“The world of waters is our home,
And merry boys are we.”
At breakfast the next morning, Mr. Havens said, “Children, I have still
another pleasure to announce to you!”
“Oh, what can it be! What can come next?” cried they.
“You are to have a couple of hours more for your country frolics, and
then, just think of it, this kind Uncle Fred proposes to take us all,
on our homeward journey, in his yacht, as far as Rocky Point.”
“Oh, isn’t that beautiful, elegant, splendid, delicious?” chimed
in many voices; and May slipped her hand into her father’s as she
whispered--
“Oh, Papa, if _we_ only but just could, too!”
“Well, little daughter,” he replied, “you only just are to, all of you,
with Mamma to keep you steady. No, boys, no clapping,--you must quietly
enjoy the fact.”
The boys obeyed their father’s words, but somehow the soft eggs in
their glasses needed an unusual amount of violent spoon-stirring, and
Mr. Havens heard little Alice, his next neighbor, repeating to herself,
over and over again, one of Kit’s favorite couplets--
“Says Aaron to Moses, let’s cut off our noses,
Says Moses to Aaron, it’s the fashion to wear ’em.”
in order to restrain her impatience, for the child’s appetite had
quite left her, when she heard of the good time that was coming, and
breakfast seemed like such a long meal.
“Those boys never know when to stop,” she said to herself, more than
once.
The boys did “stop,” however, and directly after were seen trooping
down the lawn to the shore, for a boat launch. May, Gracie, and Daisy
were soon busy at work, making wreaths with Harry’s help, to deck the
pretty lamb, whilst Alice, with Mamma’s permission, carried Rosie off
to Farmer Shedd’s, to see the Donkeys in the old stable, first stopping
to fill their aprons with fresh clover and buttercups. Rosie had never
seen donkeys, and when, through the half-opened stable door, the pair
thrust out their shaggy necks, and pricked up their long ears, Rosie
was tempted to retreat; but when she heard Alice’s petting words, as
she stroked the peaceable animals, and saw how daintily they ate
all the nice grass she had brought, without once offering to bite the
white apron she held out, Rosie grew bolder, and emptied many times
the little cart of its load of grass, which shy Tommy Shedd brought
to them, and fed the good donkeys, even venturing to pat their shaggy
manes and tell the homely animals what “regular beauties” they were.
[Illustration: Alice and Rosie visit Farmer Shedd’s Donkeys. Page 253.]
The walk home didn’t prove a pleasant one, for, in an unlucky moment,
Charlotte had dressed Rosie in a scarlet flannel sack, because the
morning air was fresh and chill, and this very gay sack attracted a
Turkey Gobbler’s eye, as he strutted through Farmer Shedd’s yard, and
immediately he gobbled out a warning to Rosie to leave the premises,
and then started off in hot pursuit. Alice saw his Lordship’s meaning,
and began to run, pulling Rosie so hard to get her off the Gobbler’s
grounds, that roly-poly Rosie tripped her foot over a pan of chicken’s
food and fell upon the ground, screaming with terror.
_Then_ shy Tommy Shedd showed what stuff _he_ was made of, for,
catching up an old broom, he gave the wrathful turkey such a chase,
that he flew on the high branch of a cherry tree, and there gobbled out
to his children’s children the tale of his rights and wrongs, whilst
Alice picked Rosie up and ran with her to the shelter of the home nest
for comfort and cleansing.
* * * * *
Two hours later, the _Psyche_ gracefully glides out of its little
harbor at the foot of the lawn, and spreads her trim sails to coax
the strong breeze to help her bear her merry party fairly out to the
beautiful Narragansett Bay.
Yacht decks do not afford much space for young people to run about; but
the boys found a great deal to interest them in watching the steersman
managing the sails and rudder, as a rider his gay steed’s motions,
whilst the good-natured sailor spun many a yarn to while away the
time. Artie thought it great fun to hail the passing boats and receive
salutes in return; but the crowning bliss was when, gliding along in a
steamer’s wake, the spray showered them well, and drove them, screaming
with laughter, to the little cabin, whence they were driven out again
by their sisters, who were dressing their dolls for a wedding at sea;
for Daisy and May had agreed that, as they were so soon to be parted,
“it would be a comfort to know their dolls were relations to one
another, and even if the bride left for New York the next day, letters
could be written, and perhaps an occasional visit made, if either
pined for the other.”
Jem was presently “whispered” down to perform the ceremony, for the
girls all were agreed if Kit, Ned, or Artie got an inkling of what was
going on, they were sure to turn everything into fun, and Gracie and
May had an instinctive idea that, somehow, getting married was not a
joke, but a very, very serious thing. Daisy had herself been with Mamma
at a church-wedding in New York, where some of the bridal guests shed
tears, so she thought that was the proper thing, and instructed the
girls to do the same, taking upon herself the duty of wiping Jack’s and
Charlie Leonard’s eyes, who, as privileged guests, were allowed to be
present, but were sure Daisy said, “to have no pocket-handkerchiefs.”
Whilst the wedding was taking place, the boys, on deck, attempted a
game of Jackstraws, but in the midst of it, whilst Kit was excitedly
declaring that “Artie’s hand shook the least bit in the world,” and
Artie as warmly contending--
“It was only the tilting of the yacht,” a fresh breeze coolly settled
the hot little dispute by whisking away the straws, and provoking a
merry laugh.
The gay party was just in the midst of their luncheon when the tower
of Rocky Point appeared, and very soon the _Psyche_ lay beside the
long wharf, the steersman its only occupant, whilst its chattering
passengers were climbing in advance of their elders up the steep
hill path, at the side of the hotel, in search of that greatest of
diversions, the “Monkey’s Cage.” An excursion boat had just landed
hundreds of pleasure-seekers, and they, too, with few exceptions,
crowded about the huge wire house. Red-faced Germans with wives,
children of all sizes and ages, and huge baskets of provisions, Irish
military men, with shamrock on their caps, and sweetheart or wife
on one arm, and the always present basket on the other, Frenchmen,
Englishmen, Portuguese, all crowding around, chattering their various
languages--made this inclosure a very Tower of Babel. It seemed queer
enough that the objects of so much attention should seem so utterly
unconscious of it all. There sat those little specimens of mock
humanity, nibbling the nuts thrown at them, combing their short hair
before their looking-glasses, or climbing up huge poles to tumble
down again, making grimaces at the lookers on, or slyly jumping up
to bite the tip of a fellow monkey’s tail, hanging invitingly from
the perch above. Week after week, month after month, year after year,
crowds gather about the monkey play-ground,--rich and poor, old and
young, grave and gay. The middle-aged college professor, wending his
way to the cool groves, where he may sit to read or think, fanned by
soft sea breezes, and refreshed by odors of fresh foliage and sweet
wild flowers,--halts here, and then goes smiling on his way to wonder
“whether monkeys are not, perhaps, his cousins after all.”
Gay city damsels gather up their flounces, as they pass the dusty
throng, but are seen to cast a stealthy look, exclaiming as they do so--
“What _can_ people see so fascinating in monkeys!” and yet these same
monkeys daily attract to their performances, crowds of spectators, and
win shouts of applause on every side.
We have only two hours to stay at Rocky Point, so we take off our hats
and wave our adieu to the chattering Jackos, and wend our way to peep
in the cave so gloomy, and thence to the inclined railway for a ride in
the little passenger car; now we stop for a moment to see the dancing
Bear uncork and drink his bottle of soda water; thence a hurried look
at the cage of birds, with their glorious plumage,--but we cannot
stop, for the younger children are clamoring loudly for a “ride on the
steam-horses,” so we hasten through the field to the inclosed yard,
where a dozen pairs of ponies, large and small, stand ready harnessed
for action. Hurrying through the little gate we lay down our pile of
clean ten-cent pieces,--seize our riding-whips, mount the gay ponies,
then a bell rings, the engine puffs, and away gallop the pairs of
ponies with their shouting riders. Papa and his companions, sitting
on a rustic bench near, find even the beautiful water-view has less
attraction for them than the bright faces of the ten young riders,
waving their whips, as they catch sight of the Papas and Mammas.
Nan and Charlotte press close to the scene of action, resting their
chins on the pickets which guard the enclosure, looking as if they,
too, would fain be young again. Soon Papa gives the signal that it is
nearly boat hour, and very reluctantly ponies and steam engine are
left behind, and all wend their way to the great piazza to watch the
steamboat’s approach, and as it comes puffing to the wharf, the young
faces lengthen as they bid “good-by,” and utter hopes of another speedy
meeting; then some climb down the little ladder to the yacht’s deck,
and the rest of the party press with the multitude through the gate,
and thence to the saloon of the _Morning Star_, on their return voyage
to Providence.
It was a pretty well-fagged and drowsy party that tumbled into the
old family carriage that waited on the dock, and tumbled out again
as the horses stopped at the door of the Funny old house in Funny
street, and soon after, too tired to enjoy the nursery tea, tumbled
into their little beds to dream of bright green meadows, sandy parlors,
clam-bakes, and chattering monkeys.