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LITTLE MISS ODDITY
[Illustration: “‘TAIN’T NOTHIN’ BUT AN OLD WEED!”]
Little Miss Oddity
By
AMY E. BLANCHARD
_Author of “A Dear Little Girl,” “Mistress May,” etc._
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY IDA WAUGH_
[Illustration: Decoration]
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO.
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1902,
By GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO.
_Published July, 1902._
Contents
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. THE BACK YARD 9
II. IN THE GARDEN 29
III. WHERE IS JERRY? 47
IV. A NEW ACQUAINTANCE 67
V. THE VISIT 85
VI. PLEASANT DREAMS 105
VII. HOW CASSY TRIED TO MAKE A FIRE 119
VIII. THE SUMMER LONG 141
IX. NEWS 157
X. PLANS 175
XI. THE SURPRISE 191
XII. UNCLE JOHN ARRIVES 209
Illustrations
“’Tain’t nothin’ but an old weed” _Frontispiece_
Every now and then Flora was carried over and
shown the geranium Page 53
They played all sorts of games ” 99
Cassy’s eyes opened wider and wider ” 133
“What do you think! News! News!” ” 163
THE BACK YARD
CHAPTER I
THE BACK YARD
It was a queer jumbled up place, that back yard of the house where
Cassy and Jerry Law lived; old barrels tumbled to pieces in one corner,
empty tomato cans rolled against cast-off shoes in another; here bits
of broken crockery wedged themselves in between a lot of shingles, and
there a pile of iron scraps crowded against a bottomless chair; on a
clothes-line flapped several pairs of overalls and a stunted little
tree bore upon its branches sundry stockings of various sizes and
conditions.
It was a discouraging looking place, but Cassy, intently bending over
a pile of dirt near the bottomless chair, did not heed anything but
the fact that two tiny green shoots were poking themselves up from the
unpromising soil. She was a thin-faced, bright-eyed child, not pretty,
but with an eager, wistful expression, and as her face lit up with a
sudden smile she looked unusually intelligent.
“Jerry, come here,” she cried; “I’ve got a garden.”
“Sho!” returned Jerry, “I don’t believe it.”
“I have so; just you come and look at it.” Cassy tossed back the locks
of brown hair that hung over her eyes and softly patted with her two
small hands the dry earth around the springing blades of green. Jerry
came nearer. “It’s truly growing,” Cassy went on. “I didn’t stick it in
the ground myself to make believe; just see.”
Jerry bent his sandy-colored head nearer to the object of his sister’s
admiration.
“’Tain’t nothin’ but a old weed,” he decided at last.
“How do you know?”
“I just believe it.”
“Well, you don’t know, and I think it is just as good to believe it
will grow to be a beautiful flower.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Jerry said.
“Why not?”
“’Cause.”
“But just maybe,” Cassy insisted pleadingly. “Why couldn’t it? I don’t
see why not.”
“’Cause,” repeated Jerry, “I never saw no flowers growing in this back
yard.”
“But Mrs. Boyle has some right next door, and oh, Jerry, Mrs. Schaff
across the street has some great big lovely red ones. Please let’s hope
this will be a flower.”
“Well,” replied Jerry, doubtfully, “I’ll pretend, but if it isn’t, you
mustn’t say: Now, Jerry, what made you let me believe in it?”
“I won’t; I truly won’t.”
“All the same,” said Jerry, “I don’t see how you can keep it from being
trampled on.”
Cassy looked alarmed.
“You see it’s right out here where anybody can pull it up or do
anything. Billy Miles would rather tear it to pieces than not if he
thought you wanted to keep it.”
Cassy’s distress increased. “Couldn’t we hide it or something?”
“We might for a little while, but if it should grow and grow why then
anybody could find it out.”
“Oh, dear,” sighed Cassy, “it’s like Moses when they had to put him in
the bulrushes. Maybe it will be a little wee bit of a flower and after
a while we could come and dig it up and set it in the window. I know
what I’ll do; I’ll set that old chair over it and then maybe nobody
will notice it.”
“There’s a piece of chicken wire off over there,” said Jerry,
good-naturedly. “I’ll get that and sort of twist it around the chair,
then it will make a fence for it. Sh! There’s Billy, and if he sees us
he will play the mischief with any fun of ours.”
Cassy arose hastily to her feet and faced the back door from which
Billy’s form was just issuing. There was no love lost between Billy and
the Law children.
“What yer doin’?” questioned Billy, looking suspiciously at Cassy’s
defiant attitude.
“Nothin’.”
“Humph! I don’t believe ye.”
Cassy spread out her hands.
“Well, see, am I doing anything? Did you think I was eating
strawberries or swinging in a hammock?”
“You’re too smart,” returned Billy. He came over and peered around.
“You’ve got somethin’ in among those cans.”
Cassy tossed up her chin.
“You’re welcome to all you find in them.”
Billy turned one over with his foot, looked among the scraps of iron
and then said:
“You’re just bluffin’, but I’ll find out.” And he climbed the fence
into the next yard.
As soon as his stout legs had disappeared Cassy whirled the old chair
around till it stood over her treasured plant. Jerry disengaged the
strip of chicken wire from its surroundings and contrived a sort of
coop-like structure which did not attract the eye, yet kept the small
green shoots safely hidden without excluding the light and air.
“Now let’s go tell mother,” said Cassy, and took to her heels, Jerry
following.
Up the shabby dark stairway they ran, Cassy stepping lightly, Jerry,
boy-like, with clattering tread. Mrs. Law glanced up from her sewing as
they entered. “We’ve got a garden,” said Cassy in a loud whisper.
“What do you mean?” inquired her mother, breaking off her thread with a
snap.
“We have truly,” Cassy insisted. “It’s under an old chair in the back
yard.”
“That’s a queer place for a garden,” responded her mother, rethreading
her needle and taking swift stitches.
“Yes, but it happened itself, you know, and so we have to have it
there. We’re so afraid Billy Miles will pull it up. Jerry thinks maybe
it’s a weed, but we’re going to hope it’s a flower, a real flower. What
would you like it to be, mother, a rose?”
“I’m afraid that would be setting my hopes too high. Let me see,
perhaps it might be a morning-glory.”
“Are they pretty, morning-glories?”
“Yes, very.”
“What color?”
“All colors, but the common ones are generally purple or blue.”
“I’d like them to be blue. What do they look like?”
“They grow on a vine, and the flowers are little vase-like cups that
open first thing in the morning and close when the sun shines on them.”
“But they open the next day?”
“No, not the same flower, but others do. They bloom very freely,
although each one lasts only a little while.”
“Do they smell sweet?”
“I never noticed that they did.”
Cassy was not entirely satisfied with this description and sat very
still thinking about it. After awhile she broke out with: “You don’t
think it could be any other kind of a flower?”
“Oh, I didn’t say so. Of course it might be. We can tell very soon.
I know the leaves of a morning-glory, and when I get time I will go
down and look at your plant. Yes, I know morning-glories well enough.
There used to be a great mass of them over the back fence where we used
to live; all colors, blue and pink and lovely white ones striped. I
used to think they were very beautiful.” She sighed and worked faster.
“Don’t go out, Jerry,” she said presently. “This work must go home this
evening.”
“May I go with Jerry?” asked Cassy.
Her mother hesitated and then replied, “Yes, but don’t stay.”
Spring was well on its way as open windows and doorsteps swarming with
children showed, but in this narrow street there were no perfume-laden
airs; it seemed instead that all the foul odors were made more evident
by the warmer weather, and as the brother and sister made their way
through the slovenly groups of loungers, there was little to make them
realize the beauty of a world where green trees and sweetly smelling
orchards made the heart glad.
They took their way along soberly enough, Jerry lugging the big bundle
and his sister trotting along by his side. From the narrow street they
turned into a broader one where shops of all kinds were arrayed along
the way. Into one of these the children turned, delivered their bundle
and hurried out. They never tarried long at the place, for they did
not feel comfortable under the old Jew’s sharp eyes, and did not enjoy
being stared at by the two big boys who were always there, too.
“We did hurry,” said Cassy when they reached the corner. “And see,
Jerry, there are trees with tiny green leaves on them behind that
wall. I have always wanted so much to see what was behind that wall. Do
you believe you could climb it?”
“Yes, ’course I could, but the cops wouldn’t let me.”
“I do want to know so much,” repeated Cassy wistfully. “There is a
gate, you know, but it’s boards, and it’s always shut tight. Can’t we
walk around that way now? It won’t take us long and it’s so much nicer
than the other way.”
“I don’t know why,” said Jerry. “Brick walls ain’t so awful pretty.”
“No, but the trees are getting green; little bits of baby leaves are
coming out on them and we can see them above the wall. Let us go that
way.”
“All right,” agreed Jerry.
They trotted along till the brick wall was reached and then Cassy
exclaimed excitedly: “Oh, Jerry, I believe the gate is open; there is a
man there with a wheelbarrow. Oh, do hurry.”
She ran forward as fast as her legs would carry her and sure enough the
gate was open and beyond it smiled such a garden as Cassy had never
before seen. Tulips, red and yellow, flaunted themselves in their
little round beds, daffodils nodded sunnily from the borders, primroses
and pansies, flowering bush and early shrub were all in bloom. Cassy
drew a long breath of delight. Was ever anything ever so beautiful? Her
eager little face was bent forward and her big eyes were taking in the
whole scene when the gardener came out trundling his wheelbarrow.
“Take care, sis,” he warned, “don’t stand in the way.”
“Oh!” Cassy exclaimed, scarcely noticing what he said. “Oh, isn’t it
beautiful?”
The gardener smiled.
“’Tain’t so bad. You can step inside the gate out of the way, if you
want to.”
“And Jerry, too?” Cassy asked as her brother came up.
The gardener looked suspiciously at Jerry. He had reasons for not
thinking well of small boys.
“He’d better stay outside,” he said; but seeing Cassy’s disappointed
face he yielded. “If you’ll keep right there by the gate I guess you’ll
do no harm,” he told Jerry, and the two children stepped inside.
Such a waft of sweet odors as met them, and such a glory of color. The
gardener glanced at Cassy’s rapt face as he trundled in his last load
of sand, and he looked pleased.
“You like it pretty well, don’t you?” he said. “If I had time I’d show
you about, but I’ve got to get some plants potted before night, and
I’ve got to shut the gate now,” he added regretfully.
Cassy turned slowly, her eyes still lingering upon the borders.
“She’s wanted to see the inside of this place more’n anything,” Jerry
confided to the gardener as Cassy’s steps lagged, “but the gate ain’t
ever been open before.”
“Then I’m glad it happened to be this time when you were by,” said the
gardener heartily. “Some day if you happen to see me when I’ve got time
I’ll take you all over the garden.”
“Oh, thank you, sir, thank you. I’d love that. Have you any
morning-glories?”
The man laughed.
“No, pesky things; they grow so fast that they’d get the best of me in
no time; though, now I think of it, there were some by the kitchen
door last year. The cook planted them, and I guess they’ll come up
again this summer too plentiful for my use. Do you like ’em, sis?”
“I never saw any,” Cassy told him. “But I want to.”
She turned away as the gardener made ready to shut the gate, and all
the way home she had scarcely a word to say. “It was like the garden of
Eden,” she said under her breath once.
“I think he might have given us some flowers,” said Jerry.
“Maybe he couldn’t,” returned Cassy. “They aren’t his. I think he was
very good to let us go in. Oh, Jerry, how happy, how happy people must
be who have a garden like that.”
There was excuse enough for their having tarried when they reached home
at dusk to find their simple little supper of mush and molasses ready
for them. Cassy could talk of nothing but the garden, and all night
long she dreamed of nodding flowers and green trees.
In the morning her first thought was of the two green shoots under the
old chair in the back yard. Perhaps the plant needed water; she would
go down and see before any one was up. Carefully carrying a cupful of
water she went down the rickety steps which led to the back yard.
The little green shoots had stretched further up out of the dry earth,
to the child’s delight. Lifting the chair with a cautious look around
she poured the water upon the earth and watched it sink into the
ground. She crouched there for some time as if she would discover the
plant’s manner of growing.
At last she arose with a sigh. Such a poor little garden compared to
the one she had seen yesterday, but what possibilities did it not hold?
This tiny plant might yet show gorgeous blooms of red and yellow, or
send forth big bunches of pink. Her thoughts went rioting along when
they were interrupted by a hoarse laugh, and looking up startled, she
saw the grinning face of Billy Miles peering over the fence.
“I caught ye,” he jeered. “I seen ye. What yer got buried there?”
“Nothing,” returned Cassy stoutly.
“Yer another,” retorted Billy, clambering over the fence. “What yer got
in that cup?”
Cassy turned the cup upside down, but Billy was not satisfied. He came
threateningly towards her, taking no heed of where he was stepping.
“Oh, take care,” cried Cassy, forgetting caution in her alarm lest his
heavy tread should crush her precious plant.
Billy looked down.
“Ye tried to fool me,” he cried, seeing the moist circle out of which
stretched the green shoots.
“I didn’t, either.”
Billy for answer gave a savage kick and snap went the little stalk.
Cassy burst into tears, picked up her treasured plant and went flying
up-stairs. She laid the tiny stalk before her mother, and hiding her
face in her hands sobbed bitterly.
Jerry, still frowsy and unkempt, issued from his bit of a room.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, looking at Cassy in concern. For answer
Mrs. Law held up the broken stalk, and Jerry looked his sympathy.
“Never mind, don’t cry so, dear,” Mrs. Law said at last. “Very likely
it wouldn’t have lived anyhow.”
“How did it happen?” whispered Jerry.
“Billy Miles,” Cassy whispered back, choking down her sobs. “He saw me
watering it and he got mad and kicked it to death. Oh, my poor little
flower that was going to be a morning-glory. It was, wasn’t it, mother?”
Mrs. Law examined the broken leaves.
“I think perhaps it was,” she replied.
“Won’t it live if I plant it in a box?” asked Cassy, this new hope
causing her tears to cease.
“I’m afraid not.”
“I’ll get even with Billy Miles,” muttered Jerry; then louder he said,
“Cheer up, Cass; I’ll get you a real, righty flower, see if I don’t.”
He looked at his mother for encouragement.
“How will you do it?” asked Cassy, interested.
“Never you mind. I will, honest, I will. I’ll tell mother.” And drawing
Mrs. Law to one side he confided to her his plan.
All day long Jerry was absent, and when Cassy asked where he was, her
mother only smiled, though if the truth were known he was not very far
away, for he was keeping watch by the gate in the garden wall. If that
gardener should but once appear Jerry knew well what he meant to do. He
did not come home even to dinner, but munched a crust he had stuffed in
his pocket, and kept his eye on the gate.
“He might just be coming out to dinner now,” the boy murmured to
himself, “and I’d be sure to miss him if I left.” But no gardener
appeared till late. The clock had struck six and the streets were full
of workmen returning to their homes when the gate did open and out
stepped the gardener, dinner bucket in hand. He had no sooner appeared
than Jerry met him, outwardly as bold as a lion, but inwardly anxious.
“Mr. Gardener,” he began.
The man scowled down at him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Out with it.”
“Nothing much,” returned Jerry, “at least, you see—you know me and my
sister were here looking at your garden yesterday.”
“Yes, I remember now. Well?”
“And you know—” Jerry went on to tell his story of the broken plant,
concluding with: “so I thought some time, you know, you might have an
extra plant, just a little bit of a one, that you wouldn’t miss, and if
you’d sell it cheap, I’d work it out, the pay, I mean. I could help to
wheel that sand, you know.”
The man’s face broke into a smile.
“All right, sonny; it’s a bargain. I must go home now, but you come
around Monday, and sister shall get a plant.”
“Shall I come to this gate?” asked Jerry eagerly. “When?”
“No, not here; round at the other side. We don’t often open this gate,
only to take in loads of dirt and such, and when I am late I go out
this way. You go all the way around to the other side and you’ll see an
iron railing; there’s another gate there; go in and knock at the back
door and say you want to see John McClure. Come about twelve o’clock
and bring sissy.” He nodded and passed on, leaving Jerry in a state of
extreme satisfaction, and ready to make for home with scurrying legs
and a large appetite.
IN THE GARDEN