inviting array of eatables and drinkables, prettily decorated with green
leaves. Jo announced that the coffee was ready, and every one settled
themselves to a hearty meal; for youth is seldom dyspeptic, and exercise
develops wholesome appetites. A very merry lunch it was; for everything
seemed fresh and funny, and frequent peals of laughter startled a
venerable horse who fed near by. There was a pleasing inequality in the
table, which produced many mishaps to cups and plates; acorns dropped
into the milk, little black ants partook of the refreshments without
being invited, and fuzzy caterpillars swung down from the tree, to see
what was going on. Three white-headed children peeped over the fence,
and an objectionable dog barked at them from the other side of the river
with all his might and main.
[Illustration: "A very merry lunch it was."--Page 156.]
"There's salt here, if you prefer it," said Laurie, as he handed Jo a
saucer of berries.
"Thank you, I prefer spiders," she replied, fishing up two unwary little
ones who had gone to a creamy death. "How dare you remind me of that
horrid dinner-party, when yours is so nice in every way?" added Jo,
as they both laughed, and ate out of one plate, the china having run
short.
"I had an uncommonly good time that day, and haven't got over it yet.
This is no credit to me, you know; I don't do anything; it's you and Meg
and Brooke who make it go, and I'm no end obliged to you. What shall we
do when we can't eat any more?" asked Laurie, feeling that his trump
card had been played when lunch was over.
"Have games, till it's cooler. I brought 'Authors,' and I dare say Miss
Kate knows something new and nice. Go and ask her; she's company, and
you ought to stay with her more."
"Aren't you company too? I thought she'd suit Brooke; but he keeps
talking to Meg, and Kate just stares at them through that ridiculous
glass of hers. I'm going, so you needn't try to preach propriety, for
you can't do it, Jo."
Miss Kate did know several new games; and as the girls would not, and
the boys could not, eat any more, they all adjourned to the drawing-room
to play "Rigmarole."
"One person begins a story, any nonsense you like, and tells as long as
he pleases, only taking care to stop short at some exciting point, when
the next takes it up and does the same. It's very funny when well done,
and makes a perfect jumble of tragical comical stuff to laugh over.
Please start it, Mr. Brooke," said Kate, with a commanding air, which
surprised Meg, who treated the tutor with as much respect as any other
gentleman.
Lying on the grass at the feet of the two young ladies, Mr. Brooke
obediently began the story, with the handsome brown eyes steadily fixed
upon the sunshiny river.
"Once on a time, a knight went out into the world to seek his fortune,
for he had nothing but his sword and his shield. He travelled a long
while, nearly eight-and-twenty years, and had a hard time of it, till he
came to the palace of a good old king, who had offered a reward to any
one who would tame and train a fine but unbroken colt, of which he was
very fond. The knight agreed to try, and got on slowly but surely; for
the colt was a gallant fellow, and soon learned to love his new master,
though he was freakish and wild. Every day, when he gave his lessons to
this pet of the king's, the knight rode him through the city; and, as
he rode, he looked everywhere for a certain beautiful face, which he had
seen many times in his dreams, but never found. One day, as he went
prancing down a quiet street, he saw at the window of a ruinous castle
the lovely face. He was delighted, inquired who lived in this old
castle, and was told that several captive princesses were kept there by
a spell, and spun all day to lay up money to buy their liberty. The
knight wished intensely that he could free them; but he was poor, and
could only go by each day, watching for the sweet face, and longing to
see it out in the sunshine. At last, he resolved to get into the castle
and ask how he could help them. He went and knocked; the great door flew
open, and he beheld--"
[Illustration: He went prancing down a quiet street]
"A ravishingly lovely lady, who exclaimed, with a cry of rapture, 'At
last! at last!'" continued Kate, who had read French novels, and admired
the style. "''Tis she!' cried Count Gustave, and fell at her feet in an
ecstasy of joy. 'Oh, rise!' she said, extending a hand of marble
fairness. 'Never! till you tell me how I may rescue you,' swore the
knight, still kneeling. 'Alas, my cruel fate condemns me to remain here
till my tyrant is destroyed.' 'Where is the villain?' 'In the mauve
salon. Go, brave heart, and save me from despair.' 'I obey, and return
victorious or dead!' With these thrilling words he rushed away, and
flinging open the door of the mauve salon, was about to enter, when he
received--"
[Illustration: "Oh, rise," she said]
"A stunning blow from the big Greek lexicon, which an old fellow in a
black gown fired at him," said Ned. "Instantly Sir What's-his-name
recovered himself, pitched the tyrant out of the window, and turned to
join the lady, victorious, but with a bump on his brow; found the door
locked, tore up the curtains, made a rope ladder, got half-way down when
the ladder broke, and he went head first into the moat, sixty feet
below. Could swim like a duck, paddled round the castle till he came to
a little door guarded by two stout fellows; knocked their heads together
till they cracked like a couple of nuts, then, by a trifling exertion of
his prodigious strength, he smashed in the door, went up a pair of stone
steps covered with dust a foot thick, toads as big as your fist, and
spiders that would frighten you into hysterics, Miss March. At the top
of these steps he came plump upon a sight that took his breath away and
chilled his blood--"
[Illustration: A stunning blow from the big Greek lexicon]
"A tall figure, all in white with a veil over its face and a lamp in its
wasted hand," went on Meg. "It beckoned, gliding noiselessly before him
down a corridor as dark and cold as any tomb. Shadowy effigies in armor
stood on either side, a dead silence reigned, the lamp burned blue, and
the ghostly figure ever and anon turned its face toward him, showing the
glitter of awful eyes through its white veil. They reached a curtained
door, behind which sounded lovely music; he sprang forward to enter, but
the spectre plucked him back, and waved threateningly before him a--"
"Snuff-box," said Jo, in a sepulchral tone, which convulsed the
audience. "'Thankee,' said the knight politely, as he took a pinch, and
sneezed seven times so violently that his head fell off. 'Ha! ha!'
laughed the ghost; and having peeped through the key-hole at the
princesses spinning away for dear life, the evil spirit picked up her
victim and put him in a large tin box, where there were eleven other
knights packed together without their heads, like sardines, who all rose
and began to--"
[Illustration: He sneezed]
"Dance a hornpipe," cut in Fred, as Jo paused for breath; "and, as they
danced, the rubbishy old castle turned to a man-of-war in full sail. 'Up
with the jib, reef the tops'l halliards, helm hard a lee, and man the
guns!' roared the captain, as a Portuguese pirate hove in sight, with a
flag black as ink flying from her foremast. 'Go in and win, my
hearties!' says the captain; and a tremendous fight begun. Of course the
British beat; they always do."
"No, they don't!" cried Jo, aside.
"Having taken the pirate captain prisoner, sailed slap over the
schooner, whose decks were piled with dead, and whose lee-scuppers ran
blood, for the order had been 'Cutlasses, and die hard!' 'Bosen's mate,
take a bight of the flying-jib sheet, and start this villain if he don't
confess his sins double quick,' said the British captain. The Portuguese
held his tongue like a brick, and walked the plank, while the jolly tars
cheered like mad. But the sly dog dived, came up under the man-of-war,
scuttled her, and down she went, with all sail set, 'To the bottom of
the sea, sea, sea,' where--"
[Illustration: The Portuguese walked the plank]
"Oh, gracious! what _shall_ I say?" cried Sallie, as Fred ended his
rigmarole, in which he had jumbled together, pell-mell, nautical phrases
and facts, out of one of his favorite books. "Well they went to the
bottom, and a nice mermaid welcomed them, but was much grieved on
finding the box of headless knights, and kindly pickled them in brine,
hoping to discover the mystery about them; for, being a woman, she was
curious. By and by a diver came down, and the mermaid said, 'I'll give
you this box of pearls if you can take it up;' for she wanted to restore
the poor things to life, and couldn't raise the heavy load herself. So
the diver hoisted it up, and was much disappointed, on opening it, to
find no pearls. He left it in a great lonely field, where it was found
by a--"
"Little goose-girl, who kept a hundred fat geese in the field," said
Amy, when Sallie's invention gave out. "The little girl was sorry for
them, and asked an old woman what she should do to help them. 'Your
geese will tell you, they know everything,' said the old woman. So she
asked what she should use for new heads, since the old ones were lost,
and all the geese opened their hundred mouths and screamed--"
"'Cabbages!'" continued Laurie promptly. "'Just the thing,' said the
girl, and ran to get twelve fine ones from her garden. She put them on,
the knights revived at once, thanked her, and went on their way
rejoicing, never knowing the difference, for there were so many other
heads like them in the world that no one thought anything of it. The
knight in whom I'm interested went back to find the pretty face, and
learned that the princesses had spun themselves free, and all gone to be
married, but one. He was in a great state of mind at that; and mounting
the colt, who stood by him through thick and thin, rushed to the castle
to see which was left. Peeping over the hedge, he saw the queen of his
affections picking flowers in her garden. 'Will you give me a rose?'
said he. 'You must come and get it. I can't come to you; it isn't
proper,' said she, as sweet as honey. He tried to climb over the hedge,
but it seemed to grow higher and higher; then he tried to push through,
but it grew thicker and thicker, and he was in despair. So he patiently
broke twig after twig, till he had made a little hole, through which he
peeped, saying imploringly, 'Let me in! let me in!' But the pretty
princess did not seem to understand, for she picked her roses quietly,
and left him to fight his way in. Whether he did or not, Frank will tell
you."
[Illustration: Will you give me a rose?]
"I can't; I'm not playing, I never do," said Frank, dismayed at the
sentimental predicament out of which he was to rescue the absurd couple.
Beth had disappeared behind Jo, and Grace was asleep.
"So the poor knight is to be left sticking in the hedge, is he?" asked
Mr. Brooke, still watching the river, and playing with the wild rose in
his button-hole.
"I guess the princess gave him a posy, and opened the gate, after a
while," said Laurie, smiling to himself, as he threw acorns at his
tutor.
"What a piece of nonsense we have made! With practice we might do
something quite clever. Do you know 'Truth'?" asked Sallie, after they
had laughed over their story.
"I hope so," said Meg soberly.
"The game, I mean?"
"What is it?" said Fred.
"Why, you pile up your hands, choose a number, and draw out in turn, and
the person who draws at the number has to answer truly any questions put
by the rest. It's great fun."
"Let's try it," said Jo, who liked new experiments.
Miss Kate and Mr. Brooke, Meg, and Ned declined, but Fred, Sallie, Jo,
and Laurie piled and drew; and the lot fell to Laurie.
"Who are your heroes?" asked Jo.
"Grandfather and Napoleon."
"Which lady here do you think prettiest?" said Sallie.
"Margaret."
"Which do you like best?" from Fred.
"Jo, of course."
"What silly questions you ask!" and Jo gave a disdainful shrug as the
rest laughed at Laurie's matter-of-fact tone.
"Try again; Truth isn't a bad game," said Fred.
"It's a very good one for you," retorted Jo, in a low voice.
Her turn came next.
"What is your greatest fault?" asked Fred, by way of testing in her the
virtue he lacked himself.
"A quick temper."
"What do you most wish for?" said Laurie.
"A pair of boot-lacings," returned Jo, guessing and defeating his
purpose.
"Not a true answer; you must say what you really do want most."
"Genius; don't you wish you could give it to me, Laurie?" and she slyly
smiled in his disappointed face.
"What virtues do you most admire in a man?" asked Sallie.
"Courage and honesty."
"Now my turn," said Fred, as his hand came last.
"Let's give it to him," whispered Laurie to Jo, who nodded, and asked at
once,--
"Didn't you cheat at croquet?"
"Well, yes, a little bit."
"Good! Didn't you take your story out of 'The Sea-Lion?'" said Laurie.
"Rather."
"Don't you think the English nation perfect in every respect?" asked
Sallie.
"I should be ashamed of myself if I didn't."
"He's a true John Bull. Now, Miss Sallie, you shall have a chance
without waiting to draw. I'll harrow up your feelings first, by asking
if you don't think you are something of a flirt," said Laurie, as Jo
nodded to Fred, as a sign that peace was declared.
"You impertinent boy! of course I'm not," exclaimed Sallie, with an air
that proved the contrary.
"What do you hate most?" asked Fred.
"Spiders and rice-pudding."
"What do you like best?" asked Jo.
"Dancing and French gloves."
"Well, _I_ think Truth is a very silly play; let's have a sensible game
of Authors, to refresh our minds," proposed Jo.
Ned, Frank, and the little girls joined in this, and, while it went on,
the three elders sat apart, talking. Miss Kate took out her sketch
again, and Margaret watched her, while Mr. Brooke lay on the grass, with
a book, which he did not read.
"How beautifully you do it! I wish I could draw," said Meg, with mingled
admiration and regret in her voice.
"Why don't you learn? I should think you had taste and talent for it,"
replied Miss Kate graciously.
"I haven't time."
"Your mamma prefers other accomplishments, I fancy. So did mine; but I
proved to her that I had talent, by taking a few lessons privately, and
then she was quite willing I should go on. Can't you do the same with
your governess?"
"I have none."
"I forgot; young ladies in America go to school more than with us. Very
fine schools they are, too, papa says. You go to a private one, I
suppose?"
"I don't go at all; I am a governess myself."
"Oh, indeed!" said Miss Kate; but she might as well have said, "Dear me,
how dreadful!" for her tone implied it, and something in her face made
Meg color, and wish she had not been so frank.
Mr. Brooke looked up, and said quickly, "Young ladies in America love
independence as much as their ancestors did, and are admired and
respected for supporting themselves."
"Oh, yes; of course it's very nice and proper in them to do so. We have
many most respectable and worthy young women, who do the same and are
employed by the nobility, because, being the daughters of gentlemen,
they are both well-bred and accomplished, you know," said Miss Kate, in
a patronizing tone, that hurt Meg's pride, and made her work seem not
only more distasteful, but degrading.
"Did the German song suit, Miss March?" inquired Mr. Brooke, breaking an
awkward pause.
"Oh, yes! it was very sweet, and I'm much obliged to whoever translated
it for me;" and Meg's downcast face brightened as she spoke.
"Don't you read German?" asked Miss Kate, with a look of surprise.
"Not very well. My father, who taught me, is away, and I don't get on
very fast alone, for I've no one to correct my pronunciation."
"Try a little now; here is Schiller's 'Mary Stuart,' and a tutor who
loves to teach," and Mr. Brooke laid his book on her lap, with an
inviting smile.
"It's so hard I'm afraid to try," said Meg, grateful, but bashful in the
presence of the accomplished young lady beside her.
"I'll read a bit to encourage you;" and Miss Kate read one of the most
beautiful passages, in a perfectly correct but perfectly expressionless
manner.
Mr. Brooke made no comment, as she returned the book to Meg, who said
innocently,--
"I thought it was poetry."
"Some of it is. Try this passage."
There was a queer smile about Mr. Brooke's mouth as he opened at poor
Mary's lament.
Meg, obediently following the long grass-blade which her new tutor used
to point with, read slowly and timidly, unconsciously making poetry of
the hard words by the soft intonation of her musical voice. Down the
page went the green guide, and presently, forgetting her listener in the
beauty of the sad scene, Meg read as if alone, giving a little touch of
tragedy to the words of the unhappy queen. If she had seen the brown
eyes then, she would have stopped short; but she never looked up, and
the lesson was not spoiled for her.
"Very well indeed!" said Mr. Brooke, as she paused, quite ignoring her
many mistakes, and looking as if he did, indeed, "love to teach."
Miss Kate put up her glass, and, having taken a survey of the little
tableau before her, shut her sketch-book, saying, with condescension,--
[Illustration: Miss Kate put up her glass]
"You've a nice accent, and, in time, will be a clever reader. I advise
you to learn, for German is a valuable accomplishment to teachers. I
must look after Grace, she is romping;" and Miss Kate strolled away,
adding to herself, with a shrug, "I didn't come to chaperone a
governess, though she _is_ young and pretty. What odd people these
Yankees are; I'm afraid Laurie will be quite spoilt among them."
"I forgot that English people rather turn up their noses at governesses,
and don't treat them as we do," said Meg, looking after the retreating
figure with an annoyed expression.
"Tutors, also, have rather a hard time of it there, as I know to my
sorrow. There's no place like America for us workers, Miss Margaret;"
and Mr. Brooke looked so contented and cheerful, that Meg was ashamed to
lament her hard lot.
"I'm glad I live in it then. I don't like my work, but I get a good deal
of satisfaction out of it after all, so I won't complain; I only wish I
liked teaching as you do."
"I think you would if you had Laurie for a pupil. I shall be very sorry
to lose him next year," said Mr. Brooke, busily punching holes in the
turf.
"Going to college, I suppose?" Meg's lips asked that question, but her
eyes added, "And what becomes of you?"
"Yes; it's high time he went, for he is ready; and as soon as he is off,
I shall turn soldier. I am needed."
"I am glad of that!" exclaimed Meg. "I should think every young man
would want to go; though it is hard for the mothers and sisters who stay
at home," she added sorrowfully.
"I have neither, and very few friends, to care whether I live or die,"
said Mr. Brooke, rather bitterly, as he absently put the dead rose in
the hole he had made and covered it up, like a little grave.
"Laurie and his grandfather would care a great deal, and we should all
be very sorry to have any harm happen to you," said Meg heartily.
"Thank you; that sounds pleasant," began Mr. Brooke, looking cheerful
again; but before he could finish his speech, Ned, mounted on the old
horse, came lumbering up to display his equestrian skill before the
young ladies, and there was no more quiet that day.
"Don't you love to ride?" asked Grace of Amy, as they stood resting,
after a race round the field with the others, led by Ned.
"I dote upon it; my sister Meg used to ride when papa was rich, but we
don't keep any horses now, except Ellen Tree," added Amy, laughing.
"Tell me about Ellen Tree; is it a donkey?" asked Grace curiously.
[Illustration: Ellen Tree]
"Why, you see, Jo is crazy about horses, and so am I, but we've only got
an old side-saddle, and no horse. Out in our garden is an apple-tree,
that has a nice low branch; so Jo put the saddle on it, fixed some reins
on the part that turns up, and we bounce away on Ellen Tree whenever we
like."
"How funny!" laughed Grace. "I have a pony at home, and ride nearly
every day in the park, with Fred and Kate; it's very nice, for my
friends go too, and the Row is full of ladies and gentlemen."
"Dear, how charming! I hope I shall go abroad some day; but I'd rather
go to Rome than the Row," said Amy, who had not the remotest idea what
the Row was, and wouldn't have asked for the world.
Frank, sitting just behind the little girls, heard what they were
saying, and pushed his crutch away from him with an impatient gesture as
he watched the active lads going through all sorts of comical
gymnastics. Beth, who was collecting the scattered Author-cards, looked
up, and said, in her shy yet friendly way,--
"I'm afraid you are tired; can I do anything for you?"
"Talk to me, please; it's dull, sitting by myself," answered Frank, who
had evidently been used to being made much of at home.
If he had asked her to deliver a Latin oration, it would not have seemed
a more impossible task to bashful Beth; but there was no place to run
to, no Jo to hide behind now, and the poor boy looked so wistfully at
her, that she bravely resolved to try.
"What do you like to talk about?" she asked, fumbling over the cards,
and dropping half as she tried to tie them up.
"Well, I like to hear about cricket and boating and hunting," said
Frank, who had not yet learned to suit his amusements to his strength.
"My heart! what shall I do? I don't know anything about them," thought
Beth; and, forgetting the boy's misfortune in her flurry, she said,
hoping to make him talk, "I never saw any hunting, but I suppose you
know all about it."
"I did once; but I can never hunt again, for I got hurt leaping a
confounded five-barred gate; so there are no more horses and hounds for
me," said Frank, with a sigh that made Beth hate herself for her
innocent blunder.
"Your deer are much prettier than our ugly buffaloes," she said, turning
to the prairies for help, and feeling glad that she had read one of the
boys' books in which Jo delighted.
Buffaloes proved soothing and satisfactory; and, in her eagerness to
amuse another, Beth forgot herself, and was quite unconscious of her
sisters' surprise and delight at the unusual spectacle of Beth talking
away to one of the dreadful boys, against whom she had begged
protection.
"Bless her heart! She pities him, so she is good to him," said Jo,
beaming at her from the croquet-ground.
"I always said she was a little saint," added Meg, as if there could be
no further doubt of it.
"I haven't heard Frank laugh so much for ever so long," said Grace to
Amy, as they sat discussing dolls, and making tea-sets out of the
acorn-cups.
"My sister Beth is a very _fastidious_ girl, when she likes to be," said
Amy, well pleased at Beth's success. She meant "fascinating," but as
Grace didn't know the exact meaning of either word, "fastidious" sounded
well, and made a good impression.
An impromptu circus, fox and geese, and an amicable game of croquet,
finished the afternoon. At sunset the tent was struck, hampers packed,
wickets pulled up, boats loaded, and the whole party floated down the
river, singing at the tops of their voices. Ned, getting sentimental,
warbled a serenade with the pensive refrain,--
"Alone, alone, ah! woe, alone,"
and at the lines--
"We each are young, we each have a heart,
Oh, why should we stand thus coldly apart?"
he looked at Meg with such a lackadaisical expression that she laughed
outright and spoilt his song.
"How can you be so cruel to me?" he whispered, under cover of a lively
chorus. "You've kept close to that starched-up Englishwoman all day, and
now you snub me."
"I didn't mean to; but you looked so funny I really couldn't help it,"
replied Meg, passing over the first part of his reproach; for it was
quite true that she _had_ shunned him, remembering the Moffat party and
the talk after it.
Ned was offended, and turned to Sallie for consolation, saying to her
rather pettishly, "There isn't a bit of flirt in that girl, is there?"
"Not a particle; but she's a dear," returned Sallie, defending her
friend even while confessing her short-comings.
"She's not a stricken deer, any way," said Ned, trying to be witty, and
succeeding as well as very young gentlemen usually do.
On the lawn, where it had gathered, the little party separated with
cordial good-nights and good-byes, for the Vaughns were going to Canada.
As the four sisters went home through the garden, Miss Kate looked after
them, saying, without the patronizing tone in her voice, "In spite of
their demonstrative manners, American girls are very nice when one knows
them."
"I quite agree with you," said Mr. Brooke.
[Illustration: Tail-piece]
[Illustration: Swinging to and fro in his hammock]
XIII.
CASTLES IN THE AIR.