“Forward, Light Brigade!”
Mr. Havens could hardly believe his sleepy eyes, as, wakened at sunrise
by the sound of booming cannon and distant church bells, he parted his
curtains and saw--yes, really saw,--a procession of children, bearing
drums, guns, and banners, whilst gay barn-yard feathers tipped their
three-cornered soldier hats. There they all were--Artie, Ned, Daisy,
Kit, Alice, Charlie, May, Rosie, Jack, Grace, with Nan in their rear.
“Is Charlotte crazy,” yawns Papa, “to let those children out at such an
hour? I must speak seriously to her about this.”
But Papa did not speak “seriously” to Charlotte about this, for the
next moment he caught sight of Jem dragging a little wagon, in which
Bear was seated most comfortably, waving a flag, and leading by a long
string the family pet lamb, with gay streamers floating from his snowy
neck, and as Papa saw the look of delight on his sick boy’s face, all
thoughts of displeasure vanished, and his heart thrilled with pleasure.
Faithful Charlotte walked close beside her little charge, and Ranger,
the great mastiff, solemnly kept her company.
Bright eyes soon discover Papa peeping through the curtains. Captain
Ned gives orders to “Halt! Turn! About face! Fire!”
And the drums beat, guns fire, and flags wave a salute, and then comes
the marching order, whilst Yankee Doodle is famously played on combs
and Jew’s harp.
Tramp, tramp, tramp! and the second halt is made at the barn-yard,
where each member of the regiment, including the lamb, is refreshed
by a drink of warm milk in the little cup which each has fastened to
his or her waist; then the new Alderney calf, with its bright gazelle
eyes and sweet June breath, comes gayly up to meet them, and be duly
smoothed and admired, whilst the anxious mother watches Jem a little
doubtfully whilst he celebrates the calf’s first national birthday by
tying a flag to her tail. Next in order comes the poultry-yard with
its new brood of tiny sebrights--Gracie’s special charge--the pure
white bantams with their scarlet topknots and feather pantalettes,
and the quacking ducks with clumsy waddling gait. Old Zero, the cross
game-cock, eyes the visitors with some displeasure, betrays a little
disposition to “show fight,” and refuses stoutly to “turn tail,” that
the saucy rogues may rob him of some of his glorious plumage. Very
likely the far-seeing bird recognized some of his own feathers, gayly
waving in the morning breeze, from the top of the soldiers’ caps, and
this accounts for the party not being in “high feather” with him.
Ned discovers to Artie the secrets of the nests, and the two boys come
out triumphant with hands full of eggs and hair full of straws, which
suggests further sport in that direction, and the regiment disbands for
a roll on the haymow, which ends by Artie’s finding himself suddenly
lying in the manger, where Nero and Zantippe, from their stalls, survey
him with huge, surprised eyes, as if wondering at which end they should
begin to nibble. Our young master was a good deal terrified at his
situation, and not much relieved when roguish Kit Harwood offered
“to help him out with a pitchfork;” but good Jem, who had warned the
children to beware of the hole where the horses’ food was thrown
down to them, soon came to the rescue, and lent a helping hand. The
pigeon-house at the top of the barn was next resorted to, and Jem
stayed with little Bear, and brought a chickling, which had lately
burst his shell, and laid the little peeping chick in the thin hand
which could only be tender in its touch. Cæsar, the coachman, lifts
Jack upon Nero’s high back, whilst the children watch the horses eating
their morning meal so solemnly and slowly too.
Jack runs to wash his little fat hands in the morning dew, for Cæsar
does it, and so it must be “the thing.”
Suddenly the large bell in the hall rings loudly, and this welcome
message from the waiting breakfast finds ready echo in their willing
ears, and a general stampede follows.
That was a merry morning meal. Papa and his friends had sailed an hour
ago in the trim _Psyche_, from its little harbor at the wharf, and
there were so many pleasures, past and yet to come, that a great deal
of talking had to be done, besides their exercise in the cool morning
air seemed to have turned each little body into a huge hamper, where a
marvellous amount of soft-boiled eggs, muffins, and cold ham had to be
packed out of sight for the day’s needs.
Mamma was just proposing they should remain near the house till midday,
keeping the shore pleasures for a later hour, when the little pony
suddenly came walking into the dining-room through the low porch! He
had heard the merry voices, and knew Alice had a bit of sugar for him.
What could be the matter? Hadn’t he waited out by the window, nibbled
off the leaves of the rose-bush, and finally thrust in his head, all in
vain? Alice is listening to one of Jem’s boarding-school tales, and has
no eyes or ears for pony this morning; so, of course, there was nothing
else for pony to do but to walk upon the clean porch, after having, it
is hoped, carefully cleaned his shoes on the scraper, then step lightly
into the hall, and thence to the dining-room. Jem must stop his tale
now, and let the old school-bell hang without its pillaged clapper, for
never before was Harmony Hall honored by such a guest. Pony had thought
it could be no harm to take such a liberty, just for once, and wasn’t
this a free country, and weren’t we all independent citizens? If not,
pony would like to know why the cannons, bells, pistols, and squibs
had been saying so ever since daylight. Pony was right, Mamma seemed
to think--for she herself picked out the largest lump of sugar, which
the old silver claw could grasp, and fed him with it, gently reminding
Coco that only on the Fourth of July could such liberties be permitted.
Nan came in the room, in the midst of the scene, with Baby Bess in her
arms, who screamed with delight at seeing Coco in the dining-room, and
called so loudly, “Me yide, me yide,” that Jem held her on his back,
whilst he turned him out on the lawn.
The rabbit-hutch is the next place to be visited, for Jem said “he had
not yet paid his respects to his ‘bunnies,’” and as everybody agreed to
everything in Harmony Hall, off started the noisy band.
The rabbits were a little shy at first, but were very soon lured from
their burrows by the smell of the dewy clover and cabbage leaves Jem
had carried for them, who showed the children the different marks
called “smut” upon their faces, which told their value.
The finest specimen had a black “smut,” or patch of dark fur. The
single smut was a patch on one side of the nose; the double, on each
side, and the butterfly, a patch on either side, and one on the ridge
of the nose. Then he exhibited the “dew laps and long laps,” and told
them how bravely they would defend their young. Jem said,--
“Our French teacher, at school, is from Poland, where the snow lies
long and is very deep. He says that in his country the hares choose
spots in the snow to lie down in, and let the snow fall all around and
about them, thus forming a cave for their winter house. Their warm
breath thaws the snow about their nose so as to make air-holes to
breathe through. Hunters know of this, and train their dogs to search
for these air-holes, and stand guard till _they_ arrive to shoot them.
Then, they have a funny trait, like some children: they are always
looking behind them, and so often, whilst looking for danger in their
rear, rush right in among hunters and their dogs without seeing them.”
“Now, Jem,” said Artie, as they left the rabbit-hutch, “what is the
next animal to be seen? I like your menagerie a great deal better than
ours. I mean, real animals are a great deal more fun than boys and
girls, shut up in a city house, with scarcely a tree or bit of sky that
seems to belong to you.”
“However, boy,” said Kit, “did you get to call yourselves The
Menagerie?”
“Why, this is how: One rainy day, Papa was ill with a cold, and Mamma
got a letter from your mother telling about your pets, and we were
discontented because we had none but a dog and cat; so Papa proposed we
should form ourselves into a Home Menagerie, and we had such regular
fun that day making cages, feeding and performing, that we have kept up
our names ever since.”
“Oh, Jem dear,” said Gracie, “if you are not too tired to-night won’t
you please play elephant and old cat, like you used to? It’s such a
while since we have seen them.”
“Yes, little sister, I will certainly do it if you are all good
children. Now we will go to visit the old dormouse.”
“What a nice brother to have, Jem is!” said Daisy, taking Alice’s hand
as they walked along. “He seems so ready to do everything you ask him.”
“Yes,” said solemn-eyed little Alice, as her eyes proudly followed
the tall boy in gray uniform, with boys on either side; boys and girls
before and behind, and small boy riding on his back. “Yes, we all like
Jem. He is so generous and wise to us.”
“Why is the fellow called Dormouse?” asked Daisy.
“Because,” Jem answered, “the word means sleepy-mouse, and he spends
most of his time napping. Just feel, Daisy, how soft and delicate his
long hair is! You need not squirm so, he won’t jump at you. He is too
much of a sleepy-head to take any trouble; see, I can tumble him right
over without waking him.”
“Oh, Jem, tell the story Mamma read us about the English lady and the
dormice,” said Kit, “it is so famous.”
“An English lady was invited to take tea one night with an old lady
who had a pair of pet dormice; after tea, the visitor went to an
evening concert, and on her return home found a note from the old lady,
saying,--that immediately after she left the house, one of the dormice
was missing, and begged she would carefully examine her clothes,--for
sometimes her pets would hide away in the folds of a dress for hours.
The lady searched in vain; no pet dormouse appeared, so she began to
prepare for bed, when, to her great astonishment, on combing out her
long hair, she found the mouse hiding in a thick curl. How he got up
there, or when, or how he managed to hang on, was always a mystery.”
“That was funny enough,” agreed the children, and turned their
attention to the squirrel in his cage. Jem threw in a handful of nuts,
and it was curious to see how daintily he turned them all over,
throwing aside those that were not perfectly good, and when he found
one just to his taste, sat himself on his hind legs, cushioning his
seat with his tail, then holding the nut in the fore paws, he chiselled
out the tip with his front teeth, then broke off the shell, and slowly
nibbled the kernel. Jem told the children how useful that great bushy
tail was--as cushion by day, and warm blanket at night.
Next on the list came the pigs. But pig-sties, in summer, are not
places to tarry long near, so the children started for home, when,
suddenly, a loud scream was heard, and Jem darted back in the direction
from which the sound came, and soon learned its cause. The two Monkeys
had slipped away from the party, to take another look at the pigs, and
climbed to the top of the fence, with long sticks in their hands,
“to worry the pigs.” The old Lady of the Sty was so indignant that,
at the first thrust, she had rushed toward the fence, making such a
fearful noise, that the terrified Rosie had lost her balance, and
something or somebody (Rosie, in her fright, could not tell which, but
rather thought it was herself) fell over into the sty, right under the
quivering nostrils of the angry pigs. There stood Rosie, screaming and
stamping outside, whilst roguish Jack was running away as fast as his
little short legs could carry him, and Jem found, to his great relief,
that what Rosie, in her fright, had supposed to be her little self, was
really only her pretty straw hat which piggies were devouring, daisy,
wreath and all.
Kind-hearted Jem sat down on the trunk of a tree, near, and, taking
the sobbing child on his knee, tenderly soothed her, first promising
one of Alice’s sunbonnets for her future use, then, as the children
gathered anxiously about him, the boy proposed to tell them a Family
Pig Story.
“Do, Jem,” half sobbed, half laughed little Rosie, “I really think it
would make my scare better.”
“Do, Jem, old fellow,” chimed in Ned and Kit; “stories of animals never
seem to grow rusty.”
“Mamma ought really to tell this,” said Jem, “for she has a kind of
a way, when she tells her stories, of seeming to make everything and
everybody walk right before your eyes; but I’ll do the best I can.”
“Once upon a time, in the History of the Harwood Family, news came to
the house that one of the Madame Pigs had died in the night, and left
behind her a poor little baby-pig, which had no one to pity and take
care of him. So the family finished their breakfast, in a great hurry,
and started off for the sty, or, rather, for the sake of ears polite,
we will say the pig parlor.”
“Oh, Jem, don’t be a goose, go on,” impatiently cried Kit.
“There, sure enough, was found a white-skinned, pink-nosed little
piggie, looking very disconsolate, ‘whilst the salt tear-drops streamed
down piggie’s eyes.’ Papa said we must bring her up by hand, and from
that hour, Piggie Pink, as we called her, was our special pet, and the
lawn her play-ground. Alice and Grace spent all their money in ribbons
for her. You may imagine she was a beauty, she kept herself very clean,
and Gracie tied pink ribbons about her neck and a pink sash around her
waist, and a rosette upon her tail, every birthday or festival. We
used to coax Mamma to let us bring Piggie Pink into the house, but to
that she would never consent. One Fourth of July, every one but Mamma
had gone to the village to see the goings-on there--even the servants
had gone, for Mamma said she would enjoy the quiet, and not feel
lonely. She seated herself upstairs, with a book, when the thought came
into her head, ‘I will first go downstairs and make the children a nice
loaf of their favorite citron cake; they will come home very hungry,
and enjoy it so much.’ So the nice loaf of cake was made and put in
the tin box in the pantry, and the kind Mamma sat down again to her
story. Once or twice, she fancied she heard funny little noises; but as
she wasn’t afraid of ghosts, and knew Ranger would keep off robbers,
she paid no attention to the noise at first; at last her curiosity
was aroused, and off she started, to find out what company she was
entertaining. The parlor was empty, and so was the library, but as she
stepped through the open door of the dining-room, she found her pantry
door open,--the tin cake-box she had put on the shelf was open, too,
on the floor,--outside of it were two little white legs and a little
quirled tail, with a pink rosette on it, and over the edge of the tall
cake-box hung a pink sash, whilst two fore paws and a pink head were
buried in her nice, soft warm cake. Mamma was sorry to have no cake
to offer us when we got home, but she said she had had a very hearty
laugh. Piggie Pink had seemed so unconscious that she was not doing the
proper thing, and never once offered to run away. That’s all my story,
says Peter Parley.”
“Jem,” asked Rosie, who had quite forgotten her recent adventure, “what
is a ghost?”
“Well, really, my little maid, you bother me there,” said Jem,
thoughtfully, “I should say it was a--a--”
“Isn’t it really a kind of a live nothing, Jem?” asked Charlie Leonard.
“Well, yes, Charlie,” Jem answered. “I should say you had just about
got the idea.”
The children next bent their steps to the house, where Mamma gave them
a nice lunch of bread and fruit, and then sent the little ones off with
the nurse, for a nap to rest them before the great frolic of the day.
The older boys threw themselves into the hammocks, under the shady
trees, while Mrs. Harwood, in the cool library, read some of Hans
Andersen’s bewitching tales to the little girls, who sat dressing their
dolls in their sea-side suits, to be in readiness for the shore dinner.