“Here blooming fields and fertile hills appear.
Below the harbor, bay and islands lay,
And there the ocean rolls wide-stretching to the sky.”
Mr. Havens and his aunt were sitting in the garden on their return from
their country excursion; the little ones were sound asleep in their
nests, and Artie and his sister were chasing fire-flies to put under
glasses, when suddenly a loud ring at the front door was followed by
Hugh’s appearance with a letter for Mr. Havens, who, after reading it,
called the young folk to him--
“Children, do you think you could possibly manage to endure another
day’s frolic?”
“Oh, yes, Papa, we are not one bit tired,” they eagerly replied; “we
could run all night long.”
“I don’t intend to try you; but listen to this letter I have just
received, and see if you can make anything out of it.”
“DEAR OLD FRIEND AND COLLEGE MATE:
I learned to-day that you and yours were in the city; but,
unluckily for me, had gone this afternoon to the old Brown Farm.
The last train for Bristol is almost due, so I write hurriedly, to
ask you with your good Aunt, nurses, and little folk, to come to
us to-morrow afternoon, by the boat, to spend the Fourth. I have
invited a few gentlemen to pass the day on my yacht, but Gertrude
will be at home as care-taker, and the bairns will have a merry
time.”
“Now, children, wait till we hear what Aunt Emma says.”
“I think, John, it will be a delightful excursion for you all, and am
only sorry I cannot join your merry party, but my old friend, Mary
Graham, always passes that day with me, and I do not like to disappoint
her.”
“Miss Mary Graham! Oh, Auntie, I remember her nerves, and it will be
a great mercy to her, if I remove my noisy collection from the house
before she comes, so I will telegraph ‘yes,’ at once. Now, children,
you can run back to your fire-flies.”
“Oh, papa,” said Daisy, “I can only stand still and pinch myself, to
see if it is truly myself. It seems to me as if everything was getting
to be just like fairy-land. Such loads of pleasure coming all at once!”
“And think of it, Daisy, duck, that’s the very same jolly old place
Mamma has told us about so many, many times, rainy nights, around the
Library fire, where they have no end of pets, and water running close
to the house, and clam-bakes and everything.”
“And Alice, and Kit, and May, and Gracie, and good Jem that’s such a
hand at telling funny stories! Oh, Artie, man, how ever shall we live
till to-morrow? I feel as if I should fly to pieces this instant.”
“I will tell you, Daisy, daughter, the best way to prepare for
to-morrow’s pleasure is to run off your excitement now, so take another
fire-fly chase and then to bed for a good sleep.”
Mr. Haven’s dreams were disturbed at early dawn by two half-dressed
figures leaning over him, coughing violently, and as soon as he opened
his sleepy eyes, the figures asked,--
“Papa, had we not better begin to pack now, and dig our worms for bait?”
“Pack yourselves off to bed, you night-walkers,” said the voice from
the high pillow, and the command was enforced by a huge shot in the
form of a pillow that sent the laughing children upon their knees.
Thence, they started off to the Nursery, when Daisy remembered Papa had
said “the little ones were to know nothing yet of the plan lest they
should grow restless,” so they wisely concluded to sit and read till it
was time to dress for breakfast.
As the children were hurrying from the breakfast-room, Papa said,--
“Artie and Daisy, I did not read you the postscript to my letter, last
night, lest you should have been entirely upset by it, so here it is:
“‘Can you not bring down your Aunt’s pet, the little Leonard boy? “The
more the merrier,” and Gertrude’s motherly heart, as well as house, has
always room for one more.’
“So, children, you may carry this note from me to Mr. Leonard, to see
if he is willing Charlie should go with you.”
Mr. Leonard was just coming down the steps of his house, and stopped to
read the note, then looking up, much pleased, said,--
“Will you thank your Papa for me, for so kindly offering to take care
of my lonely little boy? I shall be very glad to have him enjoy such a
treat. His Aunt Julia came on from New Orleans last night, and you will
find them both in the front room, in the second story.”
Arrived at the door of Mr. Leonard’s parlor, Artie did, indeed, try to
give a genteel knock, but somehow the nervous little fist tightened
itself into a young sledge-hammer, and the sound startled the inmates
of the room and dyed Daisy’s face with crimson blushes, as the French
maid opened the door with a surprised look, as she said,--
“Oh, est-ce-vous, petits? Voila un grand tappage!”[A]
Aunt Julia came to meet them, with a pleasant smile, for Charlie
had talked to her of little else besides “his new splendid New York
friends.” Then Charlie laughed out his merry greeting, and showed them
his treasures from Aunt Julia’s trunk. A regular fort, with soldiers
and cannon, and dried-peas-cannon balls, and a scrap-book, and heaps of
colored pictures to paste in, and Charlie screamed with laughter, as he
showed them how he had cut off Louis Napoleon’s head with Nannette’s
big scissors, when Artie’s heavy knock startled them so, and Artie
apologized, saying--
[Illustration: Charlie Leonard’s Scrap Book. Page 166.]
“I did not mean to give such a banger, but somehow, the fun in my mind
seemed to run right down into my fist, for only think, Charlie, we
have come to invite you to go with all of us, to stay two nights and
the Fourth of July at Bristol, where there’s an Indian pony and used
to be true Indians in King Philip’s time, and is now a bay for fishing
and clam-bakes, and two squirrels and a cart, and your father said you
might.”
Charlie looked bewilderingly from one to the other, but when Daisy
explained the grand plan, in her more quiet manner, Charlie’s delight
became intense, and to the children’s great surprise, he ran and hid
his head on his Aunt’s shoulder, and they were still more astonished
when, a moment after, his Aunt loosened her clasp about him, to see
tears in both their eyes, for how could they know that the little
fellow’s great joy made him long for the dear Mamma, who had passed
away with the coming of the June roses she had longed for; a Mother who
was never too feeble to sympathize in his child-joys, or help him bear
his child-griefs.
A good old poet has truly said--
“The tear down childhood’s cheek that flows,
Is like the dew-drop on the Rose;
When next the summer breeze pass by,
And wafts the bush, the flower is dry;”
so in a few moments, the three children were having a merry game of
Fort-siege, pelting down with their fatal pea-shot, the brave little
soldiers who never winced or offered to run away.
Nannette has returned, with Aunt Emma’s permission, for the children to
spend the morning, which was hailed with great delight, for sieging
forts is the work of time, and the young folk thought they could well
afford to lose their Croquet and garden sports, to capture such booty
as the fort promised.
* * * * *
Three o’clock _did_ come that afternoon, though there seemed to be
every reason to suppose it _never_ would, for the hands of Aunt Emma’s
tall, old-fashioned clock, which stood in the upper hall, seemed to
have grown, suddenly, stiff and rheumatic; the “here she goes, and
there she goes,” of the old pendulum, were, surely, never before so
deliberate, and as for the old moon-face above the dial, it seemed to
take such pleasure in the children’s impatience, that Artie fairly
forgot his reverence for old Father Time’s faithful servant, and shook
his fist at it, and was just about to assist the old pendulum to take a
higher flight, when the barn-yard mischief and Papa’s stern face came
to mind, and he turned away for a slide down the bannisters instead,
when he remembered Mamma had forbidden _that_, so the boy sat down on
the stair landing, leaned his elbow on his knee, his cheek on his hand,
and tried hard to think--
“Whatever under the sun there was a boy _could_ safely do?” and the
only thing seemed to be “to behave!”
As we have said before, three o’clock did come at last, and found
Charlotte and Harry in the ladies’ saloon, Papa on the upper deck,
holding Jack on his knee, watching the rest of the party, under Nan’s
protection, at the side of the boat, holding on with both hands to
their hats, which the stiff sea-breeze seemed coaxing away very hard.
Whatever sea-breezes want of straw hats is a mystery to us. The
saucy fellows don’t stop for small boys’ hats alone, but Narragansett
sailors do tell of a party of grave and learned clergymen coming
from a Newport meeting, how the careless, saucy sea-breezes teased
those reverend gentlemen, and at last, when fairly out of port, the
boldest of them helped himself to the Bishop’s hat, and then ran off
to “blow” about it. What that Bishop did, History doesn’t say; whether
he made a soldier-cap of his _Providence Journal_, or a night-cap of
his pocket-handkerchief, we cannot confidently say; but, you may rest
assured, he made the best of it.
Charlie Leonard, as the most experienced sailor of the party, is
explaining to them the nature of the foaming water about them.
“You see, Daisy, you think it’s all for fair white soap-suds, but you
see it isn’t so, but the bottom of the bay is all white salt, and when
the keel of the boat rubs it, you see it makes that white salt water,
just like when you rub your wet hands on soap. One time, when I was
quite small, I thought just as you do, but I found out afterward the
truth of it myself.”
Charlie seemed a little disappointed, when Mr. Havens called the group
to him and explained--
“Children, you recollect when you blow through your bubble-pipe into
your soap and water, how many bubbles are formed by the air rushing
through the water; just so the paddle-wheel of the boat acts as your
pipe; it agitates or puts in violent motion the water, dashing air
down into the water and dashing water up into the air, thus forming
multitudes of bubbles which, when driven together, look, as Charley
says, like ‘for-fair soap-suds.’ If you could see the paddle-wheel,
you would find it covered with those bubbles.”
“But, Papa,” said Artie, “why do we have to put soap in the water to
make our bubbles?”
“Anything which thickens or makes the water firmer, makes the bubbles
last longer, Artie; and the oil in your soap does that. You have often
seen men along the streets with those bright-colored balloons you are
so fond of; those are gum-elastic bubbles, and the sides of which are
quite firm.
“I have given you quite a lecture, now you can go back to your ‘soapy
waves.’”
“I will be boat-manager,” said Charlie, proudly, “and tell you all the
places as we go along. You see that wire bridge? well, in a minute our
whistle will scream to it to swing round the half of it, and you see
when we get to it, we will go through just as easy!
“That large, white house is where they make good boys out of bad ones,
and the name of it is the ‘Reform School.’ That high frame on the shore
is a ‘Grain Elevator.’ It takes the grain right out of the boats and
swings it up into stores; that great brick building, with the smooth
lawn, is the ‘Hospital.’ I have been there with Aunt Emma to take some
toys to a poor little boy who had to have his leg cut off.”
The suspension bridge was passed through, just “as easy” as Charlie had
predicted,--the dingy docks and gloomy coal vessels were left behind;
and stiffer, bolder sea-breezes loudly-flapped awnings, made sport of
women’s and girls’ dresses, and, at last, fairly drove the merry party
into the shelter of the upper saloon, from whence they could safely
admire the pretty villages and country-seats which dotted both sides of
Narragansett Bay.
Charlie pointed out “Squantum Club-House,” famous for its weekly
summer clam-bakes, where the wise men, the rich men, the learned men,
and the witty men of Providence meet to eat so many clams, and make
so many jokes, that the clams which were so happy as to survive those
bakes, had swallowed so many of their crumbs of worldly wisdom and
knowledge that, it is said, last summer they formed themselves into
a manufacturer’s club, and a literary club, too. One learned Doctor
gained such an intimate acquaintance with them that they let him into
some of their secrets, and lent him some verses they had composed,
which were read at the next learned clam-bake,--and all were clamorous
for copies.
Rocky Point’s high tower now loomed up in the distance, and as the boat
passed, Charlie told off the swinging boats, the miniature railway, the
flying horses, and cages of monkeys, which attracted such hosts of men
and women, boys, girls, and babies, day after day. Then the bay grew
wider, and little islands rose out of its waters, and one little rock,
with a stone light-house, where, Mr. Havens told them, the Keeper,
whose business it was always to keep the lamp lighted at night, to warn
vessels off the rocks, lived with his little son, in a small house; and
one severe winter night the water rose and the ice carried away little
house, man, and boy, who were fortunately rescued by a life-boat.
The children’s attention was next arrested by a school of black
porpoises, see-sawing on the waves’ tops, and Jack asked--
“Why they went to school, when they had no heads nor book-straps?”
Papa explained, as well as he could, “That they went to school to learn
to catch small fish, and Dame Nature was their teacher;” at which the
children laughed merrily, and were interested in Papa’s account of some
gentleman’s experience in raising and training fish. How they would
come to get their dinner when the bell was rung for them, and of little
gold rings being fastened on their fins when they were tiny fish, which
were found long after upon large fish, caught in nets, showing what
good sailors they were that, after going off to strange waters, they
were able to find their way back to their own homes again.
The pretty villas of Newport Harbor were now visible, then the steeples
of Fall River, and very soon the boat slackened its speed,--the bell
rung,--the sailors rushed to throw the huge cables over the dock’s
posts, and the children see Papa waving his hat to a gentleman in a
large beach wagon, on the wharf, who returns the salute with such a
bright, pleased look, as promises well for the longed-for visit at
Bristol.