THE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS.
The lamb speedily became accustomed to his new home. When Thekla
brought him food, he would cuddle close, and lick her fingers, bleating
softly. Before long he was grown so tame that, if Max seized his two
fore feet and waltzed round the room, he made no objection, but frisked
funnily, as if enjoying the joke. Best of all, however, he loved to lie
beside Grandfather’s chair, within reach of his stroking hand. The old
man found continual pleasure in the gentle creature, whose wool was
scarcely whiter than his own snowy hair. With the serene faith of old
age, he asked no questions as to the new possession, but accepted it
calmly and without wonderment; for Grandfather was getting very old.
[Illustration: “You should have seen Dotty, with her sleeves rolled up,
sweeping away for dear life, and ordering ‘dear’ about.”]
As for Thekla, she thought there was never a lamb like this. For his
sake, she loved all lambs; and often, at her wheel, would sing the
“Lamb Song,” with which babies are hushed to sleep. It ran something
like this:--
“Lambs in the daisies,
Whiter than they;
So in her snowy bed,
Tossing her golden head,
Frolics my baby,--like lamb at its play.
“See how the little one
Frisks by its dam!
Knowing no harm or fear,
Happy if she is near:
Thus to my bosom clings closely my lamb.
“Now comes the Shepherd,
Counts every one,
Leads to the pastures fair
Where the sweet streamlets are,
Shields from the tempest, and shades from the sun.
“Jesu, the Shepherd dear,
Knoweth his sheep;
And in His gracious arm,
Safe from all fear and harm,
Keepeth his lammies, and ever will keep.”
So, with songs and busy days, the month sped quickly away.
“Oh dear, I wish it were night!” said Max on the morning of the 30th.
“April and May were so nice that I’m really in a hurry to have the day
go.”
“I’m not,” replied sensible Thekla. “I like to have to wait a little
for pleasant things, because then they last so much longer. And I’m
real glad there are so many more Months to come,--six,--no, seven,
counting June. Let’s work hard to-day, Brother; and then the time will
seem short.”
Max agreed; and by twelve o’clock the famous spoon, upon which he had
been so long engaged, was done. It was cleverly carved for a young
workman; and, as there was plenty of time before the Fair, he set to
work at once upon a fork to match, and grew so interested that when the
sun set he cried out, “Oh dear, it’s too bad! The days aren’t half long
enough.”
Thekla laughed, but was too wise, and too tender of Max’s feelings, to
say, “I told you so,” as some little girls would have done. She only
put aside her work, and made haste with the supper, that all might be
tidy and in order for the coming guest.
The evenings were still cool enough to make a fire comfortable, and the
hearth glowed bright as in winter. But the casement stood open; and,
one on each side, the children perched themselves to wait for June.
She arrived promptly, the pink sunset glowing behind her figure, as it
issued, all clothed in white, from the leafy woods. Max and Thekla flew
to meet her. On her head was a wreath of flowering hawthorn. She held
up the skirt of her gown filled with strawberries.
“Put in a thumb, and pull out something nice,” she said merrily, as she
saw them coming.
Both thumbs and fingers were soon red as cherries; for all the time
June told her tale they kept going in and out of the fragrant,
fascinating lap, and conveying red, delicious mouthfuls to the little
lips dyed deep with juicy stains. It was wonderful how the children
took to June. It seemed as if they could not get close enough. They
lay on her lap, put their arms about her neck, kissed and played with
her hands, were not one bit afraid of her;--and she evidently was used
to and liked it, for she only smiled when they did so. This was her
story:--
“Last year I had to take a long ride over the Desert, and it was
extremely hot. So, as soon as was possible I came away, and went to a
place among the hills, to cool off. A very nice, old-fashioned, little
place it is. People from the city go there in the summer; and this
time, as it happened, they were earlier than usual.
“I love children very much, so I soon got acquainted with all in the
village. There were ever so many of them. Some, in fine ruffled frocks,
were thin and white, and had blue circles round their eyes. That was
because they had been taken to parties in the winter till they were
almost dead. And some were all worried out with going to school, and
had round shoulders and tired faces. And a few were dear natural little
boys and girls, with lips and cheeks the right color, and plenty of
clean common clothes to romp in. I loved all of them, and they me;
but these last loved me best. We used to spend whole days out-doors
together, playing ‘I spy’ and ‘hide-and-seek’ in the bushes. As a
general thing, they were pretty good. There was an Anna Maria, to be
sure, who slapped her little sister now and then; and one boy named
Johnny who _would_ climb trees after the robins’ nests: so that I was
forced at last to push him off a bough and sprain his ankle, to make
him let them alone. But, on the whole, I was well satisfied with them.
And my prime favorite--the roundest, jolliest, nicest, prettiest of
all--was little Dotty Dexter.
“Dotty was six years old, the dearest, cunningest mite of a romp you
ever saw, and at the same time a born housewife. All her life it had
been so. When two years old, she used to take her small apron and trot
round the nursery rubbing the furniture clean, as she had seen nurse
do. She could only reach to the seats of the chairs, and about half way
up the legs of the tables; but so far she always made them shine till
you could almost see your face in them.
“Dotty had an admirer. He was one year older than she, and his name was
Willy Pringle. She loved him very much, partly because he had a jacket
with two pockets, and gilt buttons down the front, and partly because
when his mamma gave him any gum-drops he always brought her half of
them to suck. So when he asked, ‘Would she be his little wife?’ she
said she would.
“Down the village street stood a queer little house, which nobody lived
in. Once it had been painted brown; but the paint had rubbed off, and
now it was all yellow and spotty. The door wasn’t locked, because doors
never were locked in that place; and one day Willy and Dotty opened it,
and strayed in to take a look.
“It was a most beautiful house. There was a hall, with an upstairs
and a downstairs to it. The upstairs went to the bed-rooms, and the
downstairs to the cellar. There were two rooms,--a parlor and a
kitchen; and two bedrooms, and the cellar: that made five. There was
a stove in the kitchen, with real holes in the top, and a pipe. It was
rather rusty, but a delightful stove notwithstanding. In the parlor
was a chair and a stool and another chair, all three quite ragged; and
upstairs, on one of the window-sills, stood a long row of bottles.
‘Hair Dye’ was written on the outside of them; and they smelt dusty,
when you put them to your nose. That was all the furniture; except some
pieces of plaster, which had fallen down from the ceiling.
“Dotty and Willy trotted over the place, hand in hand. Their conclusion
was that there never was such a nice house before for two young people
to go to housekeeping in.
“‘We’ll call it ours, you know,’ said Dotty, ‘and play we live in it.
Only we won’t stay at night, ’cause Mamma says mice always get into old
houses. And it scares me dreadful when I hear them scratch.’
“‘Pooh!’ said Willy, ‘to be afraid of mice! But then you’re a girl,
Dotty, so it’s no wonder. Ain’t it a nice house? We’ll stay here ’most
all the time, won’t we? Only sometimes we’ll let the others come and
play with us.’
“‘Sometimes,’ replied Mistress Dotty, with an air of
experience,--‘sometimes; but not _fekently_, ’cause visitors is a
bother! I heard Ma say so. Now the first thing we’ve got to do is to
clear up. Where can we get a broom, dear?’
“Dotty said ‘dear,’ because Mamma sometimes called Papa so.
“‘I guess Miss Hepsy would lend us one,’ answered Willy.
“Miss Hepsy was a kind old lady who lived next door. When she heard who
her new neighbors were, she laughed till her sides ached, and lent them
the broom with all the good-will in the world.
“‘Keep it as long as you like,’ she said: ‘you’ll find it handy.’
“You should have seen Dotty, with her sleeves rolled up, sweeping
away for dear life, and ordering ‘Dear’ about as if she had been
ninety years old! When the sweeping was finished, they got some
water in a ‘Hair Dye’ bottle, and washed the stairs with Dotty’s
pocket-handkerchief. That was fine fun!
“‘Course we must have a door-plate, dear!’ said the indefatigable
Dotty, this being done, ‘else folks won’t know who to ask the girl is
at home.’
“So Willy cut a square piece of brown paper, and printed on it in big
letters, ‘Dotty and Willy Pringle, Esquire.’ After which, they stuck it
on the door with a bit of glue which he fortunately had in his pocket.
He had put it there to chew!”
Here June stopped, for Max and Thekla were in fits of amusement. June
laughed herself, and showed a dimple in each cheek, and one in her chin.
“I don’t wonder you think it funny,” she said. “I was holding my sides
all the time myself. It was too comical,--the wise air of that mite of
a Dotty, and the way she made Willy mind her.
“When the little people went home to dinner, and told their intentions
about the house, none of the older folks made any objections. Dotty’s
Mamma walked down to make sure there was nothing dangerous about the
premises; and, as all seemed safe, leave was given them to play there
as much as they liked.
“It was wonderful to see how much they managed to accomplish. All the
village took an interest, and the good wives hunted their garrets over
for old duds to furnish out the little cottage. Before long there
were chairs and tables enough to supply quite a large company; and
so much cracked crockery that, burning to use it, Dotty and Willy
were constantly going about and begging for something, to drink from
their cups and pitchers. The Mammas finding this out, and thinking a
lunch would be a good thing for such busy workers, gave the milkman a
standing order to leave a pint of milk every day at the door. Never was
any thing so charming. He would stop and ring his bell just as he did
at the grown-up houses, and Dotty--always keeping him waiting a moment
for dignity’s sake--would march out with her tin measure in her hand. I
suspect the milkman enjoyed the joke as much as anybody, for I never
in my life did see such big pints as he used to pour out of his shining
dipper.
“The whole house was scrubbed every day. Not because it was dirty,
but because Dotty loved to do it. They lived principally in the
kitchen, because the village custom was to use parlors very little,
and keep them very dark; but now and then, when Dotty opened a chink
of the parlor shutters and let in a little light, you perceived
that the apartment was a magnificent one. There was a table with
two daguerrotypes open upon it, and a copy of ‘Doddridge’s Rise and
Progress,’ put there, as Dotty said, to look ‘littery.’ The chimney
held a great bunch of asparagus feathers; and on the shelf, on the
sill, everywhere, were flowers,--in mugs, bottles, pitchers, glasses.
Peonies, dandelions, roses,--it didn’t matter which: all was fish that
came to Dotty’s net.
“It was a grand sight to see the family at dinner,--Mrs. Dotty, Mr.
Willy, and a doll named Araminta. The meal was simple. Sometimes it
was bread and butter, sometimes only fennel; but always there was milk.
The finest table-manners were practised. Araminta was never allowed to
eat with her knife, or put her elbows on the table; and once, when she
attempted to tilt her chair on two legs she was very severely punished.
Oh! I assure you, Dotty was a disciplinarian.
“I don’t think any palace that ever was built gave half so much
pleasure as that little house. The very crown of all, however, was the
tea-party, given just before they came away. I wasn’t there myself, of
course; but September told me about it. She was invited.
“Willy’s Papa had been greatly amused at the whole thing, and he
helped. Two long evenings he spent in getting up the cards of
invitation. They were neatly printed, and bore the following words:--
“‘Mr. and Mrs. William Pringle
request the pleasure of your company to tea
on Wednesday afternoon, at five o’clock,
at their residence, No. 17 Elm Street.
R. S. V. P.’
“All the little boys and girls were immensely excited when these cards
came, and especially at ‘R. S. V. P.’ They were anxious to know what
it could mean. Some one told them, ‘Real Sweet Violet Powder;’ but the
children said, ‘Pshaw! that was too silly.’”
“What did it really mean?” asked Thekla.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said June. “How should I? I never go to
parties. Perhaps the last word is ‘Pringle:’ that begins with ‘P.’ But,
whatever it means, it was nice to have them printed there, because it
set the little folks guessing, and doubled the fun. Meantime, Dotty and
Willy were hard at work getting ready for the grand affair. It took
almost a week, I can tell you.
“Every thing had to be scrubbed, of course. All the windows were
washed, and the furniture dusted. The neighbors sent contributions of
cake and biscuit; and, to make the feast more imposing, Mr. Pringle
ordered up a big basket of peaches.
“When the time came, Dotty and Willy, in their best clothes, sat on
two chairs waiting for the company, and looking very solemn. Every one
had to rap on the door; and Dotty, on opening it, would say, ‘Please
s’cuse me for coming my own self, ’cause I’ve sent my girl out on a
_current_,’ which was very impressive.
“Then the little visitors would come into the parlor, and sit down.
They all tried to be very grave and grown-up; but it didn’t last long
with most of them. Dotty’s dignity, however, held out to the end. When
she sat at the head of the table pouring tea (out of the pitcher), she
was a sight to behold.
“‘Mr. Pringle,’ she would say, ‘please _distibit_ those peaches. You
ain’t so polite to the company as I could wish.’
“The very next day after this happy one, Dotty’s Mamma and Papa went
away, and Dotty with them. All the good times were over. She sat on
her nurse’s lap and sobbed, as they drove down the street. When they
passed ‘No. 17,’ it seemed as if her heart must break. As for poor
Willy, he felt as badly as she; but he wouldn’t cry, because he was a
man and the head of a family. When the carriage was quite out of sight,
he walked down to the house to see if it would make him feel better.
But it looked empty and lonely, with no cunning little figure trotting
about, broom in hand; and was altogether so dismal that the poor little
man couldn’t bear it, and, as there was nobody to see, he just sat down
and cried as hard as Dotty herself. Next day he, too, went away. And
since then nobody has lived in the cottage; but the neighbors still
tell of the droll little housekeepers, and the nice times they had
there.”
“Oh, don’t go! Tell us another,” pleaded the children, as June rose
gently from her seat.
“Look at the clock!” remonstrated June.
Sure enough, it was half-past nine. How the hours had flown!
“I’m nothing unless I have plenty of roses,” she went on; “and so far
I’ve only this handful to begin with. The rest are in your can, you
know.”
“Take some more,--pray do!” entreated Max. “Never mind if the other
Months are a little short.”
“But that wouldn’t be fair,” replied June. “Every one has a right to
his own. Good-by, Max. Good-by, Thekla darling. Next year, if all is
well, I’ll see you again.”
So saying, she glided from the door.
[Illustration: “As there was nobody to see, he just sat down and cried
as hard as Dotty herself.”]