TEAKETTLE
The fallen tree where Nan and Dum Tucker had chosen to have the picnic
proved to be most attractive. It was a great oak that had attained its
growth before it had been felled in some wind storm, and now it lay like
some bed-ridden old giant who refuses to die. Part of the roots held to
the soil while part stood up like great toes, poking their way through
the blanket of ferns and moss that were doing their best to cover them.
This tree not only clung to its old branches but had actually the
hardihood to send out new shoots. These branches were not growing as the
limbs of an oak usually grow, with a slightly downward tendency from the
main trunk, but shot straight to the sky, upright and vigorous.
"It is just like some old man who has to stay in bed but still is open
to convictions of all kinds, who reads and takes in new ideas and is
willing to try new things and think new thoughts," suggested Page
Allison.
"Yes, that strong green branch struggling to the light there might be
equal suffrage," teased Mr. Tucker.
"Yes, and that one that has outstripped all the others is higher
education of women," declared Douglas.
"These little ferns and wild flowers that are trying to cover up his
ugly old toes are modern verse. He even reads the poetry of the day and
does not just lie back on stuffy old pillows and insist that poetry died
with Alfred Tennyson," whispered Nan, who did not like much to speak out
loud in meetin'. Tom Smith heard her, however, and smiled his approval
of her imagery.
"Well, I only hope while we are picnicking on his bed he won't decide to
turn over and go to sleep. It would certainly play sad havoc with cheese
cakes," laughed Helen.
Much to the satisfaction of the Carter girls, all the week-enders did
decide to come on the picnic, also their mother. They knew very well
that had that lady made up her mind to remain in camp, Susan's time
would have been taken up waiting on her and the thorough cleaning
that the pavilion and kitchen were crying out for would never be
accomplished.
Mr. Hiram G. Parker, in faultless morning costume, had proffered himself
as squire of dames and was assisting that dainty little lady on the
rough journey to the fallen tree. She, too, had attired herself with
thoughtful care in sheer white linen lawn with a large picture hat of
finest straw and a ruffled lace parasol. The girls were in strong
contrast to their chaperone, since one and all, even Tillie Wingo, were
dressed in khaki skirts and leggins. The only variation in costume was
that some wore middies and some sport shirts.
First a fire must be built and a big one at that, as it takes many
hot coals to roast potatoes. Lucy and Lil Tate, with their faithful
followers, Skeeter and Frank, had gone on a little ahead, and when
the rest of the crowd reached the spot the fire was already burning
merrily. In a short time it was ready to drop the potatoes in, Irish
potatoes and great yams that looked big enough for the bed-ridden giant
himself to make a meal of. Then the roasting ears of corn must be
opened, the silk removed and the ears wrapped carefully in the shucks
again and placed in just exactly the right part of the fire to cook but
not to burn.
There was some kind of work for all of those inclined to usefulness, and
any who were not so inclined could wander around admiring the scenery or
climb up in the tree to secure the choice seats. There were seats for
all and to spare in the gnarled old limbs of the giant oak. Mrs. Carter
was enthroned in a leafy armchair while Hiram G. perched beside her.
Evidently he was prepared to be waited on and not to wait. Bobby climbed
to the tiptop of one of the great branches where he looked like a
"little cherub that sits up aloft."
"I'm a-gonter let down a string and pull my eats up here," he declared.
"Oh, Bobby!" shuddered his mother. "Don't say such words!"
"What I done now?" cried that young hopeful, peeping down through the
leafy screen, with an elfish, toothless grin.
"Don't say eats! Say luncheon!"
"Yes, I won't! If I say luncheon, they'll send me up 'bout 'nough to put
in my eye. I've a great mind to say victuals like Oscar and then they'll
send me up something sho'. Hi, Helen! Put my victuals in a bucket and
tie it to this string!" he cried, dangling a string before Helen's eyes
as she stooped under the tree, unpacking the basket containing the paper
plates and Japanese napkins.
"I won't put anything in the bucket unless you mind mother," said Helen
severely, but her eye was twinkling at Bobby's philological distinction.
"Well, then, Helen dear, be so kind as to put my luncheon in that there
little bucket what you see turned up over yonder by the fire. But,
Helen," in a stage whisper, "please don't put it in like a luncheon but
like it was jes' victuals. Luncheons ain't never 'nough for workin'
mens." So all in good time Helen packed a hefty lunch in the bucket for
her darling and he drew it up to his castle in the tree and feasted
right royally.
When everyone was too hungry to stand it another moment the potatoes
were done, all burnt on the outside and delicious and mealy within.
There never were such sandwiches as Helen's; and the corn, roasted in
the shucks, was better than corn ever had been before. The cheese cakes
and fried turnovers proved very good for tree eating and not too
squashy. Boxes of candy appeared like magic from the pockets of
masculine week-enders. Mr. Tucker produced three, one for each of his
girls.
"Oh, Zebedee!" exclaimed Dum. "I am so relieved. I thought you were
getting hippy. It was candy all the time."
When every vestige of food was devoured and all the paper plates and
papers carefully burned, as Nan said, to keep from desecrating Nature,
someone proposed that they should play games.
"Let's play teakettle!" exclaimed Skeeter, so teakettle it was. Some of
the company had to be enlightened as to the game and perhaps some of my
readers may have to be also. This is the way: whoever is "It" or "Old
Man" must go out of ear shot and then the company selects a word. The
"Old Man" then returns and asks a question to each one in turn. The
answer must contain the chosen word, but in place of the word,
"teakettle" must be inserted.
"You go out, Zebedee, you are so spry," suggested the irreverent Dum.
"No, that's not fair! We must count out," declared Dee, determined that
her parent must be bossed only by her own sweet self.
"I bid to count!" from Lucy. "'Eny, meny, miny mo, cracker, feny, finy,
fo, ommer noocher, popper toocher, rick, bick, ban, do, as, I, went, up
the, apple, tree, all, the, apples, fell, on, me, bake a, pudding, bake,
a, pie, did, you, ever, tell, a, lie, yes, you, did, you, know, you,
did, you, broke, your, mammy's, tea, pot, lid, did, she, mind?'" She
stopped at Lil Tate, who was equal to the occasion.
"No!" cried Lil; and Lucy took up her counting out in the sing-song we
hear from children engaged in that delightful occupation of finding out
who is to be "It." No matter where one lives--east, west, north or
south--it is the same except for slight variations in the sense of the
incantation.
"N, o, spells, the, word, no, and, you, are, really--It!" An accusing
finger was pointed at Nan, who perforce must crawl from her comfortable
perch and go around the side of the mountain while the assembled company
chose a word.
After much whispering, Mr. Tucker hit on a word that appealed to all of
them, and Nan was whistled for to return.
"Helen, what do you enjoy most in camp life?"
"Teakettles!" was the prompt response.
"Skeeter, did you and Frank get any squirrels yesterday?"
"No, not one! We told them if they would let us shoot them that they
could come with us on the picnic--but they said: no teakettles for
them!" Indignant cries from Skeeter's chums ensued.
"You came mighty near giving us away, you nut!"
Nan thought a moment.
"Is it pies? Helen certainly enjoys pies, and if the squirrels had come
on the picnic it would have been in a pie."
"No; guess again! Guess again!"
"Mother, are you comfortable up there?"
"Yes, my dear; I had no idea one could have an armchair at a teakettle."
"'Picnic!' 'Picnic!' I know that is the word. Mumsy gave it away. You
have to go out, mumsy."
"Picnic" was the word and everyone thought Nan very clever to guess it
so quickly. Mrs. Carter was loath to leave her leafy bower, so Mr.
Parker gallantly offered to take her place and be "It."
A word was quickly chosen for Mr. Parker although they feared it would
be too easy. That gentleman was really enjoying himself very much.
Climbing trees was not much in his line, but he congratulated himself
that while his suit no doubt looked perfectly new, it was in reality
three years old and was only his eighteenth best. The lapels were a
little smaller than the prevailing mode and the coat cut away a bit more
than the latest fashion. He could not wear it much longer, anyhow, and
in the meantime he was having a very pleasant time. The girls were a
ripping lot and he would no doubt have the pleasure of bringing them out
in years to come. He might even stretch a point and ask some of them to
dance the german with him before they made their debuts. That little
Allison girl from the country was a charmer and as for the Tucker
twins--the only trouble about them was he could not decide which one
would take the better in society. Helen Carter was sure to win in
whatever class she entered. Douglas Carter had deceived him somewhat.
The evening before, while looking very pretty she had lacked animation.
He had been quite serious in his advice to Mrs. Carter not to bring her
out that year. With the scarcity of beaux only a girl who was all
animation had any show of having a good time in her debutante year. Now
today this girl had thrown off her listlessness and was as full of life
as anyone. She was really beautiful. If a complexion could show up as
well as hers did in the sunlight what would it not do in artificial
light? And her hair! Hair like that could stand the test of dancing all
night, and Mr. Hiram G. Parker had found out from long experience that
not much hair could stand the test.
"Always coming out of curl and getting limp!" he muttered, but just then
they whistled for him and he returned to the tree.
"Ahem! Miss Douglas, are you expecting to miss the boys who have gone to
the border with the Blues?"
"Yes, indeed!" blushed Douglas; "but if I were a teakettle it would be
even worse."
"Is it a mother? Of course it would be worse if you were a mother! Ah,
maybe you have been promising to be a sister to one of them."
Douglas blushed so furiously that she almost fell off her precarious
perch.
"'Mother' isn't the word--neither is 'sister'!" shouted the crowd.
"Guess again!"
"Miss Dum Tucker, are you going to remain long in camp?"
"I am afraid I shall have to leave on Monday, but if the teakettle
fancier is no longer here, I don't believe I should care to remain."
"Teakettle fancier! Sounds like spinsters. I can't see what it is. Miss
Dee, what are these teakettles like?"
"There are as many styles of teakettles as there are teakettles, tall
and narrow, short and squat, with snouts of all shapes."
"Heavens! Still no light on the subject! Tucker, what is your opinion of
the war? Will it last much longer?"
"I hope not, although I hear it is an excellent way to dispose of last
year's teakettles. They are using so many of them in the Red Cross
service."
"Oh, come now! I must do better than this. Mrs. Carter, have you any of
these teakettles about you?"
"No, Mr. Parker, I haven't a single teakettle--ye-et," rather sadly.
"Mr. Smith!" That young aviator, not expecting to be called on, almost
fell out of the tree, which would have been an ignominious proceeding
for one accustomed to the dizzy heights of the clouds. "Do you come
across any of this stuff, whatever it is that these crazy folks call
teakettles?"
"Yes, I do occasionally. Even here in this camp there is a lot of the
stuff that teakettles are made of--the raw material, I might say, but if
I should, no doubt future teakettles would climb up the tree and mob
me."
"'Debutantes!' 'Debutantes!' That is the word! Stupid of me not to guess
it sooner. Thank you, Miss Dum, for the compliment you just paid me, or
did you mean your father? Because I understand that he is somewhat fond
of young girls himself."
"I meant you in the game--but Zebedee in reality," declared Dum, who had
no more idea of coquetting than a real teakettle.
"Mr. Smith is 'It'!" shouted Lucy. "We are going to get a hard one for
him."
Skeeter wanted to take "flying machine" but that was too easy. Many
suggestions were made but Nan finally hit on a word that they were sure
he could never guess.
"The trouble is it is hardly fair to take a word that is so obscure,"
objected Mr. Carter, who had been quietly enjoying the fun as much as
any of the party.
"Well, it is a compliment to give him a hard one," declared Mr. Tucker.
"It means we have some reliance on his wit."
Tom Smith was proving himself a very agreeable companion and old and
young were feeling him to be an acquisition to the camp.
"You youngsters up there in the top of the tree, come down and be
questioned!" cried the "Old Man." "You, Bobby, what are you doing up
there?"
"I'm a-playin' I'm one er them there teakettles," said that ready-witted
infant. Everyone shouted for joy at his answer.
"And you, Frank Maury! Do you want to take a trip with me some day?"
"Sure! I'd ruther be a birdman than--a--teakettle," said Frank lamely.
"Did you ever see one of these teakettles, Skeeter?"
"Naw, and nobody else."
"But you didn't use the word, Skeeter," admonished Lil.
"Then you use it for him," suggested the questioner. "I take it then if
he never saw a teakettle and no one else has ever seen one, that it is
some kind of mythological creature. Am I right?" he appealed, following
up the advantage Skeeter had given him.
"Yes, a teakettle is a mythological being," said Lil primly.
"Skeeter can give more things away without using the word than most
folks can using it," declared Lucy cruelly.
"Miss Nan, did I ever see a teakettle that you know of?"
"I have an idea you thought you saw a teakettle once," drawled Nan.
"'Wood nymph!'" exclaimed Tom Smith.
Everyone thought he was very clever to have guessed a very difficult and
obscure word in five questions.
"Nan's turn again! That isn't fair when Skeeter really and truly was the
one who got him going. You've got to go, Skeeter," and Frank and Lil and
Lucy pounced on their chum and dragged him from the tree.
"Yes, I haven't! I'd never guess c-a-t. Get somebody else."
"I'll go," Mr. Tucker volunteered magnanimously.
"Let him; he's dying to!" exclaimed the twins in one breath.
"Well, don't tweedle!" commanded their father. He always called it
tweedling when his twins spoke the same thing at the same time.
A word was hard to hit on because as his daughters said Mr. Tucker had
what men call feminine intuition.
"You can't keep a thing from him," Dum said.
"And sometimes he sees something before it happens," declared Dee.
"Oh, spooks!" laughed Page.
"'Spooks' would be a good word," suggested someone, but Mrs. Carter had
a word which was finally determined on. Zebedee was whistled for and
came quickly to the front.
"Mr. Smith, tell me, while flying through the air would you like to have
one of these teakettles with you? I mean would it be the kind of thing
you could carry with you? Would it be of any value on the journey?"
"We--el, I can't say that a teakettle would be of any great practical
value on a flight, but it would certainly be great to have one. I
believe I'd rather have one than anything I can think of. In fact, I
mean to take one with me some day."
Mr. Tucker looked into the glowing countenance of the young birdman. He
saw there youth, character, romance.
"A 'teakettle' is a 'sweetheart,'" he said simply.
"Talking about spooks--what do you know about that?" cried one of the
crowd.
"Well, what did I tell you? Didn't I say you couldn't keep anything from
Zebedee?" said triumphant Dee.
"I betcher I ain't a-gonter take no sweetheart with me when I gits me a
arryplane," shouted Bobby from his vantage ground. "I'm a-gonter take
Josh and Josephus, ander--ander--father."
The picnic in the tree had been a decided success. It was one more
perfect day for the week-enders to report as worth while to the possible
future boarders. Even Mr. Parker was enthusiastic, although he was not
as a rule much of an outdoor man. He was conscious of the fact that he
shone in a drawing room, and under the "great eye of Heaven" did not
amount to quite so much as he did under electric lights with pink
shades.