Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: NELLY'S HOSPITAL.--PAGE 54]
AUNT JO's SCRAP-BAG.
Volume III.
CUPID AND CHOW-CHOW, ETC.
[Illustration: Scrap Bag Vol. III]
BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT,
AUTHOR OF "LITTLE WOMEN," "AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL,"
"LITTLE MEN," "HOSPITAL SKETCHES."
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
1896
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
LOUISA M. ALCOTT
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
UNIVERSITY PRESS : JOHN WILSON & SON,
CAMBRIDGE.
CONTENTS.
I. Cupid and Chow-Chow
II. Huckleberry
III. Nelly's Hospital
IV. Grandma's Team
V. Fairy Pinafores
VI. Mamma's Plot
VII. Kate's Choice
VIII. The Moss People
IX. What Fanny Heard
X. A Marine Merry-making
AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
I.
CUPID AND CHOW-CHOW.
(_With Illustrations by Addie Ledyard_)
Mamma began it by calling her rosy, dimpled, year-old baby Cupid, and
as he grew up the name became more and more appropriate, for the pretty
boy loved every one, every one loved him, and he made those about him
fond of one another, like a regular little god of love.
[Illustration: Cupid.]
Especially beautiful and attractive did he look as he pranced on the
door-steps one afternoon while waiting the arrival of a little cousin.
Our Cupid's costume was modernized out of regard to the prejudices of
society, and instead of wings, bandage, bow and arrow, he was gorgeous
to behold in small buckled shoes, purple silk hose, black velvet
knickerbockers, and jacket with a lace collar, which, with his yellow
hair cut straight across the forehead, and falling in long, curling
love-locks behind, made him look like an old picture of a young
cavalier.
It was impossible for the little sprig to help being a trifle vain when
every one praised his comeliness, and every mirror showed him a rosy
face, with big blue eyes, smiling lips, white teeth, a cunning nose,
and a dimple in the chin, not to mention the golden mane that hung
about his neck.
Yes, Cupid was vain; and as he waited, he pranced, arranged the dear
buckled shoes in the first position, practised his best bow, felt of
his dimple, and smiled affably as he pictured to himself the pleasure
and surprise of the little cousin when he embraced her in the ardent
yet gentle way which made his greetings particularly agreeable to those
who liked such tender demonstrations.
Cupid had made up his mind to love Chow-chow very much, both because
she was his cousin, and because she must be interesting if all papa's
stories of her were true. Her very name was pleasing to him, for it
suggested Indian sweetmeats, though papa said it was given to her
because she was such a mixture of sweet and sour that one never knew
whether he would get his tongue bitten by a hot bit of ginger, or find
a candied plum melting in his mouth when he tried that little jar of
Chow-chow.
"I know I shall like her, and of course she will like me lots, 'cause
everybody does," thought Cupid, settling his love-locks and surveying
his purple legs like a contented young peacock.
Just then a carriage drove up the avenue, stopped at the foot of the
steps, and out skipped a tall, brown man, a small, pale lady, and a
child, who whisked away to the pond so rapidly that no one could see
what she was like.
A great kissing and hand-shaking went on between the papas and mammas,
and Cupid came in for a large share, but did not enjoy it as much as
usual, for the little girl had fled and he _must_ get at her. So the
instant Aunt Susan let him go he ran after the truant, quite panting
with eagerness and all aglow with amiable intentions, for he was a
hospitable little soul, and loved to do the honors of his pleasant home
like a gentleman.
A little figure, dressed in a brown linen frock, with dusty boots below
it, and above it a head of wild black hair, tied up with a large
scarlet bow, stood by the pond throwing stones at the swans, who
ruffled their feathers in stately anger at such treatment. Suddenly a
pair of velvet arms embraced her, and half turning she looked up into a
rosy, smiling face, with two red lips suggestively puckered for a
hearty kiss.
Chow-chow's black eyes sparkled, and her little brown face flushed as
red as her ribbon as she tried to push the boy away with a shrill
scream.
"Don't be frightened. I'm Cupid. I must kiss you. I truly must. I
always do when people come, and I like you very much."
[Illustration: "Don't be frightened. I'm Cupid. I must kiss you. I
truly must."]
With this soothing remark, the velvet arms pressed her firmly, and the
lips gave her several soft kisses, which, owing to her struggles, lit
upon her nose, chin, top-knot, and ear; for, having begun, Cupid did
not know when to leave off.
But Chow-chow's wrath was great, her vengeance swift, and getting one
hand free she flung the gravel it held full in the flushed and smiling
face of this bold boy who had dared to kiss her without leave.
Poor Cupid fell back blinded and heart-broken at such a return for his
warm welcome, and while he stood trying to clear his smarting eyes, a
fierce little voice said close by,--
"Does it hurt?"
"Oh! dreadfully!"
"I'm glad of it."
"Then you don't love me?"
"I hate you!"
"I don't see why."
"I don't like to be hugged and kissed. I don't let anybody but papa
and mamma do it, ever,--so, now!"
"But I'm your cousin, and you _must_ love me. Won't you, please?"
besought Cupid, with one eye open and a great tear on his nose.
"I'll see about it. I don't like crying boys," returned the
hard-hearted damsel.
"Well, you made me; but I forgive you," and Cupid magnanimously put out
his hand for a friendly shake. But Chow-chow was off like a startled
deer, and vanished into the house, singing at the top of her voice a
nursery rhyme to this effect,--
"And she bids you to come in,
With a dimple in your chin,
Billy boy, Billy boy."
When Cupid, with red eyes and a sad countenance, made his appearance,
he found Chow-chow on her father's knee eating cake, while the elders
talked. She had told the story, and now from the safe stronghold of
papa's arm condescended to smile upon the conquered youth.
Cupid went to mamma, and in one long whisper told his woes; then sat
upon the cushion at her feet, and soon forgot them all in the mingled
joys of eating macaroons and giving Chow-chow smile for smile across
the hearth-rug.
"I predict that we shall be much amused and edified by the progress of
the friendship just begun," said Cupid's papa, a quiet man, who loved
children and observed them with affectionate interest.
"And I predict a hard time of it for your young man, if he attempts to
tame my strong-minded little woman here. Her mother's ideas are
peculiar, and she wants to bring Chow-chow up according to the new
lights,--with contempt for dress and all frivolous pursuits; to make
her hardy, independent, and quite above caring for such trifles as
love, domestic life, or the feminine accomplishments we used to find so
charming."
As Chow-chow's papa spoke, he looked from the child in her ugly gray
frock, thick boots, and mop of hair tied up in a style neither pretty
nor becoming, to his wife in _her_ plain dress, with _her_ knob of
hair, decided mouth, sarcastic nose, and restless eyes that seemed
always on the watch to find some new wrong and protest against it.
"Now, George, how can you misrepresent my views and principles so? But
it's no use trying to convince or out-talk you. We never get a chance,
and our only hope is to bring up our girls so that they may not be put
down as we are," returned Mrs. Susan, with a decided air.
"Show us how you are going to defend your sex and conquer ours,
Chow-chow; give us your views generally. Now, then, who is in favor of
the Elective Franchise?" said Uncle George, with a twinkle of the eye.
Up went Aunt Susan's hand, and to the great amusement of all up went
Chow-chow's also and, scrambling to her feet on papa's knee, she burst
into a harangue which convulsed her hearers, for in it the child's
voice made queer work with the long words, and the red bow wagged
belligerently as she laid down the law with energy, and defined her
views, closing with a stamp of her foot.
"This is our platform: Free speech, free love, free soil, free every
thing; and Woman's Puckerage for ever!"
Even Aunt Susan had to laugh at that burst, for it was delivered with
such vigor that the speaker would have fallen on her nose if she had
not been sustained by a strong arm.
Cupid laughed because the rest did, and then turned his big eyes full
of wonder on his mother, asking what it all meant.
"Only fun, my dear."
"Now, Ellen, that's very wrong. Why don't you explain this great
subject to him, and prepare him to take a nobler part in the coming
struggle than those who have gone before him have done?" said Mrs.
Susan, with a stern look at her husband, who was petting the little
daughter, who evidently loved him best.
"I don't care to disturb his happy childhood with quarrels beyond his
comprehension. I shall teach him to be as good and just a man as his
father, and feel quite sure that no woman will suffer wrong at his
hands," returned Mrs. Ellen, smiling at Cupid's papa, who nodded back
as if they quite understood each other.
"We never did agree and we never shall, so I will say no more; but we
shall see what a good effect my girl's strength of character will have
upon your boy, who has been petted and spoiled by too much tenderness."
So Aunt Susan settled the matter; and as the days went on, the elder
people fell into the way of observing how the little pair got on
together, and were much amused by the vicissitudes of that nursery
romance.
In the beginning Chow-chow rode over Cupid rough-shod, quite trampled
upon him in fact; and he bore it, because he wanted her to like him,
and had been taught that the utmost courtesy was due a guest. But when
he got no reward for his long-suffering patience he was sometimes
tempted to rebel, and probably would have done so if he had not had
mamma to comfort and sustain him. Chow-chow was very quick at spying
out the weaknesses of her friends and alarmingly frank in proclaiming
her discoveries; so poor Cupid's little faults were seen and proclaimed
very soon, and life made a burden to him, until he found out the best
way of silencing his tormentor was by mending the faults.
"My papa says you are a dandy-prat, and you are," said Chow-chow, one
day when the desire to improve her race was very strong upon her.
"What is a dandy-prat?" asked Cupid, looking troubled at the new
accusation.
"I asked him, and he said a vain fellow; and you are vain,--so now!"
"Am I?" and Cupid stopped to think it over.
"Yes; you're horrid vain of your hair, and your velvet clothes, and the
dimple in your chin. I know it, 'cause you always look in the glass
when you are dressed up, and keep feeling of that ugly hole in your
chin, and I see you brush your hair ever so much."
Poor Cupid colored up with shame, and turned his back to the mirror, as
the sharp-tongued young monitor went on:--
"My mamma said if you were her boy she'd cut off your curls, put you in
a plain suit, and stick some court-plaster over that place till you
forgot all about it."
Chow-chow expected an explosion of grief of anger after that last slap;
but to her amazement the boy walked out of the room without a word.
Going up to his mother as she sat busy with a letter, he asked in a
very earnest voice,--
"Mamma, am I vain?"
"I'm afraid you are a little, my dear," answered mamma, deep in her
letter.
With a sad but resolute face Cupid went back to Chow-chow, bearing a
pair of shears in one hand and a bit of court-plaster in the other.
"You may cut my hair off, if you want to. I ain't going to be a
dandy-prat any more," he said, offering the fatal shears with the
calmness of a hero.
Chow-chow was much surprised, but charmed with the idea of shearing
this meek sheep, so she snipped and slashed until the golden locks lay
shining on the floor, and Cupid's head looked as if rats had been
gnawing his hair.
"Do you like me better now?" he asked, looking in her eyes as his only
mirror, and seeing there the most approving glance they had ever
vouchsafed him.
"Yes, I do; girl-boys are hateful."
He might have retorted, "So are boy-girls," but he was a gentleman, so
he only smiled and held up his chin for her to cover the offending
dimple, which she did with half a square of black plaster.
"I shall never wear my velvet clothes any more unless mamma makes me,
and I don't think she will when I tell her about it, 'cause she likes
to have me cure my faults," said Cupid when the sacrifice was complete,
and even stern Chow-chow was touched by the sweetness with which he
bore the rebuke, the courage with which he began the atonement for his
little folly.
When he appeared at dinner, great was the outcry; and when the story
was told, great was the effect produced. Aunt Susan said with
satisfaction,--
"You see what an excellent effect my girl's Spartan training has on
her, and how fine her influence is on your effeminate boy."
Uncle George laughed heartily, but whispered something to Chow-chow
that made her look ashamed and cast repentant glances at her victim.
Cupid's papa shook hands with the boy, and said, smiling, "I am rather
proud of my 'dandy-prat,' after all."
But mamma grieved for the lost glory of her little Absalom, and found
it hard to pardon naughty Chow-chow, until Cupid looked up at her with
a grave, clear look which even the big patch could not spoil, and said
manfully,--
"You know I _was_ vain, mamma, but I won't be any more, and you'll be
glad, because you love me better than my hair, don't you?"
Then she hugged the cropped head close, and kissed the hidden dimple
without a word of reproach; but she laid the yellow locks away as if
she _did_ love them after all, and often followed the little lad in the
rough gray suit, as if his sacrifice had only made him more beautiful
in her eyes.
Chow-chow was quite affable for some days after this prank, and treated
her slave with more gentleness, evidently feeling that, though
belonging to an inferior race, he deserved a trifle of regard for his
obedience to her teachings. But her love of power grew by what it fed
on and soon brought fresh woe to faithful Cupid, who adored her, though
she frowned upon his little passion and gave him no hope.
"You are a 'fraid-cat," asserted her majesty, one afternoon as they
played in the stable, and Cupid declined to be kicked by the horse
Chow-chow was teasing.
"No, I ain't; but I don't like to be hurt, and it's wrong to fret
Charley, and I won't poke him with my hoe."
"Well, it isn't wrong to turn this thing, but you don't dare to put
your finger on that wheel and let me pinch it a little bit," added
Chow-chow, pointing to some sort of hay-cutting machine that stood near
by.
"What for?" asked Cupid, who did object to being hurt in any way.
"To show you ain't a 'fraid-cat. I know you are. I'm not, see there,"
and Chow-chow gave her own finger a very gentle squeeze.
"I can bear it harder than that," and devoted Cupid laid his plump
forefinger between two wheels, bent on proving his courage at all costs.
Chow-chow gave a brisk turn to the handle, slipped in doing so, and
brought the whole weight of the cruel cogs on the tender little finger,
crushing the top quite flat. Blood flowed, Chow-chow stopped aghast;
and Cupid, with one cry of pain, caught and reversed the handle, drew
out the poor finger, walked unsteadily in to mamma, saying, with dizzy
eyes and white lips, "She didn't mean to do it," and then fainted quite
away in a little heap at her feet.
The doctor came flying, shook his head over the wound, and drew out a
case of dreadful instruments that made even strong-minded Aunt Susan
turn away her head, and bound up the little hand that might never be
whole and strong again. Chow-chow stood by quite white and still until
it was all over and Cupid asleep in his mother's arms; then she dived
under the sofa and sobbed there, refusing to be comforted until her
father came home. What that misguided man said to her no one ever
knew, but when Cupid was propped up on the couch at tea-time, Chow-chow
begged piteously to be allowed to feed him.
The wounded hero, with his arm in a sling, permitted her to minister to
him; and she did it so gently, so patiently, that her father said low
to Mrs. Ellen,--
"I have hopes of her yet, for all the woman is not taken out of her, in
spite of the new lights."
When they parted for the evening, Cupid, who had often sued for a
good-night kiss and sued in vain, was charmed to see the red top-knot
bending over him, and to hear Chow-chow whisper, with a penitent kiss,
"I truly didn't mean to, Coopy."
[Illustration: "The wounded hero, with his arm in a sling, permitted
her to minister to him."]
The well arm held her fast as the martyr whispered back, "Just say I
ain't a 'fraid-cat, and I don't mind smashing my finger."
Chow-chow said it that night and thought it next day and for many
following days, for each morning, when the doctor came to dress the
"smashed" finger, she insisted on being by as a sort of penance. She
forced herself to watch the bright instruments without shivering, she
ran for warm water, she begged to spread the salve on the bandage, to
hold the smelling-bottle, and to pick all the lint that was used.
And while she performed these small labors of love, she learned a
little lesson that did her more good than many of mamma's lectures.
For Cupid showed her the difference between the rash daring that runs
foolish risks, and the steady courage that bears pain without
complaint. Every day the same scene took place; Chow-chow would watch
for and announce the doctor; would bustle out the salve-box, bandage,
and basin, set the chair, and call Cupid from his book with a new
gentleness in her voice.
The boy would answer at once, take his place, and submit the poor
swollen hand to the ten minutes' torture of little probes and scissors,
caustic and bathing, without a word, a tear, or sound of suffering. He
only turned his head away, grew white about the lips, damp on the
forehead, and when it was all over would lean against his mother for a
minute, faint and still.
Then Chow-chow would press her hands together with a sigh of mingled
pity, admiration, and remorse, and when the boy looked up to say
stoutly, "It didn't hurt very much," she would put his sling on for
him, and run before to settle the pillows, carry him the little glass
of wine and water he was to take, and hover round him until he was
quite himself again, when she would subside close by, and pick lint or
hem sails while he read aloud to her from one of his dear books.
"It is a good lesson in surgery and nursing for her. I intend to have
her study medicine if she shows any fondness for it," said Aunt Susan.
"It is a good lesson in true courage, and I am glad to have her learn
it early," added Uncle George, who now called Cupid a "trump" instead
of a "dandy-prat."
"It is a good lesson in loving and serving others for love's sake, as
all women must learn to do soon or late," said gentle Mrs. Ellen.
"It is teaching them both how to bear and forbear, to teach and help,
and comfort one another, and take the pains and pleasures of life as
they should do together," concluded Cupid's papa, watching the little
couple with the wise kind eyes that saw a pretty story in their daily
lives.
Slowly the finger healed, and to every one's surprise was not much
disfigured, which Cupid insisted was entirely owing to Chow-chow's
superior skill in spreading salve and picking lint. Before this time,
however, Chow-chow, touched by his brave patience, his generous refusal
to blame her for the mishap, and his faithful affection, had in a
tender moment confessed to her little lover that she did "like him a
great deal," and consented to go and live in the old swan-house on the
island in the pond as soon as he was well enough.
But no sooner had she enraptured him by these promises than she dashed
his joy by adding certain worldly conditions which she had heard
discussed by her mamma and her friends.
"But we can't be married until we have a lot of money. Nobody does,
and we _must_ have ever so much to buy things with."
"Yes, but papa said he'd give us some little furniture to put in our
house, and mamma will let us have as much cake and milk-tea as we want,
and I shall be very fond of you, and what's the use of money?" asked
the enamoured Cupid, who believed in love in a cottage, or swan-house
rather.
"I shan't marry a poor boy, so now!" was the mercenary Chow-chow's
decision.
"Well, I'll see how much I've got; but I should think you would like me
just as well without," and Cupid went away to inspect his property with
as much anxiety as any man preparing for matrimony.
But Cupid's finances were in a bad state, for he spent his pocket-money
as fast as he got it, and had lavished gifts upon his sweetheart with
princely prodigality. So he punched a hole in his savings-bank and
counted his small hoard, much afflicted to find it only amounted to
seventy-eight cents, and a button put in for fun. Bent on winning his
mistress no sacrifice seemed too great, so he sold his live stock,
consisting of one lame hen, a rabbit, and a choice collection of
caterpillars. But though he drove sharp bargains, these sales only
brought him in a dollar or two. Then he went about among his friends,
and begged and borrowed small sums, telling no one his secret lest they
should laugh at him, but pleading for a temporary accommodation so
earnestly and prettily that no one could refuse.
When he had strained every nerve and tried every wile, he counted up
his gains and found that he had four dollars and a half. That seemed a
fortune to the innocent; and, getting it all in bright pennies, he
placed it in a new red purse, and with pardonable pride laid his
offering at Chow-chow's feet.
But alas for love's labor lost! the cruel fair crushed all his hopes by
saying coldly,--
"That isn't half enough. We ought to have ten dollars, and I won't
like you until you get it."
"O Chow-chow! I tried so hard; do play it's enough," pleaded poor
Cupid.
"No, I shan't. I don't care much for the old swan-house now, and you
ain't half so pretty as you used to be."
"You made me cut my hair off, and now you don't love me 'cause I'm
ugly," cried the afflicted little swain, indignant at such injustice.
But Chow-chow was in a naughty mood, so she swung on the gate, and
would not relent in spite of prayers and blandishments.
"I'll get some more money somehow, if you will wait. Will you, please?"
"I'll see 'bout it."
And with that awful uncertainty weighing upon his soul, poor Cupid went
away to wrestle with circumstances. Feeling that matters had now
reached a serious point, he confided his anxieties to mamma; and she,
finding that it was impossible to laugh or reason him out of his
untimely passion, comforted him by promising to buy at high prices all
the nosegays he could gather out of his own little garden.
"But it will take a long time to make ten dollars that way. Don't you
think Chow-chow might come now, when it is all warm and pleasant, and
not stop until summer is gone, and no birds and flowers and nice things
to play with? It's so hard to wait," sighed Cupid, holding his cropped
head in his hands, and looking the image of childish despair.
"So it is, and _I_ think Chow is a little goose not to go at once and
enjoy love's young dream without wasting precious time trying to make
money. Tell her papa said so, and he ought to know," added Uncle
George, under his breath, for he _had_ tried it, and found that it did
not work well.
Cupid did tell her, but little madam had got the whim into her perverse
head; and the more she was urged to give in, the more decided she grew.
So Cupid accepted his fate like a man, and delved away in his garden,
watering his pinks, weeding his mignonette, and begging his roses to
bloom as fast and fair as they could, so that he might be happy before
the summer was gone. Rather a pathetic little lover, mamma thought, as
she watched him tugging away with the lame hand, or saw him come
beaming in with his posies to receive the precious money that was to
buy a return for his loyal love.
Tender-hearted Mrs. Ellen tried to soften Chow-chow and teach her
sundry feminine arts against the time she went to housekeeping on the
island, for Mrs. Susan was so busy hearing lectures, reading reports,
and attending to the education of other people's children that her own
ran wild. In her good moods, Chow-chow took kindly to the new lessons,
and began to hem a table-cloth for the domestic board at which she was
to preside; also swept and dusted now and then, and once cooked a
remarkable mess, which she called "Coopy's favorite pudding," and
intended to surprise him with it soon after the wedding. But these
virtuous efforts soon flagged, the table-cloth was not finished, the
duster was converted into a fly-killer, and her dolls lay unheeded in
corners after a few attempts at dressing and nursing had ended in
_ennui_.
How long matters would have gone on in this unsatisfactory way no one
knows; but a rainy day came, and the experiences it gave the little
pair brought things to a crisis.
The morning was devoted to pasting pictures and playing horse all over
the house, with frequent pauses for refreshment and an occasional
squabble. After dinner, as the mammas sat sewing and the papas talking
or reading in one room, the children played in the other, quite
unconscious that they were affording both amusement and instruction to
their elders.
"Let's play house," suggested Cupid, who was of a domestic turn, and
thought a little rehearsal would not be amiss.
"Well, I will," consented Chow-chow, who was rather subdued by the
violent exercises of the morning.
So a palatial mansion was made of chairs, the dolls' furniture
arranged, the stores laid in, and housekeeping begun.
[Illustration: "'Let's play house,' suggested Cupid, who was of a
domestic turn."]
"Now, you must go off to your business while I 'tend to my work," said
Chow-chow, after they had breakfasted off a seed-cake and sugar and
water tea in the bosom of their family.
Cupid obediently put on papa's hat, took a large book under his arm,
and went away to look at pictures behind the curtains, while Mrs. C.
bestirred herself at home in a most energetic manner, spanking her nine
dolls until their cries rent the air, rattling her dishes with perilous
activity, and going to market with the coal-hod for her purchases.
Mr. Cupid returned to dinner rather early, and was scolded for so
doing, but pacified his spouse by praising her dessert,--a sandwich of
sliced apple, bread, and salt, which he ate like a martyr.
A ride on the rocking-horse with his entire family about him filled the
soul of Mr. Cupid with joy, though the trip was rendered a little
fatiguing by his having to dismount frequently to pick up the various
darlings as they fell out of his pockets or their mother's arms as she
sat behind him on a pillion.
"Isn't this beautiful?" he asked, as they swung to and fro,--Mrs. Cupid
leaning her head on his shoulder, and dear little Claribel Maud peeping
out of his breast-pocket, while Walter Hornblower and Rosie Ruth, the
twins, sat up between the horse's ears, their china faces beaming in a
way to fill a father's heart with pride.
"It will be much nicer if the horse runs away and we all go smash.
I'll pull out his tail, then he'll rear, and we must tumble off,"
proposed the restless Mrs. C., whose dramatic soul delighted in tragic
adventures.
So the little papa's happy moment was speedily banished as he dutifully
precipitated himself and blooming family upon the floor, to be gathered
up and doctored with chalk and ink, and plasters of paper stuck all
over their faces.
When this excitement subsided, it was evening, and Mrs. Cupid bundled
her children off to bed, saying,--
"Now, you must go to your club, and I am going to my lecture."
"But I thought you'd sew now and let me read to you, and have our
little candles burn, and be all cosey, like papa and mamma," answered
Cupid, who already felt the discomfort of a strong-minded wife.
"My papa and mamma don't do so. He always goes to the club, and smokes
and reads papers and plays chess, and mamma goes to Woman's Puckerage
meetings,--so I must."
"Let me go too; I never saw a Puckerage lecture, and I'd like to," said
Cupid, who felt that a walk arm-in-arm with his idol would make any
sort of meeting endurable.
"No, you can't! Papa _never_ goes; he says they are all gabble and
nonsense, and mamma says his club is all smoke and slang, and they
_never_ go together."
So Chow-chow locked the door, and the little pair went their separate
ways; while the older pair in the other room laughed at the joke, yet
felt that Cupid's plan was the best, and wondered how Ellen and her
husband managed to get on so well.
Chow-chow's lecture did not seem to be very interesting, for she was
soon at home again. But Mr. Cupid, after smoking a lamp-lighter with
his feet up, fell to reading a story that interested him, and forgot to
go home until he finished it. Then, to his great surprise, he was told
that it was morning, that he had been out all night, and couldn't have
any breakfast. This ruffled him, and he told madam she was a bad wife,
and he wouldn't love her if she did not instantly give him his share of
the little pie presented by cook, as a bribe to keep them out of the
kitchen.
Mrs. C. sternly refused, and locked up the pie, declaring that she
hated housekeeping and wouldn't live with him any more, which threat
she made good by quitting the house, vowing not to speak to him again
that day, but to play alone, free and happy.
The deserted husband sat down among his infants with despair in his
soul, while the spirited wife, in an immense bonnet, pranced about the
room, waving the key of the pie-closet and rejoicing in her freedom.
Yes, it was truly pathetic to see poor Mr. Cupid's efforts at
housekeeping and baby-tending; for, feeling that they had a double
claim upon him now, he tried to do his duty by his children. But he
soon gave it up, piled them all into one bed, and covered them with a
black cloth, saying mournfully, "I'll play they all died of mumps, then
I can sell the house and go away. I can't bear to stay here when _she_
is gone."
The house was sold, the dead infants buried under the sofa, and then
the forsaken man was a homeless wanderer. He tried in many ways to
amuse himself. He travelled to China on the tailless horse, went to
California in a balloon, and sailed around the world on a raft made of
two chairs and the hearth-brush. But these wanderings always ended
near the ruins of his home, and he always sat down for a moment to
watch the erratic movements of his wife.
That sprightly lady fared better than he, for her inventive fancy kept
her supplied with interesting plays, though a secret sense of remorse
for her naughtiness weighed upon her spirits at times. She had a
concert, and sang surprising medleys, with drum accompaniments. She
rode five horses in a circus, and jumped over chairs and foot-stools in
the most approved manner. She had a fair, a fire, and a shipwreck;
hunted lions, fished for crocodiles, and played be a monkey in a style
that would have charmed Darwin.
But somehow none of these festive games had their usual relish. There
was no ardent admirer to applaud her music, no two-legged horse to help
her circus with wild prancings and life-like neighs, no devoted friend
and defender to save her from the perils of flood and fire, no comrade
to hunt with her, no fellow-monkey to skip from perch to perch with
social jabberings, as they cracked their cocoa-nuts among imaginary
palms. All was dull and tiresome.
A strong sense of loneliness fell upon her, and for the first time she
appreciated her faithful little friend. Then the pie weighed upon her
conscience; there it was, wasting its sweetness in the closet, and no
one ate it. She had not the face to devour it alone; she could not
make up her mind to give it to Cupid; and after her fierce renunciation
of him, how could she ask him to forgive her? Gradually her spirits
declined, and about the time that the other wanderer got back from his
last trip she sat down to consider her position.
Hearing no noise in the other room, Uncle George peeped in and saw the
divided pair sitting in opposite corners, looking askance at each
other, evidently feeling that a wide gulf lay between them, and longing
to cross it, yet not quite knowing how. A solemn and yet a comical
sight, so Uncle George beckoned the others to come and look.
"My boy will give in first. See how beseechingly he looks at the
little witch!" whispered Mrs. Ellen, laughing softly.
"No, he won't; she hurt his feelings very much by leaving him, and he
won't relent until she goes back; then he'll forgive and forget like a
man," said Cupid's papa.
"I hope my girl will remain true to her principles," began Aunt Susan.
"She'll be a miserable baby if she does," muttered Uncle George.
"I was going on to say that, finding she has done wrong, I hope she
will have the courage to say so, hard as it is, and so expiate her
fault and try to do better," added Aunt Susan, fast and low, with a
soft look in her eyes, as she watched the little girl sitting alone,
while so much honest affection was waiting for her close by, if pride
would let her take it.
Somehow Uncle George's arm went round her waist when she said that, and
he gave a quick nod, as if something pleased him very much.
"Shall I speak, and help the dears bridge over their little trouble?"
asked Mrs. Ellen, pretending not to see the older children making up
their differences behind her.
"No; let them work it out for themselves. I'm curious to see how they
will manage," said papa, hoping that his boy's first little love would
prosper in spite of thorns among the roses.
So they waited, and presently the affair was settled in a way no one
expected. As if she could not bear the silence any longer, Chow-chow
suddenly bustled up, saying to herself,--
"I haven't played lecture. I always like that, and here's a nice
place."
Pulling out the drawers of a secretary like steps, she slowly mounted
to the wide ledge atop, and began the droll preachment her father had
taught her in ridicule of mamma's hobby.
"Do stop her, George; it's so absurd," whispered Mrs. Susan.
"Glad you think so, my dear," laughed Uncle George.
"There is some sense in it, and I have no doubt the real and true will
come to pass when we women learn how far to go, and how to fit
ourselves for the new duties by doing the old ones well," said Mrs.
Ellen, who found good in all things, and kept herself so womanly sweet
and strong that no one could deny her any right she chose to claim.
"She is like so many of those who mount your hobby, Susan, and ride
away into confusions of all sorts, leaving empty homes behind them.
The happy, womanly women will have the most influence after all, and do
the most to help the bitter, sour, discontented ones. They need help,
God knows, and I shall be glad to lend a hand toward giving them their
rights in all things."
As papa spoke, Chow-chow, who had caught sight of the peeping faces,
and was excited thereby, burst into a tremendous harangue, waving her
hands, stamping her feet, and dancing about on her perch as if her
wrongs had upset her wits. All of a sudden the whole secretary lurched
forward, out fell the drawers, open flew the doors, down went Chow-chow
with a screech, and the marble slab came sliding after, as if to
silence the irrepressible little orator forever. How he did it no one
knew, but before the top fell Cupid was under it, received it on his
shoulders, and held it up with all his might, while Chow-chow scrambled
out from the ruins with no hurt but a bump on the forehead. Papa had
his boy out in a twinkling, and both mammas fell upon their rescued
darlings with equal alarm and tenderness; for Susan got her little girl
in her arms before Mr. George could reach her, and Chow-chow clung
there, sobbing away her fright and pain as if the maternal purring was
a new and pleasant solace.
"I'll never play that nasty old puckerage any more," she declared,
feeling of the purple lump on her brow.
"Nor I either, in that way," whispered her mamma, with a look that made
Chow-chow ask curiously,--
"Why, did you hurt yourself too?"
"I am afraid I did."
"Be sure that your platform is all right before you try again, Poppet,
else it will let you down when you least expect it, and damage your
best friends as well as yourself," said Mr. George, setting up the
fallen rostrum.
"I'm not going to have any flatporm; I'm going to be good and play with
Coopy, if he'll let me," added the penitent Chow-chow, glancing with
shy, wet eyes at Cupid, who stood near with a torn jacket and a bruise
on the already wounded hand.
His only answer was to draw her out of her mother's arms, embrace her
warmly, and seat her beside him on the little bench he loved to share
with her. This ready and eloquent forgiveness touched Chow-chow's
heart, and the lofty top-knot went down upon Cupid's shoulder as if the
little fortress lowered its colors in token of entire surrender.
Cupid's only sign of triumph was a gentle pat on the wild, black head,
and a nod towards the spectators, as he said, smiling all over his
chubby face,--
"Every thing is nice and happy now, and we don't mind the bumps."
"Let us sheer off, we are only in the way," said Mr. George, and the
elders retired, but found it impossible to resist occasional peeps at
the little pair, as the reconciliation scene went on.
"O Coopy! I _was_ so bad, I don't think you can love me any more,"
began the repentant one with a sob.
"Oh yes I can; and just as soon as I get money enough, we'll go and
live in the swan-house, won't we?" returned the faithful lover, making
the most of this melting mood.
"I'll go right away to-morrow, I don't care about the money. I like
the nice bright pennies, and we don't need much, and I've got my new
saucepan to begin with," cried Chow-chow in a burst of generosity, for,
like a true woman, though she demanded impossibilities at first, yet
when her heart was won she asked nothing but love, and was content with
a saucepan.
"O Goody! and I've got my drum," returned the enraptured Cupid, as
ready as the immortal Traddles to go to housekeeping with a toasting
fork and a bird-cage, or some such useful trifles.
"But I _was_ bad about the pie," cried Chow-chow as her sins kept
rising before her; and, burning to make atonement for this one, she ran
to the closet, tore out the pie, and, thrusting it into Cupid's hands,
said in a tone of heroic resolution, "There, you eat it _all_, and I
won't taste a bit."
"No, _you_ eat it all, I'd like to see you. I don't care for it,
truly, 'cause I love you more than a million pies," protested Cupid,
offering back the treasure in a somewhat ruinous state after its
various vicissitudes.
"Then give me a tiny bit, and you have the rest," said Chow-chow, bent
on self-chastisement.
"The fairest way is to cut it 'zactly in halves, and each have a piece.
Mamma says that's the right thing to do always." And Cupid, producing
a jack-knife, proceeded to settle the matter with masculine justice.
[Illustration: "NOW LET'S KISS AND BE FRIENDS."]
So side by side they devoured the little bone of contention, chattering
amicably about their plans; and as the last crumb vanished, Cupid said
persuasively, as if the league was not quite perfect without that
childish ceremony,--
"Now let's kiss and be friends, and never quarrel any more."
As the rosy mouths met in a kiss of peace, the sound was echoed from
the other room, for Mr. George's eyes made the same proposal, and his
wife answered it as tenderly as Chow-chow did Cupid. Not a word was
said, for grown people do not "'fess" and forgive with the sweet
frankness of children; but both felt that the future would be happier
than the past, thanks to the lesson they had learned from the little
romance of Cupid and Chow-chow.
II.
HUCKLEBERRY.
Coming home late one night, my eye was caught by the sight of a spotted
dog sitting under a lamp all alone, and, as I passed, I said to him,--
"Go home, little doggie! It is too late for you to be out, and you'll
get rheumatism if you stay there."
Alas for the poor fellow! he had no home to go to; and, evidently
feeling that I had invited him to share mine by a friendly remark, he
came pattering after us down the street, and when we reached our door
stood wagging his tail, as if to say,--
"Thank you; yes, I _should_ be most grateful if you'd allow me to lie
on your door-mat till morning."
His handsome, wistful eyes, and the insinuating wag of his thin tail,
expressed this as plainly as any words could have done, and it grieved
me much to see that I had awakened hopes which I could not fulfil.
I explained to him how it was; that this was not my house, and I really
could not take him into my room; that there were five cats downstairs,
and several old ladies upstairs; one snarly, fat poodle on the first
floor; and half-a-dozen young men about the house, ready for mischief
at all hours of the day or night. Such being the case, it was
evidently no home for a strange doggie, so like a huckleberry pudding
in appearance that I named him Huckleberry on the spot.
He seemed to understand it, for he stopped wagging and retired from the
steps; but he was bitterly disappointed; and when I had gently closed
the door, apologizing as I did so, he gave one disconsolate howl, and
went to sit under the lamp again, as if that little circle of light
made the dull November night less cold and lonely.
A day or two afterward, as I stood looking at the ruins of the great
fire, a spotted dog lying on the edge of a smoking cellar attracted my
attention.
"Faithful fellow! he is still watching his master's property, I dare
say, though every thing is ashes. How beautiful that is!" I thought to
myself, and went a little nearer to enjoy the touching spectacle.
As I approached, doggie looked up, and I knew him at once by the queer
black patch on his left eye, and he knew me, for he sat up and began to
beat the ground with his tail by way of welcome.
"Why, Huckleberry, is it you? Was your master burned out? and don't
you know where he is gone?" I asked.
Now, I am very stupid about learning languages, and nearly died of
German; but the language of animals I understand without any grammar or
dictionary; and I defy any one to read it better than myself. So, when
Huckleberry gave a bark, I knew it meant, "Yes, ma'am;" and when he
came fawning about my very muddy boots, he added this touching remark
as plainly as if he had said it in the most elegant English:--
"Dear woman, I'm homeless, friendless, and forlorn; pity me, and I will
be a faithful servant to you, on the word of an honest, grateful dog!"
It was very hard to say no, but I tried to soften my refusal by
offering him some nice little cakes which I was intending to give my
boys that evening; for when they come home from college Saturday night,
we always have a jubilee in honor of the class of '76, to which I
belong.
Doggie evidently needed them more than the lads, and gobbled up the
whole dozen with a rapidity that made me wish I had a beefsteak or two
in my pocket. While he was finishing the last one, I slipped away, and
devoutly hoped I should see the poor, dear thing no more, for it rent
my heart to leave him out in the cold; yet what could I do with him in
my one room?
A week or two passed, and I forgot my spotted friend in the absorbing
task of getting Christmas presents ready. Every one else seemed to
have forgotten him, too; for, late one snowy afternoon, as I hurried
home, quite worn out with trying to shop among a mob of other women as
busy and as impatient as myself, I saw a sight that made the tears come
to my eyes in spite of the snow-flakes roosting on my lashes.
On the upper step of a church, close to the door, is if waiting for it
to open to him, lay poor Huckleberry, dirty, thin, and evidently worn
out with the hardships of his lot. Tired of asking for admittance at
men's doors, he had gone to God's house, and no one had turned him
away. If he had lain there all that stormy night, I think by morning
he would have been safe in the little lower heaven which I am sure
awaits the faithful, brave, and good among animals, when their long and
often unacknowledged service is over in this world.
That mute reproach went to my heart, for now it seemed as if this small
charity had been sent to me especially, and that I had neglected it
till it was nearly too late. Huckleberry seemed to feel as if it was
no use to appeal to human kindness any more, for he made no sign of
recognition, and lay quite still, as if waiting till his dumb prayer
for help was heard and answered by Him who sees the sparrow's fall.
Up the steps I went, and, putting down my parcels, patted the head that
seemed almost too tired to be lifted up, and with remorseful tenderness
I said,--
"My poor dear, come home with me. I truly mean it now. Forgive me,
and let me show you that in charitable Boston not even a dog need
starve!"
He didn't believe me. He was tired of false hopes, worn out with
following people home to find the doors shut in his face, and seemed to
have made up his mind to stay in the only refuge left him.
I wondered as I watched him if he had ever seen that door open, and,
remembering the light, the warmth, the music, and the quiet figures
moving in and out, had thought it was a better world, and so, when
every other hope failed, came back to wait for a chance to creep in and
lie humbly in some corner, feeling safe and happy.
I shall never know, for I had not time to ask about it, and he was too
tired to talk. Feeling that my duty was very plainly to give poor
doggie a lift, I coaxed him home with great difficulty, and he slowly
followed, looking so incredulous and amazed that I felt bound to redeem
the character of the human race in his eyes.
Once in my room, with a plate of cold meat before him and a warm rug
placed at his disposal, Huckleberry gave in, believed, rejoiced, and
was so grateful that he stopped now and then, even when bolting lumps
of cold steak, to look at me and wag his tail with a whine of thanks.
Dear thing! how dirty, lean, and ugly he was! with one lame foot, a
torn ear, and a bit of old rope round his neck where the collar should
have been. Never mind; I loved him, and went on petting him with a
reckless disregard of consequences and fleas. I had no more idea what
I should do with him than if he had been an elephant; but remembering
the blessed society for the prevention of cruelty to animals, I felt
that I could fall back on them when all other hopes failed.
So, while Huckleberry lay on the rug, roasting first one side and then
the other, with his nose on a bone, just to make him feel sure it
wasn't all a dream, I sat staring at him and planning a future for him
such as few dogs enjoy. He seemed to feel this, for he gurgled and
grunted in his sleep, woke up now and then with a start, and stared
back at me with eyes full of doggish loyalty as he whacked the floor
with his grateful tail.
"One of our fellows shall take him!" I decided; and, having picked out
the most tender-hearted boy among my large and choice collection, I
wrote to this victim an alluring epistle, offering him a lovely
carriage-dog whom I had been so fortunate as to find. Would he like to
have the first look at him and become his owner free of cost?
This being finished and sent to the post, I ordered a big tub of hot
water to be ready early in the morning for my dog's bath, and heartily
wished I could fatten him up over night, as at present he was not an
inviting animal.
Then I retired to my bed, leaving Huckleberry asleep on the rug. Bless
my heart, how he did snore! and when a very loud one woke him up, he
seemed to feel that it was necessary for him to come and put his cold
nose on my face, or paw at the pillow, till I flew up, thinking it was
robbers. Then he would apologize in the most contrite manner, and
explain that he only came to see if I was all right, and to express his
thanks all over again.
After which he returned to his rug with a sigh of satisfaction, and
fell asleep much quicker than I could.
In the morning he was escorted to the shed for his bath, to the great
amusement of the servants and the fierce indignation of the cats. All
five spit and glared from the various elevated refuges to which they
had flown on his entrance; and one black kit made darts at him, looking
like a little demon in her wrath.
Huckleberry behaved like a dog of good manners and temper, and, after
vainly trying to appease the irate pussies, took no notice of them,
being absorbed in his own afflictions.