“Papa,” said Max, on finding himself alone with his father and sister
that evening, “we’ll spend the Fourth here, won’t we?”
“Probably, my son,” was the reply. “I do not now expect to leave
Minersville before the middle or perhaps the last of July. But why do
you ask?”
“I was thinking whether we mightn’t get up some sort of a celebration,”
said Max.
“Oh, yes, do let us, papa!” cried Lulu. “It would be such fun.”
“Would it?” he said, smiling at her eagerness. “I should think that
would depend on how we celebrate. What would you two like to do to show
your patriotism on the nation’s birthday?”
“We shall want your help in deciding what might be done, papa,” said
Max.
“We might treat the mission school, couldn’t we, papa?” asked Lulu.
“I like that idea,” he answered, “but we must consider what sort of
treat it shall be.”
“Good things to eat, such as they do not get every day—nuts, candies,
raisins, oranges, figs, cakes, anything nice that we can get. Could we
send away somewhere for such things, papa? I’m afraid they are not to
be had in the stores here; at least not many of them.”
“I think I can order by telegraph and have them brought in season by
express on the railroad,” he answered. “We have about a week in which
to make our arrangements.”
“Oh, good! then you’ll do it, won’t you, papa?”
“I think so,” he said, in an indulgent tone.
“And let’s distribute some small flags among the children,” said Max.
“And have fireworks in the evening.”
“Oh, yes, yes!” exclaimed Lulu, clapping her hands and jumping up and
down in delight. “Mayn’t we, papa?”
“I think we will,” he said; “but before we quite decide the question we
will talk the matter over with Mr. Short. He knows the tastes of the
people here much better than we do, and may have some good suggestions
to make.”
“Perhaps the minister and the teacher might give some good suggestions,
too,” Max said.
“Very likely,” replied his father. “We will consult them also.”
The proposed consultations were held early the next morning, and the
necessary orders dispatched to the nearest points where they could be
filled.
Max and Lulu were very full of the subject, and talked of it at the
table not a little, exciting a good deal of interest and curiosity
in the mind of Marian, as she overheard a remark now and again while
attending to their wants.
There was a fine natural grove of forest trees on the outskirts of
the village, and there it had been decided the town’s people were to
be invited to assemble on the morning of the Fourth to listen to an
oration by the foremost lawyer of the place, and the reading of the
Declaration of Independence by Captain Raymond; also to join in the
singing of patriotic songs.
The children of the mission-school would be taken to the grove in a
body, marching in procession, carrying flags and banners. After the
exercises were over they would be marched back to the schoolroom and
treated to cakes, candies, fruits and ices.
There were to be fire-works in the evening, set off in front of Mrs.
McAlpine’s boarding-house, which, cornering on two very wide streets,
was quite a good place for the display.
“Mr. Short seemed really pleased with the idea of having a celebration,
didn’t he, papa?” Lulu said, at the dinner table.
“I thought so,” returned her father. “And it was fortunate that he knew
some one capable of delivering an oration on the subject at so short
notice, and that arrangements could be made in season for a little
advertisement of our plans for the Fourth, in this week’s issue of the
county paper.”
“I daresay it will be the first celebration of the Fourth of July ever
seen by Albert or his father,” remarked Max. “I hope every thing will
go off nicely, so that they may be favorably impressed.”
On leaving the table Lulu seated herself in the porch with a book. She
was still sitting there alone when Marian came out with her hat on and
a basket in her hand.
“Do you feel inclined for a walk, Miss Lulu?” she asked. “I am going
down town on an errand for mother, and should be delighted to have your
company if you would like to go.”
“Yes, I should,” returned Lulu. “I’ll go if I can get permission. Papa
is in his room writing letters; can you wait a minute while I run and
ask him?”
“Oh, yes, indeed; two minutes, if you wish,” replied Marian sportively,
and Lulu hurried into the house.
She was back again almost immediately, with hat, gloves and parasol.
“Papa says I may go with you to do your errand, but must come directly
home again.”
“I didn’t suppose you would have to ask permission just to go down town
with me,” remarked Marian, in surprise, as they walked on together;
“your father seems to pet you so that I had an idea you could do
exactly as you pleased.”
“Oh, no, indeed!” Lulu answered, with a contented little laugh. “Papa
pets and indulges us all, but still he is very strict about some
things. I must never go anywhere without asking leave; not outside of
the grounds, by myself, when I’m at home.”
“I suppose that is because he’s afraid something might harm you?
something or somebody?” Marian said, interrogatively.
“Yes, I know that’s his reason, and it’s because he loves me so dearly.
If it wasn’t for that I’d be very rebellious sometimes, I’m afraid; for
I’m naturally very wilful, always wanting to have my own way.”
“Yes; but one would bear almost any thing for the sake of being loved
so,” Marian said with an involuntary sigh; then suddenly changed the
subject.
“Miss Lulu, won’t you tell me about the celebration you were talking
of at breakfast and dinner to-day! I mean particularly why Americans
should make so much of that day? I’m afraid you must think I ought
to be ashamed of my ignorance, and I suppose I ought; but you must
remember that I’ve lived in America only a few years, and have not
mingled much with native-born citizens.
“It was a Mormon missionary that persuaded father and mother to come
over, and most of the people I’ve known about here have been Mormons
from foreign lands, and they are all taught by the Mormon leaders
to believe that the United States Government is the worst and most
tyrannical in the world, and to hate it accordingly.
“So, of course, they haven’t made anything of celebrating the Fourth of
July. I do know enough to be aware that it’s the patriotic people who
do that.”
“We keep it because it’s the nation’s birthday,” said Lulu; “and we’ve
good reason to be glad, and thankful to God, that our nation was born;
for instead of our government being the worst and most tyrannical, it
is the very best and freest in the world.”
“The nation’s birthday? How do you mean? I don’t quite understand.”
“It was the day of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. The
Continental Congress signed it.
“You see, when the colonies began the struggle with England that we
call the Revolutionary War, they had not thought of separating from
her (they loved her, and called her the mother country), but as the
fight went on the breach grew wider and wider, till, after a while,
the people began to see that it could never be healed; and that the
only thing to do, if they would be anything better than slaves to Great
Britain, was to become a separate nation; declare themselves free and
independent, and fight the British till they forced them to go back
where they belonged and let us alone.
“Of course the declaration had to be made and signed by the leaders of
the people, and that made us a new nation—one by ourselves—and so we
call it the nation’s birthday; although most of the fighting to carry
it out, and make the British and other nations own that we were really
what we called ourselves, had to be done afterwards.
“It’s quite a nice story about the signing, and if you like I’ll tell
it to you some time. To-morrow, papa and Mr. Austin and Max and Albert
are all going with a hunting party, and I shall be at home alone; that
will give me a good opportunity to tell the story, if you can find time
to sit with me for awhile.”
“Thank you, Miss Lulu,” said Marian; “I shall certainly try to find the
time, and will be very glad to hear the story.”
Here the conversation came to an end, as they were just on the
threshold of the store to which Marian’s errand led her.
While she attended to that, Lulu, glancing curiously about, spied a
box of narrow ribbons of various colors, asked to be allowed to look
at them, inquired the price, and selecting a red, a white, and a blue
piece, said, “You may please wrap these up for me,” and taking out her
purse, paid for them.
She noticed that Marian watched the proceeding with some little
surprise and curiosity, though she asked no question and made no remark.
“I suppose you are wondering what I bought these ribbons for?” Lulu
said, as they left the store.
“Yes,” replied Marian, “but still more that you should buy them without
asking permission, when you couldn’t even walk down the street with me
till you had asked your father if you might.”
“Oh, that was quite a different thing:” said Lulu. “Papa allows me to
spend my pocket money as I please,—at least, within certain bounds. He
wouldn’t let me buy whiskey or tobacco or dime novels, of course,” she
added, with a laugh.
“I should think not, indeed,” said Marian, joining in the laugh; “yet I
dare say he would be as likely to let you, as you to wish to do so.”
“Yes; I can’t say that I have any inclination to spend my money so,
even to prove my independence; though, now I come to think of it, I’m
pretty sure I would be allowed to buy tobacco if it was as a present
to some of our old colored people who are very fond of it.”
“It must be fine to have money of your own to do as you will with,”
remarked Marian, “I never was so fortunate, but I hope to earn for
myself some day. Poor mother has always had a struggling time,” she
went on, “and I could never have the heart to take pocket money from
her, if she offered it, but the folk about town say your father is
very, very rich, Miss Lulu.”
“Just say Lulu, Marian; you needn’t call me Miss,” Lulu said. “I
suppose it is true that papa is rich, but he never says so, and
always tells us he is only the Lord’s steward, bound to use the money
entrusted to him for the upbuilding of Christ’s cause and kingdom,
and that no one—no matter how rich—has any right to be wasteful,
extravagant, or idle. And he says that not only money, but time and
ability to do anything useful, are talents entrusted to us to be used
and increased—the money and talents, I mean, are to be increased—that
at last the Lord may say to us each, ‘Well done, good and faithful
servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.’”
“I think your father must be a very good, Christian man,” was Marian’s
answering remark.
“Indeed he is!” returned Lulu emphatically, “he’s always a Christian,
always loving Jesus, and trying his very best to please and honor him
by doing exactly as the Bible says.”
The captain had finished his correspondence and gone out to mail his
letters, and as Max, too, was out, Lulu found no one in their rooms
when she went back to them on her return from her walk with Marian.
But on the table beside which her father had been sitting lay a pile of
clothes fresh from the iron; just brought in from the wash.
“There,” thought Lulu to herself, “if Mamma Vi were here she would soon
take papa’s clothes from that pile and see if there were any buttons to
sew on or stockings to darn; and if there were she’d sit right down and
attend to it. She lets Christine or Alma attend to Max’s clothes, but
unless she is sick, no one but herself must do papa’s, because, as she
says, it is a great pleasure to her to care for her husband’s comfort.
“I always love to do things for papa, too, and I like to be kind and
helpful to Max, for he’s a dear, kind brother to me. And of course
my own mending belongs to me; so I’ll just sit down to this pile of
clothes and put them all in order.”
She hastened to put away her hat and gloves and get out her
work-basket, which was thoroughly furnished with all the needed
articles and implements, and when her father came in he found her
seated in a low chair between table and window, busily plying her
needle.
“My little busy bee,” he said, regarding her with a pleased smile, then
bending down, kissed her forehead.
She laughed and held up her rosy lips in mute invitation. He kissed
them, too, then laying his hand tenderly on her head, said, “My little
girl looks quite matronly. Are you playing at being Mamma Vi?”
“Yes, sir, I am like her in at least one thing.”
“What is that?”
“In feeling it a pleasure to do anything for you, sir. Papa, I thought
it was just dreadful when you wouldn’t let me wait on you for four
whole days, because I’d been disobedient and rebellious.”
“Yes, I know you did; and it was hard for me, too; hard to do without
my dear little daughter’s loving services.”
“But you denied yourself for my sake—to make me good, because you know
no one can be happy who is not good—you dear papa!” she said, with a
grateful loving look up into his face.
“Yes, my darling, that was exactly it,” he said, repeating his
caresses, “and it makes me very happy that of late I have rarely needed
to punish, or even reprove you. It is so much pleasanter to commend and
reward my children, than to punish them.”
He had drawn up a chair and seated himself by her side. “I did better
for myself than I was aware of in bringing my eldest daughter along,”
he remarked. “I had no thought of making use of you to keep my clothes
and Max’s in order.”
“But you are pleased to have me do it, papa?”
“I am.”
“Papa, I bought something when I was at the store with Marian. See!”
opening a brown paper parcel, which she took from the table beside her,
and displaying the ribbons.
“Ah! what use do you expect to make of your purchases?” he asked.
“Badges for the school children. They are the national colors, you see,
papa.”
“Yes; it is a good idea, and I presume the children will be much
pleased. When do you propose to make your badges?”
“To-morrow, papa, while you and Max are off on your hunting expedition.
But I mean to finish all this mending first.”
“That’s right. I am glad you have found something to do to keep you
from being lonely while we are away. I should like to take you along
but for exposing you to danger.”
“Mightn’t I as well be exposed to it as Max?” she asked in a playful
tone.
“Max is older, and a boy,” he said. “You are very fearless, I know,
but women and girls are not so strong physically as our sex, and it is
not to be expected that they can endure the same amount of exposure and
fatigue. You could hardly be of much assistance in fighting a grizzly,
for instance,” he added laughingly, bending over her and softly
smoothing her hair as he spoke.
“No, sir,” she returned, laughing a little; “I’m not fearless enough to
enjoy the idea of facing one of them. And it frightens me to think of
you and Max fighting one. Oh, papa, don’t try it!”
“My child, would you have your father a coward?” he asked.
“No, sir; oh, no, indeed! I know you are brave, as brave as can be, and
it makes me very proud; but what’s the use of fighting bears?”
“To rid the country of them, as dangerous enemies to settlers. Also
their flesh is good for food, and the skin, too is valuable. But here
comes Max, and there is our tea-bell. Put up your work and let me lead
you to the table.”
Max met them in the hall.
“Where have you been, my son!” asked the captain.
“Out to the mine, with Albert, papa. You know you gave me permission to
walk with him when I chose, provided we did not go farther than that
from the town.”
“So I did; I’m glad you went, for I should not wish you to be cooped up
in the house in such weather as this.”
They sat down to the table, and after the blessing had been asked, Max
began telling about his walk.
“We found the sun rather hot, going,” he said, “but coming back it was
very pleasant, indeed; there was a nice breeze from the mountains.”
“Had you any adventures,” asked Lulu.
“No, hardly that,” he answered with a slight laugh; “but as we were
going, Albert thought he heard a little child crying in the bushes,
and started off to hunt for it. I kept straight on, and he was much
disgusted with what he called my heartlessness.
“I said, ‘I don’t believe there is any child there’; and he answered,
‘There is, then; I’m certain of it, for I heard it cry, and dare say
it’s some poor little thing that has wandered away from home and is
lost. Didn’t you hear it?’
“Then I said, ‘I heard something, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a
child. I’ve read that a panther will imitate the cry of a child so that
almost any one would be deceived, and hunting for the child might get
so near the panther that it could spring on him before he could get out
of its way, or even knew it was there. But, if you think best, I’ll go
with you into the bushes and make sure whether there is a baby there
or not.’”
“Oh, Max, you knew what it was all the time; didn’t you?” laughed Lulu.
“Yes; but we went and hunted thoroughly through the bushes without
finding anything. Albert never suspected and wondered very much that we
found neither child nor panther. I presume he’s wondering about it yet.”
“I’m glad he didn’t find you out,” Lulu said, with satisfaction;
“because I hope we’ll have some more fun with him. You’ll try it one of
these evenings when we’re all together on the porch, won’t you, Max?”
“Perhaps; if I can think of something.
“Albert’s very full of the bear hunt for to-morrow, papa; says he
wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Ah? And how does my boy feel about it?”
“Pretty much the same, I believe, papa,” Max answered, with a light
laugh. “I’m sorry for Lu that she’s only a girl and can’t have the
pleasure of going along.”
“I could if papa would let me,” replied Lulu demurely; “but I wouldn’t
be a boy for the sake of being allowed to go.”
“You think a boy’s privileges are more than counterbalanced by a
girl’s?”
“Yes; papa takes me on his knee, while you can only sit by his side;
and I shall stay at home with him, while you will have to go away to
the Academy at Annapolis.”
“I go of my own free will,” returned Max; “I don’t believe papa would
compel me against my will.”
“Not at all,” said the captain, “and I am glad you are both so well
satisfied.”