I'd give him plenty." She sat still for a minute, lost in thought. Peletiah
and Ezekiel had wandered off outside, where they sat under the lilac
bushes, to rest after their unwonted exercise, so the hens, undisturbed,
stepped over the sill of the kitchen door, and scratched and picked about
to their hearts' content.
"I'll drive 'em out," said Rachel, delighted at the chance of action this
would give her, and springing off.
"Take the broom," screamed Grandma after her, "and then hurry and come back
and tell me some more."
So Rachel, wishing the duty could be an hour long, shooed and waved her
broom wildly, and ran and raced, and the fat old hens tumbled over each
other to get away. And then she came slowly back to Grandma's side, to go
over again every bit she had told before. Until, looking up at the old
clock on the shelf, she saw that it was one minute of twelve o'clock.
"Oh, my! I've got to go," she screamed in Grandma's ear, and without
another word she dashed off and up to the lilac bushes. "Boys, come this
minute." She held out both hands. "It's awful late."
"I know it," said Peletiah, with a very grieved face; "we've been waiting
for you ever so long, and dinner's ready at home."
"Well, come now." She stuck her long arms out straight, and shook her
fingers impatiently. "Oh, dear me--do hurry!"
"I ain't goin' to take hold of hands," declared Peletiah, edging off.
"Nor I, either," echoed Ezekiel.
"Oh, yes, you must." And without waiting for more words on the matter,
Rachel seized a hand of each, and bore off the boys.
If they ran before, they flew now. But all the same they were late to
dinner, and the parson and his wife and Miss Jerusha were all helped
around, and had begun to eat.
"There, see what that new girl has done already," said Miss Jerusha
sternly, laying down her knife and fork. "Peletiah and Ezekiel ain't ever
late. Well, you'll see trouble enough with her, or I'll miss my guess."
Peletiah sank down on the upper step of the piazza, but Ezekiel crept into
the kitchen, while Rachel pushed boldly up to Mrs. Henderson's chair.
"Oh, I'm awful sorry," she said. Her face was very flushed and her eyes
glowed with the run.
"Ben gallivantin' off an' temptin' the boys to play," declared Miss
Jerusha, with a shrewd nod of her brown front. "Oh, I know."
"We won't say any more about it now, dear," said Mrs. Henderson gently, at
sight of the hot little face. "There, get into your chair, this one next to
me. Where's Peletiah?"--looking about.
"Oh, I'm awful tired," wailed Ezekiel, slipping into his seat next to the
parson, and he drew the back of his hand across his red face.
"Ben playing so hard," said Miss Jerusha disagreeably, "an' now you're all
het up."
"I haven't played a single bit," declared Ezekiel stoutly, and with a very
injured expression of countenance. "Oh, dear me, I AM so tired!" stretching
his legs under the table.
"Eat your dinner, my son," said the parson, putting a liberal portion on
his plate.
"Oh, dear me!" Ezekiel essayed to, but laid down his spoon. "I don't want
anything, I'm so tired."
Mrs. Henderson cast an anxious glance over at him.
"No need to worry," her husband telegraphed back, going quietly on with his
own dinner. Rachel had begun on hers with hungry zest, but stopped
suddenly, hopped out of her chair, and raced to the door.
"Rachel!" It wasn't a loud voice, but she found herself back again and
looking into Mrs. Henderson's face.
"Sit down, dear; we do not leave the table in that way."
So Rachel slipped into her seat, feeling as if all the blood in her body
were in her hot cheeks.
"Now, what is it?" The parson's wife took one of the brown hands working
nervously under the tablecloth. "Tell me; don't be afraid," she said
softly. But Miss Jerusha heard.
"Stuff and nonsense!" she exclaimed, with a sneer. "When I was a child,
there was no such coddlin' goin' on, I can tell you."
"It's Peletiah," said Rachel. "Oh, dear me! he's out on the piazza, and he
must be awfully hungry. Can't I make him come in?"
"No, sit still. Husband"--the parson's wife looked down the table--"excuse
me a minute." She slipped out, and in another moment in she came, and
Peletiah with her.
And then Mr. Henderson told such a funny story about a monkey he had read
about only just that very morning, that Ezekiel forgot there ever was such
a thing as tired legs, and even Peletiah had no thoughts for that dreadful
run home from Grandma Bascom's.
As for Rachel, all idea of dinner flew at once out of her head. She laid
down her knife and fork and leaned forward with sparkling eyes, to catch
every word. Seeing which, Mrs. Henderson burst out laughing.
"I'm afraid you are making things worse, husband," she said, "for they
won't eat any dinner at all now."
"I surely am," said the parson, with another laugh, "and I thought I was
going to help so much," he added ruefully.
"How you can laugh," exclaimed Miss Jerusha sourly, at the good time in
progress, and sitting quite stiffly, "I don't for my part see."
"Oh, well, if you'd laugh more, it would be better for all of us, Jerusha,"
said her brother good-naturedly.
"I ain't a-goin' to laugh," declared Miss Jerusha, "and it's a wicked,
sinful shame to set such an example before those boys, like coddlin' up
that girl for keepin' them off playin'. I never see such goin's on!"
"We haven't been playing," said Peletiah stoutly.
"I told her so," said Ezekiel fretfully, seeing that his father had no more
monkey stories to offer, "but she keeps saying it just the same. I wish
she'd go off and play," he added vindictively.
The idea of Miss Jerusha ever having played, made Rachel turn in her chair
and regard her fixedly. Then she broke out into a laugh; it was such a
merry peal that presently the boys joined in, and even the parson and his
wife had hard work to keep their faces straight.
"Well, if I _ever_ see such goin's on!" Miss Jerusha shoved back her
chair and stalked out of the room.
"Did she ever play?" asked Rachel, when the door into the keeping-room had
slammed.
"Why, yes, of course, child," said Mrs. Henderson, with a smile, "when she
was a little girl."
"And was she ever a little girl?" persisted Rachel.
"Why, certainly. Now eat your dinner, Rachel."
Rachel picked up her knife and fork. When the two boys saw that she was
ready to really begin on her meal, they set to on theirs.
"I'm awful hungry," announced Peletiah, when he had been working busily on
his plateful.
The parson burst out into a laugh, like a boy.
"Hush, husband," warned Mrs. Henderson; "I'm afraid Jerusha will hear."
"I can't help it, Almira." His eyes were brimming with amusement. "Our boys
are getting waked up already."
"I ain't asleep," declared Peletiah, looking up at his father in amazement;
"I'm eating my dinner."
"So am I," announced Ezekiel wisely, and putting out his plate for another
potato.
"So I see," said his father gravely. "Well, now we're all getting on very
well," he added, in great satisfaction, with a glance around the table.
"Good-bye; you must excuse me, wife; you know I must get over to the
funeral early."
"Is old Miss Bedlow dead, Ma?" asked Peletiah, pausing in the act of
getting some gravy to his mouth.
"Yes, dear. Take care, Peletiah, and pay attention to your dinner."
Peletiah set down the mouthful on his plate. "I hain't got to go, have I,
Ma?" he asked, in trepidation.
"No, dear; now go on with your dinner, and don't say 'hain't.'"
"I'm glad I haven't got to go," observed Peletiah, with a long sigh of
relief, and beginning on his dinner once more. "I don't like funerals."
"I do." Rachel bobbed her black head at him across the table, and her eyes
roved excitedly. "I've seen lots an' lots of 'em in the city. They're fine,
I tell you." She laid down her knife and fork again and waved her arms.
"Oh, a string of carriages as long--an' the corpse is sometimes in a white
box, and heaps of flowers. I like 'em next to the circus."
"There, there, Rachel, eat your dinner, child," broke in Mrs. Henderson
quickly. "And, boys, don't talk any more. You must get through dinner, for
I have to go to Miss Bedlow's by two o'clock," and she got out of her chair
and began to clear the table.
So all that was to be heard now in the parsonage kitchen was the pleasant
rattle of knives and forks, and the bustle of clearing up, and presently
the children hopped out of their chairs and began to help Mrs. Henderson to
set everything in order.
"I'm goin' to wash every single thing up," announced Rachel, hurrying for
the mop.
"Can you, dear?" asked the parson's wife. She was very tired, and yet had
the funeral of the old parishioner to attend. But the risk seemed great of
allowing the new little girl to do up all the dinner dishes. "There are a
great many of them, and some of them are big"--glancing doubtfully around
the piles. "Are you sure you can manage them?"
"Why, yes," declared Rachel in scorn, "I can do 'em all just as easy!" She
stopped to snap her fingers at the greasy plates, then ran over to get the
big teakettle on the stove in a twinkling.
"Let Peletiah carry that for you," said Mrs. Henderson.
"He's so slow," said Rachel, but she stopped obediently.
"Rachel, there is one thing"--and the parson's wife came over and put her
hand on the thin little shoulder--"we all help each other in this house,
and we never talk against one."
"Oh," said Rachel.
Peletiah by this time had advanced on the teakettle, and, as soon as he
could, he bore it off and solemnly poured a goodly supply of boiling-hot
water into the waiting dishpan.
"Now you boys are to wipe the dishes for Rachel," said their mother, with
an approving glance at the group.
"I'd rather," began Rachel, wrinkling up her face.
"So remember; and when you are through, and the kitchen is set up neatly,
you may all play out of doors this afternoon, for lessons don't begin for
you until to-morrow, Rachel. And now be good children."
"I don't like lessons," said Peletiah, when they were left alone.
"Don't you?" exclaimed Rachel, in astonishment, and resting her soapy hands
on the edge of the dishpan.
"No, I don't," declared Peletiah, with great deliberation, "like them at
all."
"Well, I shall, I know." Rachel twitched off her hands and slapped the mop
down smartly among the cups in the hot water.
"Ow! you splashed me all over," exclaimed Ezekiel. "See there, now,
Rachel." He stepped hack and held up his arm.
"Phoo! that's nothing," said Rachel.
"It hurt; it's hot," said Ezekiel, squirming about.
"Well, if you ain't a baby!" cried Rachel scornfully.
"My mother said we weren't to call names," observed Peletiah.
"Oh, my! I forgot that. But he is a baby," declared Rachel.
"My mother said we were not to call names," repeated Peletiah, exactly as
if he hadn't made that remark before.
"Oh, dear me! how perfectly awful you--I mean I never saw such boys. Oh,
my!"
"My mother said----"
"Yes, yes, I know," interrupted Rachel, splashing away for dear life;
"well, now we must hurry and get these dishes done."
"And then we can go out and play," said Ezekiel, departing with the plate
he was drying to a safe distance from the hot shower from Rachel's busy
fingers.
"Yes. Oh, my, what fun! Let's hurry." And before the boys quite knew how,
the dishes were all piled in the pantry, the dishpan and mop washed out and
hung up to dry, and the crumbs swept from the kitchen floor.
"There," said Rachel, smoothing down her apron in great satisfaction, "now
we can go out. Come on, I'm going to the corner to see that funeral go by."
"We can't," said Peletiah, trying his best to hurry after her. "Mother
doesn't let us go out of the yard when she's away; and beside, there isn't
any corner--the road just goes round."
"Oh, bother!" Rachel whirled around and stamped her foot impatiently.
"And 'twill come past our house," contributed Ezekiel, gaining her side,
"so let's sit on the doorstep till it comes."
"And you can tell us about the funerals you've seen in the city," suggested
Peletiah, who had been thinking about them ever since.
"All right," said Rachel, seeing she was not to lose sight of the parade
she so dearly loved. "Whoopity--la!" She flung herself down on the long,
flat doorstone, and whipped her gown neatly away on either side. "I'm goin'
to sit in the middle."
The boys, very much pleased at this arrangement, which they would never
have thought of suggesting, sat down sedately in their places and folded
their hands in their laps.
"Now tell about those funerals," said Peletiah.
"Well, let me think," said Rachel, reflecting; "you see, I've seen so many.
Hmm! Oh, I know!" She jumped so suddenly that she came near precipitating
Ezekiel, who was leaning forward to attain a better view of her face, off
into the middle of the peony bed.
"Take care!" Rachel twitched him back into his place. "Yes, I'm goin' to
tell you about one perfectly splendid funeral I see just----"
"You mustn't say 'see,'" corrected Peletiah, with disapproval. He was
fairly longing for the recital, but it would never do to let such a slip in
conversation pass.
"Well, what shall I say, then?" cried Rachel pertly, and not at all pleased
at the interruption.
"You must say 'saw.'"
"I didn't saw it; you can't saw a thing," she declared contemptuously.
"You've got to see it, or else you can't say you did. So there,
Pel--Pel--whatever your name is."
"My name is Peletiah," he said solemnly,
"Peletiah--oh, dear me!" Rachel put her face between her two hands and
began to giggle.
"Tell about the funeral," said Ezekiel, twitching her sleeve.
"And you must say 'saw,'" reiterated Peletiah.
"I can't; 'tain't right, an' I ain't a-goin' to say 'saw' to please you, so
there, now!" declared Rachel, bringing up her head and setting her mouth
obstinately.
"Then I ain't going to sit here," said Peletiah, getting off from the
door-stone, "because my mother wouldn't like it; she always makes me say
'saw.'"
"Does she?" cried Rachel, a little red spot coming on either cheek. "Does
she, Pele--Pele--say, does she?"
"Yes, she does," said Peletiah, moving off slowly.
"Well, then, I'll say it. Came back and sit down; I'll say it. Saw, saw,
saw. There, now"--as Peletiah, very much delighted, settled back into his
place. "Well, you know this was a great big-bug who was buried, and----"
"A big bug!" exclaimed Peletiah, terribly disappointed. "I don't want to
hear of any bugs; tell about a funeral," he commanded loudly.
"I am tellin' you; keep still an' you'll hear it. Well, he was a gre--at
big-bug, an'----"
"Who was?" cried Ezekiel, dreadfully puzzled.
"This man who was to be buried--this one I'm tellin' you of. Do keep still,
an' you'll hear if you don't stop me every minute."
"You said it was a bug," said Peletiah, in loud disapproval, on the further
side.
"Well, so he was," declared Rachel, turning around to him. "Some men are
big-bugs, an' some men are only little mean ones. But this one I'm tellin'
you about was, oh, an awful big one," and she spread her arms with a
generous sweep to indicate his importance.
"Men aren't ever bugs," said Peletiah decidedly.
"Oh, yes, they are."
"No, they ain't," he declared obstinately.
"My mother says we mustn't contradict," put in Ezekiel, with a reproving
glance at him across Rachel's lap.
Peletiah unfolded his hands in extreme distress, but he couldn't say that
men were bugs, so he sat still.
"Anyway, they are in the city, where I lived," said Rachel, "so never mind.
Well, this funeral was just too splendid for anythin'. In the first place
there was----"
"Oh, it's coming," cried Ezekiel, pricking up his ears. "Miss Bedlow's
funeral's coming."
Rachel gave a jump that carried her off from the door-stone and quite a
piece down the box-bordered path. She was hanging over the gate when the
boys came up.
"Where?" she said. "I don't see any."
A small, black, high-topped wagon went by, the old horse at a jog trot, and
after it came a two-seated rockaway, and after that a carryall, and around
the curve in the road appeared more vehicles of the same patterns, tapering
off to a line of chaises and gigs.
"Why, that's the funeral," said Peletiah, in solemn enjoyment, and pointing
a finger at it; "it's going by now."
"What!" exclaimed Rachel, horribly disappointed. Then she flew away from
the gate and turned her back on it all. "I wish I was back in the city!"
she said.
XIII
"SHE'S GOING TO STAY HERE FOREVER"
It was dreadful; and after she had said it, Rachel stood overwhelmed with
distress. "Don't you tell your father." She whirled around and clutched
Peletiah's sleeve.
"We must," he said; "he's the minister, and we have to tell him
everything."
"Well, don't tell your mother, anyway," she begged anxiously.
"We must," said Peletiah again, "because we tell her everything, too."
"Then she'll send me back." Rachel, quite gone in despair, gave a loud cry
and threw herself face downward on the grass, where she sobbed as if her
heart would break.
This was so much worse than he had imagined, as any possible effect from
his words, that Peletiah couldn't speak, but stood over her in silent
misery. Seeing this, Ezekiel took matters into his own hands.
"I'm going to run after the funeral and get Ma to come home; she'll be at
the top of the procession," and he moved off toward the gateway.
"Stop!" Rachel squealed; then she sprang to her feet. "Don't you stir a
step, you!" she commanded.
"They're all hearing you," observed Peletiah, who, seeing Rachel upon her
feet, found his spirits reviving, and he pointed to the line of buggies and
chaises. "See 'em looking back; my father won't like it."
"Oh, dear me!" Rachel struggled with her sobs. "You shouldn't 'a' told me
you had 'em. That ain't a funeral."
"It is, too," declared Peletiah; "it's Miss Bedlow's funeral, and my Pa is
going to bury her."
"It ain't, either; an' that's a baker's cart," said Rachel, pointing to the
departing hearse with scorn.
"Oh, oh, what a story!" exclaimed Ezekiel, who was just on the point of
reproving his brother for contradicting, and he pointed his brown finger at
her. "That's got Miss Bedlow in, and they're taking her to the
burying-ground, and it's her funeral."
"Well, I don't want to go back to the city," said Rachel hastily,
dismissing Miss Bedlow and her funeral and all discussion thereon
summarily, and she dug the toe of her shoe into the gravel; "don't let your
mother send me back."
"You said you wished you were back there," observed Peletiah severely,
fixing his pale eyes on her distressed face, along which the tears were
making little paths.
"Well, I don't care. I don't want to go. Don't let her!" She seized his arm
and shook it smartly.
"You're shaking me!" said Peletiah, in astonishment.
"I know it, an' I'm goin' to," said Rachel, stamping her foot.
"You ain't going to shake my brother," declared Ezekiel loudly, "and we'll
make you go back if you shake us," he added vindictively.
"Oh, dear, dear!" Rachel dropped Peletiah's arm, and she hid her face in
her hands. "Don't make me go back," she wailed. "It's too dreadful there,
for Mrs. Fisher won't have me if you send me away, 'n' Gran 'll get hold of
me somehow--she'll--she'll find me, I know she will," and she shivered all
over.
"Who's Gran?" Peletiah drew quite near.
"She's Gran," said Rachel, shivering again. "Oh, dear! don't ask me; and
she beat me dreadful, an'--" her voice broke.
"She beat you?" cried Peletiah.
"Awful," said Rachel, cramming her fingers into her mouth to keep from
crying. "Oh, dear, dear! don't send me back."
Peletiah took two or three steps off, then came back.
"You may shake me if you want to," he said generously, "and you ain't going
back."
"Well, she isn't going to shake me," said Ezekiel stoutly, "and my Ma will
send her back if she shakes me, so there!"
"I hain't shook you yet," said Rachel, disclosing her black eyes between
her fingers and viewing him with cold disdain.
"Well, you ain't going to," repeated Ezekiel, with decision.
"Her Gran beat her." Peletiah went over to his brother. "She beat Rachel."
He kept repeating it, over and over; meanwhile Ezekiel moved about in
confusion, digging the toes of his shoes into the gravel to hide it.
"Well, she ain't going to shake me," he said, but it was in a fainter
voice, and he didn't look at Rachel's eyes.
"And you mustn't ask Mother to send her back," said Peletiah stubbornly.
"She ain't going to shake me." It was now so low that scarcely any one
could hear it.
"And you mustn't ask Mother to send her back," said Peletiah again. "She's
going to stay here just for ever and ever."
There was something in his tone that made Ezekiel hasten to say:
"Oh, I won't."
"And I won't shake you," said Rachel, flying out from behind her hands and
up to him, "if you'll only let me stay here; just let me stay," she cried,
hungrily.
"Well," said Ezekiel, with a great deal of condescension, "if you won't
shake me, you may stay at our house."
So the children went back to the flat door-stone to talk it over, Peletiah
saying:
"Maybe you can go to school with us next fall."
"Oh, my!" exclaimed Rachel, with wide eyes, and clasping her hands, "I've
got to learn a lot first."
"Yes, my father's got to teach you first," said Peletiah.
"Where's he going to do it?" Rachel leaned over to get a comprehensive view
of his face.
"In his study," answered Peletiah.
"Where's that?"
"That's where he writes his sermons in, that he preaches at people
Sundays," said Ezekiel, finding it very pleasant to be communicative, now
that he was quite sure the new girl would not shake him.
"Oh, how nice!" breathed Rachel. "That's scrumptious!"
"That's what?" asked Peletiah critically.
"Scrumptious. Haven't you ever heard that? Oh, what a nin--I mean, oh, how
funny!"
"And it ain't nice at all to have my father teach you," said Peletiah, with
very doleful ideas of that study.
"Why?" asked Rachel, with gathering dread.
"Oh, he makes you learn things," said Peletiah dismally, drawing a long
sigh at the remembrance.
"But that's just what I want to do," cried Rachel, with sparkling eyes;
"I'm goin' to learn an' learn, till I can't learn no more."
Peletiah was so occupied in edging off from her that he forgot to correct
her speech.
"Yes, I'm goin' to learn," exclaimed Rachel, in a glad little shout, and,
springing to her feet, she swung her arms over her head. "I'm goin' to read
an' I'm goin' to write, an' then I can write a letter to my Phronsie."
She ended up with a cheese, plunging down on the grass and puffing out her
gown like a small balloon.
"You can't do that," she said, nodding triumphantly up at the two boys.
"I don't want to," said Peletiah, sitting still on the door-stone.
"Well, you can't, anyway, 'cause you haven't got a frock. Well, now, let's
play," and she hopped to her feet. "Come on. What'll it be?"
"I'll show you the brook," volunteered Ezekiel, getting up.
"What's a brook?" asked Rachel.
"Hoh--hoh!" Ezekiel really laughed, it was so funny. "She doesn't know what
a brook is," he said, and he laughed again.
"Well, what is it?" demanded Rachel, laughing good-naturedly.
"It's water."
"I don't want to see any water," said Rachel, turning off disdainfully;
"there's nothing pretty in that."
"But it's awfully pretty," said Peletiah; "it runs all down over the
stones, and under the trees and----"
"Where is it?" cried Rachel, running up to him in great excitement. "Oh,
take me to it."
"It's just back of the house," said Ezekiel; "I'll show you the way."
But Rachel, once directed, got there first, and was down on her knees on
the bank, dabbling her hands in the purling little stream, half wild with
delight.
And when the parson and his wife got home from Miss Bedlow's funeral, they
found the three children there, perfectly absorbed in the labor of sailing
boats of cabbage leaves, and guiding their uncertain craft in and out the
shimmering pools and down through the tiny rapids. And they watched them
unobserved.
"But I dread to-morrow, when I give her the first lesson," said the parson,
as they stood unperceived in the shadow of the trees; "everything else is a
splendid success."
"Let us hope the lessons will be, too, husband," said Mrs. Henderson, a
happy light in her eyes.
"I hope so, but I'm afraid the child is all for play, and will be hard to
teach," he said, with a sigh.