on playing football very long, and we must not forget
that she has a woman's work to do by and by,” began Mrs. Jessie.
“Neither will Mac play football much longer, but he will be all the
better fitted for business, because of the health it gives him. Polish
is easily added, if the foundations are strong; but no amount of gilding
will be of use if your timber is not sound. I'm sure I'm right, Jessie;
and if I can do as well by my girl during the next six months as I have
the last, my experiment will succeed.”
“It certainly will; for when I contrast that bright, blooming face
with the pale, listless one that made my heart ache a while ago, I can
believe in almost any miracle,” said Mrs. Jessie, as Rose looked round
to point out a lovely view, with cheeks like the ruddy apples in the
orchard near by, eyes clear as the autumn sky overhead, and vigour in
every line of her girlish figure.
A general scramble among the rocks was followed by a regular gypsy
lunch, which the young folks had the rapture of helping to prepare.
Mother Atkinson put on her apron, turned up her sleeves, and fell to
work as gaily as if in her own kitchen, boiling the kettle slung on
three sticks, over a fire of cones and fir boughs; while the girls
spread the mossy table with a feast of country goodies, and the children
tumbled about in everyone's way till the toot of the horn made them
settle down like a flock of hungry birds.
As soon as the merry meal and a brief interval of repose were over,
it was unanimously voted to have some charades. A smooth, green spot
between two stately pines was chosen for the stage; shawls hung up,
properties collected, audience and actors separated, and a word quickly
chosen.
The first scene discovered Mac in a despondent attitude and shabby
dress, evidently much troubled in mind. To him entered a remarkable
creature with a brown paper bag over its head. A little pink nose peeped
through one hole in the middle, white teeth through another, and above
two eyes glared fiercely. Spires of grass stuck in each side of the
mouth seemed meant to represent whiskers; the upper corners of the bag
were twisted like ears, and no one could doubt for a moment that the
black scarf pinned on behind was a tail.
This singular animal seemed in pantomime to be comforting his master and
offering advice, which was finally acted upon, for Mac pulled off his
boots, helped the little beast into them, and gave him a bag; then,
kissing his paw, with a hopeful gesture, the creature retired, purring
so successfully that there was a general cry of “Cat, puss, boots!”
“Cat is the word,” replied a voice, and the curtain fell.
The next scene was a puzzler, for in came another animal, on all-fours
this time, with a new sort of tail and long ears. A gray shawl concealed
its face, but an inquisitive sunbeam betrayed the glitter as of goggles
under the fringe. On its back rode a small gentleman in Eastern costume,
who appeared to find some difficulty in keeping his seat as his steed
jogged along. Suddenly a spirit appeared, all in white, with long
newspaper wings upon its back and golden locks about its face.
Singularly enough, the beast beheld this apparition and backed
instantly, but the rider evidently saw nothing and whipped up
unmercifully, also unsuccessfully, for the spirit stood directly in the
path, and the amiable beast would not budge a foot. A lively skirmish
followed, which ended in the Eastern gentleman being upset into a
sweet-fern bush, while the better bred animal abased itself before the
shining one.
The children were all in the dark till Mother Atkinson said, in an
inquiring tone,
“If that isn't Balaam and the ass, I'd like to know what it is. Rose
makes a sweet angel, doesn't she?”
“Ass” was evidently the word, and the angel retired, smiling with
mundane satisfaction over the compliment that reached her ears.
The next was a pretty little scene from the immortal story of “Babes in
the Wood.” Jamie and Pokey came trotting in, hand in hand, and, having
been through the parts many times before, acted with great ease and much
fluency, audibly directing each other from time to time as they
went along. The berries were picked, the way lost, tears shed, baby
consolation administered, and then the little pair lay down among the
brakes and died with their eyes wide open and the toes of their four
little boots turned up to the daisies in the most pathetic manner.
“Now the wobins tum. You be twite dead, Dimmy, and I'll peep in and see
'em,” one defunct innocent was heard to say.
“I hope they'll be quick, for I'm lying on a stone, and ants are walking
up my leg like fury,” murmured the other.
Here the robins came flapping in with red scarves over their breasts
and leaves in their mouths, which they carefully laid upon the babes
wherever they would show best. A prickly blackberry leaf placed directly
over Pokey's nose caused her to sneeze so violently that her little legs
flew into the air; Jamie gave a startled “Ow!” and the pitying fowls
fled giggling.
After some discussion it was decided that the syllable must be “strew or
strow” and then they waited to see if it was a good guess.
This scene discovered Annette Snow in bed, evidently very ill; Miss
Jenny was her anxious mamma, and her merry conversation amused the
audience till Mac came in as a physician, and made great fun with his
big watch, pompous manner, and absurd questions. He prescribed one
pellet with an unpronounceable name, and left after demanding twenty
dollars for his brief visit.
The pellet was administered, and such awful agonies immediately set in
that the distracted mamma bade a sympathetic neighbour run for Mother
Know-all. The neighbour ran, and in came a brisk little old lady in
cap and specs, with a bundle of herbs under her arm, which she at once
applied in all sorts of funny ways, explaining their virtues as she
clapped a plantain poultice here, put a pounded catnip plaster there,
or tied a couple of mullein leaves round the sufferer's throat. Instant
relief ensued, the dying child sat up and demanded baked beans. The
grateful parent offered fifty dollars; but Mother Know-all indignantly
refused it and went smiling away, declaring that a neighbourly turn
needed no reward, and a doctor's fee was all a humbug.
The audience were in fits of laughter over this scene, for Rose imitated
Mrs. Atkinson capitally, and the herb cure was a good hit at the
excellent lady's belief that “yarbs” would save mankind if properly
applied. No one enjoyed it more than herself, and the saucy children
prepared for the grand finale in high feather.
This closing scene was brief but striking, for two trains of cars
whizzed in from opposite sides, met with a terrible collision in
the middle of the stage, and a general smash-up completed the word
catastrophe.
“Now let us act a proverb. I've got one all ready,” said Rose, who was
dying to distinguish herself in some way before Uncle Alec.
So everyone but Mac, the gay Westerner, and Rose, took their places on
the rocky seats and discussed the late beautiful and varied charade, in
which Pokey frankly pronounced her own scene the “bestest of all.”
In five minutes the curtain was lifted; nothing appeared but a very
large sheet of brown paper pinned to a tree, and on it was drawn a
clock-face, the hands pointing to four. A small note below informed the
public that 4 A.M. was the time. Hardly had the audience grasped this
important fact when a long waterproof serpent was seen uncoiling
itself from behind a stump. An inch-worm, perhaps, would be a better
description, for it travelled in the same humpy way as that pleasing
reptile. Suddenly a very wide-awake and active fowl advanced, pecking,
chirping, and scratching vigorously. A tuft of green leaves waved upon
his crest, a larger tuft of brakes made an umbrageous tail, and a shawl
of many colours formed his flapping wings. A truly noble bird, whose
legs had the genuine strut, whose eyes shone watchfully, and whose voice
had a ring that evidently struck terror into the catterpillar's soul, if
it was a catterpillar. He squirmed, he wriggled, he humped as fast as
he could, trying to escape; but all in vain. The tufted bird espied
him, gave one warbling sort of crow, pounced upon him, and flapped
triumphantly away.
“That early bird got such a big worm he could hardly carry him off,”
laughed Aunt Jessie, as the children shouted over the joke suggested by
Mac's nickname.
“That is one of uncle's favourite proverbs, so I got it up for his
especial benefit,” said Rose, coming up with the two-legged worm beside
her.
“Very clever; what next?” asked Dr. Alec as she sat down beside him.
“The Dove boys are going to give us an 'Incident in the Life of
Napoleon,' as they call it; the children think it very splendid, and the
little fellows do it rather nicely,” answered Mac with condescension.
A tent appeared, and pacing to and fro before it was a little sentinel,
who, in a brief soliloquy, informed the observers that the elements were
in a great state of confusion, that he had marched some hundred miles
or so that day, and that he was dying for want of sleep. Then he
paused, leaned upon his gun, and seemed to doze; dropped slowly down,
overpowered with slumber, and finally lay flat, with his gun beside him,
a faithless little sentinel. Enter Napoleon, cocked hat, gray coat, high
boots, folded arms, grim mouth, and a melodramatic stride. Freddy Dove
always covered himself with glory in this part, and “took the stage”
with a Napoleonic attitude that brought down the house; for the
big-headed boy, with solemn, dark eyes and square brow, was “the very
moral of that rascal, Boneyparty,” Mother Atkinson said.
Some great scheme was evidently brewing in his mighty mind a trip across
the Alps, a bonfire at Moscow, or a little skirmish at Waterloo perhaps,
for he marched in silent majesty till suddenly a gentle snore disturbed
the imperial reverie. He saw the sleeping soldier and glared upon him,
saying in an awful tone,
“Ha! asleep at his post! Death is the penalty he must die!”
Picking up the musket, he is about to execute summary justice, as
emperors are in the habit of doing, when something in the face of the
weary sentinel appears to touch him. And well it might, for a most
engaging little warrior was Jack as he lay with his shako half off, his
childish face trying to keep sober, and a great black moustache over his
rosy mouth. It would have softened the heart of any Napoleon, and the
Little Corporal proved himself a man by relenting, and saying, with a
lofty gesture of forgiveness,
“Brave fellow, he is worn out; I will let him sleep, and mount guard in
his place.”
Then, shouldering the gun, this noble being strode to and fro with a
dignity which thrilled the younger spectators. The sentinel awakes,
sees what has happened, and gives himself up for lost. But the Emperor
restores his weapon, and, with that smile which won all hearts, says,
pointing to a high rock whereon a crow happens to be sitting, “Be brave,
be vigilant, and remember that from yonder Pyramid generations are
beholding you,” and with these memorable words he vanishes, leaving the
grateful soldier bolt upright, with his hand at his temple and deathless
devotion stamped upon his youthful countenance.
The applause which followed this superb piece had hardly subsided,
when a sudden splash and a shrill cry caused a general rush toward the
waterfall that went gambolling down the rocks, singing sweetly as it
ran. Pokey had tried to gambol also, and had tumbled into a shallow
pool, whither Jamie had gallantly followed, in a vain attempt to fish
her out, and both were paddling about half frightened, half pleased with
the unexpected bath.
This mishap made it necessary to get the dripping infants home as soon
as possible; so the wagons were loaded up, and away they went, as merry
as if the mountain air had really been “Oxygenated Sweets not Bitters,”
as Dr. Alec suggested when Mac said he felt as jolly as if he had been
drinking champagne instead of the current wine that came with a great
frosted cake wreathed with sugar roses in Aunt Plenty's hamper of
goodies.
Rose took part in all the fun, and never betrayed by look or word the
twinges of pain she suffered in her ankle. She excused herself from the
games in the evening, however, and sat talking to Uncle Alec in a lively
way, that both amazed and delighted him; for she confided to him that
she played horse with the children, drilled with the light infantry,
climbed trees, and did other dreadful things that would have caused the
aunts to cry aloud if they knew of them.
“I don't care a pin what they say if you don't mind, uncle,” she
answered, when he pictured the dismay of the good ladies.
“Ah, it's all very well to defy them, but you are getting so rampant,
I'm afraid you will defy me next, and then where are we?”
“No, I won't! I shouldn't dare; because you are my guardian, and can put
me in a strait-jacket if you like;” and Rose laughed in his face, even
while she nestled closer with a confiding gesture pleasant to see.
“Upon my word, Rosy, I begin to feel like the man who bought an
elephant, and then didn't know what to do with him. I thought I had got
a pet and plaything for years to come; but here you are growing up like
a bean-stalk, and I shall find I've got a strong-minded little woman on
my hands before I can turn round. There's predicament for a man and an
uncle!”
Dr. Alec's comic distress was mercifully relieved for the time being
by a dance of goblins on the lawn, where the children, with pumpkin
lanterns on their heads, frisked about like will-o'-the-wisps, as a
parting surprise.
When Rose went to bed, she found that Uncle Alec had not forgotten her;
for on the table stood a delicate little easel, holding two miniatures
set in velvet. She knew them both, and stood looking at them till her
eyes brimmed over with tears that were both sweet and sad; for they were
the faces of her father and mother, beautifully copied from portraits
fast fading away.
Presently, she knelt down, and, putting her arms round the little
shrine, kissed one after the other, saying with an earnest voice, “I'll
truly try to make them glad to see me by and by.”
And that was Rose's little prayer on the night of her fourteenth
birthday.
Two days later the Campbells went home, a larger party than when they
came; for Dr. Alec was escort and Kitty Comet was borne in state in a
basket, with a bottle of milk, some tiny sandwiches, and a doll's dish
to drink out of, as well as a bit of carpet to lie on in her palace car,
out of which she kept popping her head in the most fascinating manner.
There was a great kissing and cuddling, waving of handkerchiefs, and
last good-byes, as they went; and when they had started, Mother Atkinson
came running after them, to tuck in some little pies, hot from the oven,
“for the dears, who might get tired of bread and butter during that long
day's travel.”
Another start, and another halt; for the Snow children came shrieking
up to demand the three kittens that Pokey was cooly carrying off in
a travelling bag. The unhappy kits were rescued, half smothered, and
restored to their lawful owners, amid dire lamentation from the little
kidnapper, who declared that she only “tooked um 'cause they'd want to
go wid their sister Tomit.”
Start number three and stoppage number three, as Frank hailed them
with the luncheon basket, which had been forgotten, after everyone had
protested that it was safely in.
All went well after that, and the long journey was pleasantly beguiled
by Pokey and Pussy, who played together so prettily that they were
considered public benefactors.
“Rose doesn't want to go home, for she knows the aunts won't let her
rampage as she did up at Cosey Corner,” said Mac, as they approached the
old house.
“I can't rampage if I want to for a time, at least; and I'll tell you
why. I sprained my ankle when I tumbled off of Barkis, and it gets worse
and worse; though I've done all I know to cure it and hide it, so it
shouldn't trouble anyone,” whispered Rose, knitting her brows with pain,
as she prepared to descend, wishing her uncle would take her instead of
her bundles.
How he did it, she never knew; but Mac had her up the steps and on the
parlour sofa before she could put her foot to the ground.
“There you are right side up with care; and mind, now, if your ankle
bothers you, and you are laid up with it, I am to be your footman. It's
only fair, you know; for I don't forget how good you have been to me.”
And Mac went to call Phebe, so full of gratitude and good-will that his
very goggles shone.