A TALK ABOUT LEAVING MAYFIELD
The next day a big snow fell. It was one of those snows which fall
so thick and fast and fine, that when you look out of the windows it
seems as if great white sheets were being let down from the skies.
When Rob first waked and saw this snow falling, he exclaimed:--
"Hurrah! here's a bully snow-storm! Now we'll get some snow-balling.
Say, Nell, won't you help me build a real big snow-fort with high
walls that we can stand behind, and fire snow-balls at the boys?"
"Oh, Rob!" said Nelly, "I'm afraid mamma won't let you play in the
snow yet: your throat isn't well enough; but by next week I think it
will be. We'll have snow right along now all winter."
"Oh, dear!" said Rob, fretfully: "there it is again. I can't ever do
any thing I want to."
"Why, Rob," replied Nelly, "aren't you ashamed of yourself, with
that lovely kaleidoscope and all those books? I shouldn't think
you'd want to go out to-day. I'm sure I don't. I'd rather stay at
home with Mrs. Napoleon and the rest of my dolls all day than go
anywhere,--that is, unless it was to take a sleigh-ride. Mamma said
perhaps, if it stopped snowing, papa might take us on a sleigh-ride
this afternoon."
"Did she?" exclaimed Rob; "oh, bully! But then I suppose I can't
go," he added, in a quite altered tone.
"Oh, yes! you can," answered Nelly, "mamma said so. I heard her
tell papa it would do you good to go well wrapped up."
"I hate to be bundled up so," said Rob. "It's as hot as fury; and,
besides, it makes the boys laugh; last time I went out so, Ned
Saunders he stood on his father's store steps, when we stopped
there,--mamma wanted to buy a broom,--and Ned called out, 'By-by,
baby bunting, where's your little rabbit skin?' I shan't go if mamma
makes me wear that red shawl, so!" and Rob's face was the picture of
misery.
Nelly's cheeks flushed at the thought of the insulting taunt to Rob
which was conveyed in that quotation from Mother Goose: but she was
a very wise and clear-headed little girl, as you have no doubt
discovered before this time, and she knew much better than to let
Rob think she felt as he did about it; so all she said was, "I don't
care: I shouldn't mind. If Ned Saunders had the sore throat, he'd
have to be wrapped up just the same way. Boys are a great deal
hatefuller than girls. No girl would ever say such a thing as that
to a girl if she was sick, or to a boy either."
"No, I don't suppose they would," said Rob, reflectively. "Girls are
nicer than boys some ways: that's a fact."
In the excitement of the Christmas presents, and the getting of the
Christmas dinner, and all the housework which had to be done
afterward, Nelly had forgotten about the conversation which she had
overheard in the night between her father and mother. But in the
quiet of this stormy morning it all came back to her. She and Rob
were spending the forenoon in the place which they liked best in all
the house, their mother's room. It was a beautiful sunny chamber,
with two big bay-windows in it,--one looking to the south, and one
to the west; the south window looked out on the garden, and the west
window looked out on a great pine grove which was only a few rods
away from the house; on the east side of the room was the fireplace
with a low grate set in it; the fire burned better in this fireplace
than in any other in the house, the children thought. That was
because they had a nice time every night, sitting down a while in
front of this fire and talking with their mother. This was the time
when they told her things they didn't quite like to tell in the
daytime; and this was the time she always took to tell them things
she was anxious they should remember. They associated all their
talks with the bright open fire; and, whenever they saw the flames
of soft coal leaping up and shining, they remembered a great many
things their mother had said to them.
There was a large old-fashioned mahogany table on one side of this
room, which Mrs. March used for cutting out work, and which the
children liked better than any thing in the room. It had droll
twisted legs which ended in knobs and castors, and it had big leaves
fastened on with brass hinges which opened and shut; when these
leaves were open the table was so big that both Rob and Nelly could
be up on it at once, and have plenty of room for their things. This
morning their mother had let them open it out to its full size, and
push it close up in one corner of the room, so that the walls made a
fine back for them to lean against. Nelly sat on one side, with all
her dolls ranged in a row against the wall, Mrs. Napoleon at the
head. In front of her, she had all their clothes in one great pile,
and was sorting and arranging them in the little bureau and trunk
and boxes in which she kept them. Rob sat opposite her with his feet
on a blanket shawl, so that they would not scratch the mahogany; he
was reading the "Cliff Climbers," and every few minutes he would
break out with:--
"This is the most splendid story of all yet."
"Nell, look at this picture of them going up over the cliff by
ropes. Oh, don't I just wish I could go to some such place!"
[Illustration: Nelly sat on one side with all her dolls ranged in a
row against the wall. _Page 20_]
After a while, Nelly leaned her head back against the wall, and
stopped playing with her dolls. She looked at the snow-storm
outside, and the bright fire in the grate, and exclaimed, "Oh,
mamma! isn't it nice here?"
There was something in Nelly's tone which made her mother look up
surprised.
"Why, yes, dear; of course it is nice here; it is always nice here;
what made you think of it just now?"
Nelly March was one of the honestest little girls that ever lived.
Nothing seemed to her so dreadful as a lie; but she came very near
telling one now.
"I don't know, mamma," she said; but, almost before the words were
out of her mouth, she added:--
"Yes, I do know, too; I meant I didn't want to tell."
"Why not? my little daughter," said Mrs. March, looking much
puzzled. "Surely it cannot be any thing you do not want mamma to
know."
"Oh, no, mamma! it is something you didn't want me to know," said
Nelly hastily, turning very red.
"Something I didn't want you to know, Nell," she said. "What do you
mean? And how did you know it then?"
"She listened, she listened," cried Rob, throwing down his book,
"and she wouldn't tell me a thing either, and she was real mean."
The tears came into Nelly's eyes, and Mrs. March looked very sternly
at Rob.
"Rob," she said, "telling tales is as mean as listening: I'm ashamed
of you. Nell, what does he mean?"
Poor Nelly was almost crying.
"Indeed, mamma," she exclaimed, "I didn't listen; and I told Rob
then I didn't; he's told a lie, a wicked lie, and he ought to be
punished, mamma; he knows it's a lie."
"It ain't either," shouted Rob, "if you didn't listen how'd you
hear? She did listen, mamma, and now she's told a lie too."
Mrs. March threw down her sewing, and walked quickly across the room
to the table where the children were sitting. She put one hand on
Nelly's head, and one on Rob's.
"My dear children," she said, "you shock me. Do think what you are
saying: this is a bad beginning for the new year."
"'Tain't New Year yet for a week," muttered Rob. "This needn't
count."
Mrs. March laughed in spite of herself.
"Every thing counts, Rob, which we do, whether it is the beginning
of a New Year or not. Mamma ought not to have spoken as if that made
any odds. But you must not accuse each other of lying. That is a
most dreadful thing. I know neither of you would tell a lie."
"Course we wouldn't," cried both the children.
"Neither would Nelly listen, Rob, in any such sense as you meant,"
continued Mrs. March. "Sometimes we over-hear things when we do not
mean to."
"That's just the way it was, mamma," interrupted Nelly eagerly; "and
I told Rob so: it was in the night, night before last, and you and
papa were talking, and I was awake, and I could not help hearing,
and I coughed as loud as I could for you to hear."
"Oh," said Mrs. March, "that is it, is it? I remember you coughed,
and I shut the door. I did not think you were awake, but I was
afraid we should waken you. We were talking about going away from
this place."
"Yes, mamma," said Nelly, in a sad tone.
"Going away! Oh, mamma, are we really going away? oh, where? say
where, mamma, say quick!" cried Rob, throwing down his "Cliff
Climbers," and springing from the table to the floor at one bound.
"Gently, gently, wild boy," said Mrs. March, catching Rob by one arm
and drawing him into her lap. In spite of all Rob's ill temper and
selfishness, I think Mrs. March loved him a little better than she
loved Nelly. Neither Nelly nor Rob dreamed of this, and perhaps Mrs.
March never was conscious of it herself; but other people could see
it.
"Why, Rob," she said, "would you be glad to go away from this house,
and the grove, and the pond, and from all your friends, and go to
live in a strange place where you didn't know anybody?"
Rob's face sobered.
"To stay, mamma?" he said, "to stay always?"
Nelly did not speak. She knew more about this matter than Rob did.
She watched her mother's face very earnestly and sadly, and tears
filled her eyes when Mrs. March answered:--
"I am afraid so, Rob: if we go I do not believe we shall ever come
back. I didn't mean to let you know any thing about it till it was
all settled. But, since you have heard something about it, I will
tell you all I know myself. Come here, Nelly; both of you sit down
now at my feet, and I will talk to you about it."
Nelly and Rob sat down on two low crickets by their mother's knee,
and looked up in her face without speaking. They felt that something
very serious was coming. Before Mrs. March began to speak, she
kissed them both several times, then she said:--
"There is one thing I am very sure of: both my little children will
be brave and good, if hard times come."
"Oh, mamma! tell us quick; don't bother," interrupted impatient Rob,
"let's know what it is quick, mamma. Are we going to be awful poor,
like the people in story books? I don't care if we are, if that's
all. Let's have it over."
Mrs. March laughed again: one reason she loved Rob so much was that
his temper was so much like her own. It had been very hard for her
herself to learn to be patient, and to be sufficiently moderate in
her speech; and even now there was nothing in the world she disliked
so much as suspense of any kind. She could make up her mind to
endure almost any thing, if only it were fixed and settled. So when
Rob burst out with impatient speeches like this one, she knew
exactly how he felt. And sometimes when Nelly took things quietly
and calmly, and was so deliberate in all her movements, Mrs. March
misunderstood her, and thought she did not really care about any
thing half as much as Rob did. But the truth was, Nelly really cared
a great deal more about almost everything, than he did. He forgot
things in a day, or an hour even; sad things, pleasant things, all
alike: they blew away from Rob's memory and Rob's heart like leaves
in a great wind, and he never thought much more about any thing than
just whether he liked it or disliked it at the moment. The phrase he
used to his mother just now was very often on his lips, "Oh, don't
bother!" Especially he used to say this to Nelly whenever she tried
to reason with him about something which she thought not quite right
or not quite safe. You would have thought to hear them talk that
Nelly was at least five years older than he: she talked to him like
a little mother. At this moment, when Rob was hurrying his mother so
impatiently, Nelly exclaimed, "Oh, hush, Rob! do let mamma tell it
as she wants to;" and Nelly drew up close to her mother's side, and
laid her cheek down on her mother's hand. Nelly's heart was as full
as it could be of sympathy: she knew that her mother felt very
unhappy about going away, and Nelly's way of showing her sympathy
was to be very loving and tender and quiet; but, strange as it may
seem, this did not comfort and help Mrs. March so much as Rob's
off-hand and impatient way.
"Well, but she's so slow: ain't you slow, mamma? And it's horrid to
wait," replied Rob.
"Yes, Rob," laughed Mrs. March. "I am rather slow, and it is horrid
to wait; but I won't be slow any longer: this is what papa and I
were talking about the other night,--about going out to Colorado to
live."
"Colorado! where's that? Is it anywhere near the Himalayas?" cried
Rob. "If it is, I'd like to go; oh, I'd like to go ever so much."
Mrs. March laughed out loud. "Oh you droll Rob," she said. "No, it's
nowhere near the Himalayas; but there are mountains there about as
high as the Himalayas,--higher than any other mountains in America."
"Are there elephants?" said Rob. "I wouldn't mind about any thing if
there are only elephants."
"Rob, how can you!" burst out Nelly, with a vehemence very unusual
in her. "How can you! It's because papa's sick that we are going."
"Why, what's the matter with papa?" said Rob, wonderingly.
Mr. March had been a sufferer from asthma for so many years that no
one any longer thought of him as an invalid. He was very rarely
confined to the house, and, except in the summer, his asthma did not
give him a great deal of trouble; but in the summer it was so bad
that for weeks he was not able to preach at all: I believe I have
forgotten all this time to tell you that he was a minister. I have
been so busy talking about Nelly and Rob, that I have hardly told
you any thing about their papa and mamma.
Mr. March had been settled in this village of Mayfield for fifteen
years, and the people loved him so much that they would not hear of
having any other minister. When his asthma was so bad that he could
not preach, they hired some one else; always in the summer they gave
him a two-months' vacation; and, whenever any stranger said any
thing unkind about his asthmatic voice, they always replied, "If Mr.
March couldn't preach in any thing more than a whisper, we'd rather
hear him than any other man living." The truth was, that they had
grown so accustomed to the asthmatic, wheezy tone, that they did not
notice it. It really was very unpleasant to a stranger's ear, and
everybody wondered how a whole congregation of people could endure
it. But it is wonderful how much love can do to reconcile us to
disagreeable things in the people we love; and not only to reconcile
us to them, but to make us forget them entirely. Nelly and Rob never
thought but that their father's voice was as pleasant as anybody's:
when his breath came very short and quick, they knew he was
suffering, but at other times they did not remember any thing about
his having asthma; this was the reason that Rob said so wonderingly
now:--
"Why, what is the matter with papa?"
Mrs. March's voice was very sad as she replied:--
"Only his asthma, dear, which he has had so many years, but it is
growing much worse; and we have seen a gentleman lately who has come
from Colorado, and he says that people never have asthma at all
there, and the doctor says if papa does not go to some such climate
to live, he will get worse and worse, so that he will not be able to
do any thing. You don't know how much poor papa suffers, even here.
He has not been able to lie down in bed for almost a year now; ever
since early last summer."
"Not lie down!" exclaimed Nelly, "why, what does he do, mamma? How
does he sleep?"
"He sleeps propped up with pillows, dear, almost as straight as he
would be in a chair," replied Mrs. March.
"Oh, dear," cried Rob, "isn't that awful! Why didn't you ever tell
us, mamma? Isn't he awful tired? What makes people not have asthma
in Colorado, anyhow?"
"Which question first, Rob?" said Mrs. March. "I haven't told you,
because papa dislikes very much to have any thing said about it.
Yes: he is very tired all the time. He never feels rested in the
morning as you do. I don't know why people never have asthma in
Colorado; but I think it must be because the air is so very dry
there. They never have any rain there from October to April, and the
country is very high; some of the towns where people live are twice
as high as the highest mountains you ever saw."
"Mamma!" exclaimed Rob, with so loud and earnest a voice that both
Mrs. March and Nelly gave a little jump. "Mamma, if it's the being
so high up that does the good, why couldn't we go to the Himalayas
instead? Oh, it's perfectly splendid there! just let me read you
about it," and Rob ran back to the table for his "Cliff Climbers,"
and was about to begin to read aloud from it. Mrs. March could not
help laughing: and Nelly laughed too; for Nelly, although she was no
older than Rob, was very much ahead of him in her studies at school,
and she knew very well where the Himalaya mountains were, and that
there would be no way of living there comfortably even if it were
not quite too far to go.
"But, Rob,--" began Mrs. March.
"You just wait till I read you, mamma," interrupted Rob; "you
haven't read the 'Cliff Climbers,' and you don't know any thing
about it. Perhaps the doctors don't know how many good things grow
there; and the mountains are five miles high, some of them. I'm sure
papa couldn't have the asthma as high up as that: could he?"
"My dear little boy," said Mrs. March, putting her hand on the book
and shutting it up, "you are always too hasty: you must stop and
listen. Nobody could live five miles up in the air. That would be as
much too high as this is too low; and things which sound very fine
to read about would be very inconvenient in real life."
"Yes," interrupted Rob, "an elephant tore down their cabin one
night,--just tramped right over it, and smashed it all flat as we
would an ant-hill. That wouldn't be very nice: but we needn't live
where the elephants come; we could just go out to hunt them in the
summer."
Rob's eyes were dark blue, and when he was eager and excited they
seemed to turn black, and to be twice their usual size. He was so
eager now that his eyes were fairly dancing in his head. He was
possessed of this idea about going to live in the Himalaya
mountains, and nothing could stop him.
"They're all heathen there too, mamma, and wouldn't papa like that?
He could preach to them, don't you know? Oh, it would be splendid!
and I could collect seeds just like these cliff climbers, and stuff
birds, and make lots of money sending them back to this country."
"Oh, Rob!" exclaimed Nelly, at last; "do stop talking, and let mamma
talk: she hasn't half told us yet. It's all nonsense about the
Himalayas. We couldn't go there; nobody goes there. I'll just show
you on your new globe where it is, and you can see for yourself." So
saying, Nelly ran for the globe, and was proceeding to show Rob what
a long journey round the world it would be to reach the Himalayas;
but Rob pushed the globe away.
"I don't care any thing about the old globe," he said; "people do go
there, for Mayne Reid's books are all true; he says they are, and it
isn't all nonsense about the Himalayas; is it, mamma? Couldn't we go
there?"
Rob was fast growing angry.
"No, Rob," said Mrs. March: "we cannot go to the Himalayas to live;
that is very certain. One of these days, when you're a man, I hope
you will be able to go all about the world and see all these
countries you are so fond of reading about: you will have to wait
till then for the Himalayas. If we go away from home at all, we must
go to Colorado. That is quite far enough: it will take us four whole
days and five nights, going just as fast as the cars can go, to get
there."
"I don't care where we go, if we can't go to the Himalayas," said
Rob, sulkily. "I think it's real mean if we've got to go away not to
go there. I know it would be real good for papa."
Mrs. March laughed again very heartily.
"Rob," she said, "you are a very queer little boy. Mamma can't
understand how you get so excited over things in such a short time.
A few minutes ago you had never thought of such a thing as going to
the Himalayas; and here you are already sure that it would be good
for papa to go there. Why, even the doctors are not sure what would
be good for papa! It is very hard to tell."
"Does it really take four whole days and five nights to get to
Colorado?" asked Rob. He had already given up the idea of the
Himalayas, and was beginning to think about Colorado. Rob's mind
moved from one thing to another as quickly as a weathercock when the
wind is shifting.
"Yes: four whole days and five nights," said Mrs. March; "or else
four nights and five days, according to the time you start."
"Five days! days! Let's start so as to make it come five days; so as
to see all we can," exclaimed Rob. "That's splendid! When will we
start, mamma?"
"It isn't really sure, is it, mamma, that we are to go?" asked
Nelly, who had hardly had a chance yet to speak a word: Rob had been
talking so fast. "Does papa want to go?"
You see how much more thoughtful Nelly was for other people than for
herself. All Rob was thinking of was what good times might come of
this journey; but Nelly was thinking how hard it was for her papa
and mamma to break up their pleasant home, and how sad it might be
for all of them to go to live among strangers.
"No, dear," said Mrs. March. "Papa does not want to go at all. It is
very hard for him to make up his mind to do it. And I do not want to
go either, except on papa's account: but we would go anywhere in the
world that would make papa well; wouldn't we?"
"Yes, indeed," said Nelly, earnestly.
"Why doesn't papa want to go?" cried Rob. "There'll be plenty of
people there to preach to: won't there? And that's all papa cares
for."
"Papa doesn't like to leave all these people here that he has
preached to for so many years: he loves them all very much," replied
Mrs. March; "and he does not expect to preach any more if he goes to
Colorado. There are not a great many villages there; it is chiefly a
wild new country: people live on great farms and keep large herds of
sheep or of cows; and the doctor wants papa to be a farmer and work
out of doors, and not live in his study among his books any more."
"Be a farmer like Uncle Alonzo?" exclaimed Nelly. "Oh, mamma,
wouldn't that be nice? and wouldn't papa like that? He always has a
good time when he goes to Uncle Alonzo's. He says it makes him feel
as if he was a boy again. And oh, mamma, the cows are beautiful.
Don't you like cows, mamma?"
Nelly was now almost as excited as Rob. She had been several times
to make a visit at her Uncle Alonzo's house. He was a rich farmer,
and had big barns, and fields full of raspberries and huckleberries,
and a beautiful pine grove close to the house; and he had nearly a
hundred cows, and used to make butter and cheese to sell, and both
Nelly and Rob thought there was nothing so delightful in the whole
world as to stay at Uncle Alonzo's.
"No, dear," said Mrs. March. "I can't honestly say I do like cows. I
am so silly as to be afraid of them. But I like your Uncle Alonzo's
farm very much."
"Oh, mamma, how can you be afraid of a cow!" cried Rob. "They never
hurt you."
"I suppose it's because I am a coward, Rob," answered Mrs. March;
"but I can't help it. I was chased by a bull once when I was a girl;
and, ever since then, I have been afraid of any thing which has
horns on its head."
"Is that what the word coward comes from, mamma?" asked Rob: "does
it mean to be afraid of a cow?"
"I guess not, Rob," said Mrs. March, laughing. "Don't begin to make
puns, Rob: it is a bad habit."
"Puns!" said Rob, much surprised; "what is a pun?"
Then Mrs. March tried to explain to Rob what a pun was, but it was
very hard work; and I don't think Rob understood, after all her
explanations, so I shall not try to explain it to you here; but I
dare say a great many of you understand what a pun is, and, if you
do, you will see that Rob had accidentally made rather a good pun,
for a little boy only twelve years old, when he asked if a coward
was a person afraid of a cow.
Presently the dinner-bell rang.
"Why, mamma," exclaimed both the children, "it isn't dinner-time, is
it?"
"Yes, it really is," said Mrs. March, looking at her watch: "I had
no idea it was so late. Where has the morning gone to?"
"Gone to Colorado," exclaimed Rob, running downstairs, "gone to
Colorado! Hurrah for Colorado."
"By way of the Himalayas," said Nelly behind him, as they ran
downstairs.
"Be still, Nell, can't you," said Rob, half vexed, half laughing. "I
haven't been in Geography half so long as you have. We haven't come
to the Himalayas yet."
Mr. March was just coming in at the front-door. He was so covered
with snow that he looked like a snow-man; and as he stamped his feet
on the door-mat, and shook off the snow from his overcoat and hat
and beard, there seemed to be quite a snow-storm in the hall.
"Hurrah for Colorado," he repeated. "What does that mean? Who is
going to Colorado?"
"All of us, papa; all of us, papa," cried Rob. "Mamma's told us all
about it, so you can't keep it a secret any longer."
Mr. March looked up inquiringly at Mrs. March, who was coming down
the stairs behind Nelly and Rob.
"Yes," she said, in answer to his inquiring look. "Yes. I have told
the children all about it, and they are both wild to go, though Rob
thinks the Himalayas would be a better place for you."
Mr. March burst into a loud laugh.
"The Himalayas!" he exclaimed. "Why, what do you know about the
Himalayas, my boy?"
It was rather too bad to laugh at Rob so much about his idea of the
Himalayas, I think; because almost any boy who had just been reading
Captain Mayne Reid's "Cliff Climbers," would think that there could
be nothing in this life half so fine to do as to go to the Himalayas
to live. Rob took it very good-naturedly this time, however.
"Not any thing, papa," he replied, "except what is in that book you
gave me, the 'Cliff Climbers;' but that says some of the mountains
are five miles high, and I thought that would cure the asthma, to go
up as high as that. Mamma says that's what we are going to Colorado
for, to get up high, to cure your asthma."
"Papa, we're so glad to go if it will make you better," said Nelly,
taking hold of her father's hand with both of hers. Mr. March
stooped over and kissed Nelly on her forehead.
"I know you are," he said: "you are papa's own little comfort
always."
Mr. March loved both of his children very dearly; but Nelly gave him
more pleasure than Rob did. He often said to his wife when they were
alone: "Nelly never gives me a moment's anxiety. The child has all
the traits which will make her a noble and a useful and a happy
woman; but I am not so sure about Rob. I am afraid we shall have
trouble with him." And Mrs. March always replied: "It is very true
all you say about Nelly. She is a thoroughly good child; but you are
quite mistaken about Rob. He is very hasty and impulsive; but he
will come out all right. He has twice Nelly's cleverness, though he
is so backward about his books. You'll see."
"I'm glad too, papa," cried Rob, "just as glad as any thing. It will
be splendid to live on a farm. Shall you wear blue overalls like
Uncle Alonzo? And will you let me help milk? And can't I have a bull
pup? I'm going to call him Caesar."
"Well, upon my word, young people," said Mr. March; and he looked at
his wife when he spoke, "you seem to have got this thing pretty well
settled between you. I don't know that we are going to Colorado at
all: after dinner we will all sit down together and talk it over.
I've got a letter here"--and he took a big envelope out of his
pocket--"from a gentleman I wrote to in Colorado, and he has sent
me some pictures of different places there, and of some of the
strange rocks. We can't have our sleigh-ride this afternoon; it is
not going to stop snowing: so we may as well take a journey to
Colorado on paper; perhaps it will be the only way we shall ever
go."
Rob and Nelly could hardly eat their dinner: they were so eager to
see the Colorado pictures and to hear all about the country.
As Mr. March looked at their eager faces, he sighed, and thought to
himself:--
"Dear little souls! They have no idea of what is before them if we
go to Colorado. It is as well they haven't."
"What makes you look so sad, papa?" said Nelly.
"Did I look sad, Nelly?" replied Mr. March. "I didn't mean to. I was
thinking how delighted you and Rob seemed at the idea of going to
Colorado, and thinking that you would probably find it very
different from what you expect. You would not be so comfortable
there as you are here."
"Isn't there enough to eat out there?" asked Rob, anxiously.
"Oh, yes!" said Mr. March, laughing, "plenty to eat."
"Well, that's all I care for," said Rob. "Oh, papa, do hurry! you
never ate your dinner so slow before. I've been done ever so long.
Can't I be excused, and go and read till you're ready to show us the
pictures?"
"Yes," said Mrs. March, "you may both go up into my room; and, as
soon as papa and I have finished our dinner, we will come up there
and have our talk."
Mrs. March wished to have a little conversation alone with her
husband before their talk with the children. She told him about
Nelly's having accidentally overheard what they were saying in the
night; "so I thought I would tell them all about it," she said.
"Certainly, certainly," said Mr. March. "There is no reason they
should not know. Even if we do not go, no harm can come of it."
Then she told him of the obstinate notion Rob had taken into his
head about the Himalayas, and how hard it had been to convince him
that they ought not to set off for those mountains at once. Mr.
March was laughing very heartily over this as they went up the
stairs, and, as they entered the room, Rob said:--
"What are you and mamma laughing so about, papa?"
Mrs. March gave her husband a meaning look, intended to warn him not
to tell Rob that they were laughing at him; but Mr. March did not
understand her glance.
"Laughing at your fierce desire to start off for the Himalayas,
Rob," he said.
"I don't care," said Rob: "I'm going there some day. You just read
the 'Cliff Climbers,' and see if you don't think so too. I'll take
you and mamma and Nell there when I'm a man and have money enough;
see if I don't."
"Well, well, Rob, we'll go when that time comes, if we're not too
old when you're rich enough to pay all that the journey costs. I've
always thought I should like to go round the world," said Mr. March;
"but now we'll look at the Colorado pictures."
Then they sat down, Mr. and Mrs. March on the lounge in front of the
fire, Nelly in her father's lap, and Rob perched up on the back of
the lounge behind his mother, so that he could look over her
shoulder.
The first picture Mr. March took out of the envelope was one which
looked like the picture of two gigantic legs and feet wrong side up.
"Oh, what big feet!" exclaimed Rob. "Do giants live in Colorado?"
Mr. March turned the picture the other side up.
"They are rocks, Rob," he said, "not feet; but they do look like
feet, that's a fact. These are some of the rocks in a place called
Monument Park, because it is so full of these queer rocks. Here are
some more of them: they are of very strange shapes. Here are some
that look like women walking with big hoop-skirts on, and some like
posts with round caps on their heads; and here is a picture of a
place where so many of these rocks are scattered among the trees,
that they look like people walking about. Here is one group which
has been called the 'Quaker Wedding.'"
"Oh, let me see that! let me see that!" exclaimed Nelly. "How queer
to call rocks Quakers!"
"I don't see that they look very much like men and women, after
all," added she as she studied the picture; "but they don't look
like any rocks I ever saw. I think I should be afraid of them. They
look alive."
"Pooh!" said Rob, "I shouldn't be. Rocks can't stir. Show us some
more, papa."
The next pictures were of beautiful waterfalls: there were three of
them,--one of seven falls, one above the other, and one of a
beautiful fall, very narrow, hemmed in between rocks, with tall
pine-trees growing about it. The next was of a high mountain with
snow half way down its sides, and a great many lower mountains all
around it. This was called Pike's Peak.
"Oh, papa!" said Nelly, "could we live where we could see that
mountain all the time?"
"Perhaps so, Nell," answered her father, smiling at her eagerness:
"would you like to?"
Nelly was looking at the picture intently, and did not reply for a
moment. Then she said:--
"Papa, I think it would keep us good all the time to look at that
mountain."
"Why, Nell," said her mother, "I didn't know you cared so much for
mountains. You never said so."
"I never saw a real mountain before," said Nelly. "This isn't a bit
like Mount Saycross."
The town of Mayfield was in one of the pleasantest counties in
Massachusetts. The region was very beautifully wooded and had
several small rivers in it, and one range of low hills called the
Saycross Hills; the highest of these was perhaps three thousand feet
high, and Nelly had spent many a day on its top: but she had never
seen any thing which gave her any idea of the grandeur of a high
mountain till she saw this picture of Pike's Peak. It seemed as if
she could not take her eyes away from this picture: she looked at it
as one looks at the picture of the face of a friend.
"Oh papa!" she exclaimed at last, "let me have this picture for my
own: won't you? I'll be very, very careful of it."
"Yes, you may have it if you want it so much," replied Mr. March,
"but be very sure not to lose it. I may want to show it to some one,
any day."
"I won't lose it, papa," said Nelly, in a tone of so much feeling
that her father looked at her in surprise.
"Why, Nell," he said, "you must be a born mountaineer I think."
And so she was. From the day she first looked on this picture of
Pike's Peak till the day when she stood at the foot of the real
mountain itself, it was seldom out of her mind. She kept the little
card in the box with Mrs. Napoleon's best bonnet and gown, and she
talked so much about it that her father called her his "little
Pike's Peak girl."
The rest of the pictures were of some of the towns in Colorado, some
ranches,--ranches is the word which the Coloradoans use instead of
farm,--and some beautiful canyons. A canyon is either a narrow
valley with very high steep sides to it, or a chasm between two
rocky walls. The most beautiful and wonderful things in Colorado are
the canyons; they all have streams of water running through them; in
fact, the canyons may be said to be roads which rivers and creeks
have made for themselves among the mountains. Sometimes the river
has cut a road for itself right down through solid rock, twelve
hundred feet deep. You can think how deep that must be, by looking
at the walls of the room you are sitting in, as you read this story.
Probably the walls of your room are about ten feet high. Now imagine
walls of rock one hundred and twenty times as high as that; and only
far enough apart for a small river to go through at the bottom; and
then imagine beautiful great pine-trees, and many sorts of shrubs
and flowers growing all the way down these sides, and along the
upper edges of them, and don't you see what a wonderful place a
canyon must be? You mustn't think either that they are just straight
up and down walls, such as a mason might build out of bricks, or
that they run straight in one direction for their whole length. They
are made up often of great rocks as big as houses piled one on top
of another, and all rough and full of points, and with big caves in
them; and they turn and twist, just as the river has turned and
twisted, to the north or south or east or west. Sometimes they take
such sharp turns that, when you look ahead, all you can see is the
big high wall right before you, and it looks as if you couldn't go
any farther; but, when you go a few steps nearer, you will see that
both the high walls bend off to the right or the left, and the river
is still running between them, and you can go right on. One of the
prettiest pictures which Mr. March's friend had sent him was of a
canyon called Boulder Canyon. It is named after the town of Boulder,
which is very near it. This is one of the most beautiful canyons in
all Colorado. It is very narrow, for the creek which made it is a
small creek; but the bed of the creek is full of great rocks, and
the creek just goes tumbling head over heels, if a creek can be said
to have head and heels. Ten miles long this canyon is, and the creek
is in a white foam all the way. There is just room for the road by
side of the creek; first one side and then the other. I think it
crosses the creek as many as twenty-five times in the ten miles; and
it is shaded all the way by beautiful trees, and flowers grow in
every crevice of the rocks, and along the edge of the water. As Rob
and Nelly looked at picture after picture of these beautiful places,
they grew more and more excited. Rob could not keep still: he jumped
down from his perch behind his mother's shoulder, and ran round to
his father's knee. "Papa, papa! say you'll go? say you'll go?" and
Nelly said in her quieter voice:--
"Oh papa! I didn't know there were such beautiful places in the
world. Don't you think we'll go?"
Pretty soon it grew too dark to look at the pictures any longer, and
Mrs. March sent the children downstairs to play in the dining-room
by the fire-light.
After they had gone, she said to her husband: "Doesn't it make you
more willing to go, Robert, to see how eager the children are for
it?"
Mr. March sighed.
"I do not know, Sarah," he said. "Their feelings are very soon
changed one way or the other. A little discomfort would soon make
them unhappy. I have great fears about the rough life out there,
both for them and for you."
"I wish you would not think so much about that," replied Mrs. March.
"I am convinced that you exaggerate it. I am not in the least
afraid; and as for the children they are so young they would soon
grow accustomed to any thing. Of course there would be no danger of
our not being able to have good plain food; and that is the only
real necessity."
"But you seem to forget, Sarah, about schools. How are we to educate
the children there?"
"Teach them ourselves, Robert," replied Mrs. March earnestly. "It
will be better for them in every way. Such an out-door life as they
will lead there is ten times better than all the schools in the
world. Oh, Robert! if you can only be well and strong, we shall be
perfectly happy. I am as eager to go as the children are."
Mrs. March had been from the beginning in favor of the move. In
fact, except for her, Mr. March would never have thought of it. He
was a patient and quiet man, and would have gone on bearing the
suffering of his asthma till he died, without thinking of the
possibility of escaping it by so great a change as the going to a
new country to live. It was well for him that he had a wife of a
different nature. Mrs. March had no patience with people who, as she
said, would "put up with any thing, rather than take trouble." Mrs.
March's way was never to "put up" with any thing which was wrong,
unless she had tried every possible way of righting it. Then, when
she was convinced that it couldn't be righted, she would make the
best of it, and not grumble or be discontented. Which way do you
think was the best?--Mr. March's or Mrs. March's? I think Mrs.
March's was; and I think Rob and Nelly were very fortunate children
to have a mother who taught them such a good doctrine of life. This
is the way she would have put it, if she had been going to write it
out in rules.
First. If you don't like a thing, try with all your might to make it
as you do like it.
Second. If you can't possibly make it as you like it, stop thinking
about it: let it go.
There was a very wise man, who lived hundreds and hundreds of years
ago, who said very much the same thing, only in different words. I
don't know whether Mrs. March ever heard of him or not. His name was
Epictetus, and he was only a poor slave. But he said so many wise
things that men kept them and printed them in a book; and one of the
things he said was this:--
"There are things which are within our power, and there are things
which are beyond our power. Seek at once to be able to say to every
unpleasing semblance: 'You are but a semblance, and by no means the
real thing.' And then examine it by those rules which you have; and
first and chiefly by this: whether it concerns the things which are
within our own power, or those which are not; and if it concerns any
thing beyond our power, be prepared to say that it is nothing to
you."
I think this would be a good rule for all of us to copy and pin up
on the door of our rooms, to read every morning before we go
downstairs. Some of the words sound a little hard to understand at
first: but after they are explained to you they wouldn't seem so;
and if we all lived up to this rule, we should always be contented.
Late in the evening, after the children had gone to bed, as Mr. and
Mrs. March sat talking over their plans, there came a loud ring at
the door-bell.
"I think that is Deacon Plummer," said Mr. March. "He said he would
come in to-night and talk over Colorado. He has been thinking for
some time of going out there; and, if we go, I think he will go
too."
"Will he, really?" exclaimed Mrs. March. "And Mrs. Plummer? What a
help that would be!"
"Yes, it would be a great advantage," said Mr. March. "He is the
best farmer in all this region, and as honest as the day is long;
and, queer as he is, I like him, I believe, better than any deacon
I've ever had."
"And he likes you too," said Mrs. March. "I believe if he goes now,
it will be only to go with you; or, at least, partly for that. Mrs.
Plummer's health, I suppose, is one reason."
"Yes, that is it," said Mr. March. "The doctors say she must go to
Florida next winter: she can't stand another of our winters here;
and Mr. Plummer says he'd rather break up altogether and move to a
new place, than be always journeying back and forth."
Just as Mr. March pronounced these words, the door opened and Deacon
and Mrs. Plummer appeared. They were a very droll little couple:
they were very short and very thin and very wrinkled. Deacon Plummer
had little round black eyes, and Mrs. Plummer had little round blue
eyes. Deacon Plummer had thin black hair, which was very stiff, and
never would lie down flat, and Mrs. Plummer had very thin white
hair, which was as soft as a baby's, and always clung as close to
her head as if it had been glued on. It was so thin that the skin of
her head showed through, pink, in many places; and, except for the
little round knot of hair at the back, you might have taken it for a
baby's head. Deacon Plummer always spoke very fast and very loud, so
loud that at first you jumped, and wondered if he thought everybody
was deaf. Mrs. Plummer always spoke in a little fine squeaky voice,
and had to stop to cough every few minutes, so it took her a great
while to say any thing. Deacon Plummer very seldom smiled, and
looked quite fierce. Mrs. Plummer had a habit of smiling most of the
time, and looked so good-natured she looked almost silly. She was
not silly, however: she was sensible, and was one of the best
housekeepers and cooks in all Mayfield. She was famous for making
good crullers; and, whenever she came to Mr. March's house, she
always brought four crullers in her pocket,--two for Rob and two for
Nelly. As soon as she came into the room this night, she began
fumbling in her pocket, saying:--
"Good evening, Mrs. March. How do you do, Mr. March?" (cough,
cough). "I've brought a cruller" (cough, cough) "for the" (cough,
cough) "children. Dear me" (cough, cough), "they're crumbled up"
(cough, cough). "I got a leetle too much lard in 'em, jest a leetle,
and the leastest speck too much lard'll make 'em crumble like any
thing" (cough, cough); "but I reckon the crumbs'll taste good"
(cough, cough) "if they be crumbled" (cough, cough); and, going to
the table, she turned her pocket wrong side out, and emptied upon a
newspaper a large pile of small bits of cruller. "Do you think
they'll mind their being" (cough, cough) "crumbled up?" (cough,
cough) "'twas only my spectacle case" (cough, cough) "did it," she
said, looking anxiously at the crumbs.
"Call 'em crumblers! call 'em crumblers," said Deacon Plummer,
laughing hard at his own joke, and rubbing his hands together before
the fire; "tell the children they're a new kind, called crumblers."
"Oh! the children won't mind," said Mrs. March, politely, and she
brought a glass dish from the closet, and, filling it with the
crumbs, covered it with a red napkin, and set it on the sideboard.
"There," said she, "as soon as Rob comes downstairs in the morning,
he will peep into this dish, and the first thing he will say will
be, 'I know who's been here: Mrs. Plummer's been here. I know her
crullers.' That's what he always says when he finds your crullers on
the sideboard."
Mrs. Plummer's little blue eyes twinkled with pleasure, so that the
wrinkles around their corners all folded together like the sticks of
an umbrella shutting up.
"Does he now, really?" she said. "The dear little fellow! Children
always does like crullers."
"Crumblers; call 'em crumblers," shouted the Deacon. "That's the
best name for 'em anyhow."
"Well, Parson," he said, "how's Colorado? Heard any thing more? Me
an' my wife's gettin' more'n more inter the notion of goin', that
is, ef you go. We shan't pick up an' go off by ourselves; we're too
old, an' we ain't used enough to travellin': but ef you go, we go;
that's about fixed, ain't it, 'Lizy?" and he looked at his wife and
then at Mr. March and then at Mrs. March, with his queer little
quick, fierce glance, as if he had said something very warlike, and
everybody were going to contradict him at once.
"Yes" (cough, cough), "I expect we'd better" (cough, cough) "go
'long; 't seems kinder" (cough, cough) "providential like our all
goin'" (cough, cough) "together so. Don't you think" (cough, cough)
"so, Mrs. March? Be ye sure" (cough, cough) "ye'd like to have us
go?" replied Mrs. Plummer.
"Oh, yes, indeed!" said Mrs. March. "Mr. March was just speaking of
it when you came in how much he would like to have Deacon Plummer
go. Mr. March knows very little about farming, though he was brought
up on a farm, and he will be very glad of Deacon Plummer's help; and
I shall be very glad to see two Mayfield faces there. I expect to be
lonely sometimes."
"Lonely, ma'am, lonely!" spoke up the Deacon: "can't be lonely,
ma'am. Don't think of such a thing, ma'am, with the youngsters,
ma'am, and me an' my wife, ma'am, an' the Parson. I'd like to see
you have a lonesome minnit, ma'am;" and the Deacon looked round on
them all again with his quick, fierce look.
Mr. March laughed. "It seems to be shutting in all round us, Sarah,
to take us to Colorado: doesn't it?"
"It isn't two hours," he continued, turning to Deacon Plummer,
"since the children left us to go to bed, with their heads so full
of Colorado and their desire to set out for the country immediately,
that I am afraid they haven't shut their eyes yet. And as for Nelly,
she's gone to bed with a picture of Pike's Peak in her hand."
"Picture! Have ye got pictures of the country round about there?"
interrupted the Deacon. "I'd like to see 'em, Parson; so'd Elizy.
She was a wonderin' how 'twould look in them parts. She hain't
travelled none, Elizy hain't, since she was a gal. I hain't never
been much of a hand to stir away from home, an' I donno now what's
taken me so sudden to go so far away; but I expect it's
providential."
Mr. March took the Colorado pictures out of the big envelope again,
and showed them to Deacon and Mrs. Plummer. They were as interested
in them as Rob and Nelly had been, and it made Mrs. March laugh to
think how much the old man and his wife, bending over the pictures,
looked like Rob and Nelly suddenly changed from ten years old to
sixty. Mrs. Plummer did not say much. Her spectacles were not quite
strong enough for her eyes. She had been for a whole year thinking
of getting a new pair, and she wished to-night she had done so, for
she could not see any thing in the stereoscope distinctly. But she
saw enough to fill her with wonder and delight, and make her
impatient to go to the country where there were such beautiful
sights to be seen. As for the Deacon, he could hardly contain
himself: in his excitement, he slapped Mr. March's knee, and
exclaimed:--
"By golly,--beg your pardon, sir,--but this must be the greatest
country goin'. It'd pay to go jest to see it, ef we didn't any more
'n look round 'n come right home again. Don't you think so, Elizy?"
The enthusiasm of these good old people, and the eager wishes of the
children produced a great impression on both Mr. and Mrs. March. It
did really seem as if every thing showed that they ought to go;
and, before Deacon and Mrs. Plummer went home, it was about decided
that the plan should be carried out.
Deacon Plummer was for starting immediately.
"I'll jest turn the key in my house," he said, "'n start right
along; 'n you'd better do the same thing; we don't want to be left
without a roof to come back to ef things turns out different from
what we expect; ef we settle, we kin come back 'n sell out
afterwards; 'n the sooner we git there the better, afore the heavy
snows set in."
"But they don't have heavy snows in Colorado, not in the part where
we are going," said Mr. March: "the cattle run out in the open
fields all winter."
"You don't mean to tell me so!" exclaimed the Deacon. "What a
country to live in! I should think everybody'd go into raisin'
cattle afore anything else."
"I think that is one of the best things to do there," replied Mr.
March. "I have already made up my mind to that. And there is nothing
I should enjoy more. And between your farming and my herds of
cattle, we ought to make a good living. Deacon, come round in the
morning and we'll talk it over more, and see what time it's best to
start."
At breakfast the next morning, Mr. March told Rob and Nelly that it
was decided that they would move out to Colorado. The two children
received the news very differently. Nelly dropped her knife and
fork, and looked steadily in her father's face for a full minute:
her cheeks grew red, and she drew in a long breath, and said, "Oh!
oh!" That was all she said; but her face was radiant with happiness.
Rob bounded out of his chair, flew to his mother and gave her a
kiss, then to his father and gave him a great hug, and then he gave
a regular Indian war-whoop, as he ran back to his seat.
"Rob! Rob! you must not be so boisterous," exclaimed his mother; but
she was laughing as hard as she could laugh, and Rob knew she was
not really displeased with him.
"Oh Nell, Nell!" cried Rob, "isn't it splendid? why don't you say
any thing?"
"I can't," replied Nelly. But her cheeks were growing redder and
redder every minute, and her father saw that tears were coming in
her eyes.
"Why, Nell," he said, "you are not sorry, are you? I thought you
wanted to go."
"Oh, so I do, papa," exclaimed Nelly; "I want to go so much that I
can't believe it."
Mr. March smiled. He understood Nelly better than her mother did.