THE ADVENTURE IN THE CREEK.
“Hurra! hurra!” shouted Ben Field, Joe West, and Willie Prime, throwing
up their caps, and giving an extra cheer as they stopped in front of
Mrs. Western’s gate.
“What are you hurraing for?” asked Frankie, who stood inside the gate,
whistling, with both hands in his pockets.
“Coz you’ve got pants on,” said Ben. “You won’t have to stay in the yard
now all the time, just as if you’re a girl.”
“Don’t know,” Frankie said, doubtfully, putting his hand on the latch.
“That’s right, Frank,” said Joe, “come on; we’ll have a game of
marbles. I ain’t too big to play with a little fellow, are you, Will?”
Joe was eight and Willie seven years old, and though Frankie was but
six, he _felt_ quite as large in his new pants and jacket, as either of
them; so he said, with an odd little air of dignity, “I _ain’t_ a little
fellow, and I don’t want to play marbles.”
“Of course not,” said Willie, “or you’d wear dresses. I did. I can just
remember.”
“He had a dress on yesterday, and a sun-bonnet,” Ben said, with a
provoking laugh. “He’s growed a lot since then.”
“Stop laughing at me, Ben Field. Do you see my copper toes,” and one of
the new boots was thrust threateningly through the fence.
“Never mind him, Frank,” said good-natured Joe. “Come on, boys, let’s go
to the creek and wade.”
“Don’t you want to go too?” asked Willie, seeing Frankie’s wistful look
at the mention of the creek.
“Oh yes!” he exclaimed, delightedly. “Just wait a minute till I ask
mamma;” and off he ran, tumbling down two or three times, and rushing
into the house like a small hurricane. Not in the kitchen, nor the
sitting-room; “Where is mamma?” he said to himself impatiently. At last
he opened the parlor door and found her there, fast asleep on the sofa.
“Oh dear!” he thought, discontentedly. “Mamma never’ll let me wake her
up, an’ the boys won’t wait, an’ I can’t go.” With a sad face he went
back to the gate. “I can’t go. Mamma’s asleep.” He put his hands in his
pockets, winked his eyes very fast, and began to whistle. All this to
keep from crying, and disgracing his new pants by acting like a girl.
“I don’t believe your mother’ll care one bit. Just to walk to the
creek,” said Joe.
“No, of course she won’t,” added Will. “Take off your boots and go
barefoot like us boys.”
The temptation to go barefooted was too strong for Frankie, so down he
plumped on the grass, and off came the copper-toed boots and clean white
stockings. In a few minutes all four boys were running along the dusty
road in their bare feet. It seemed very new and funny for a while, but
after they had gone half a mile, Frankie began to wish for the cool
shade and moist greensward of home. The sun burned his head, and the
sand of the road his feet.
“Oh dear!” he said, “ain’t we most there?”
“Tired a’ready!” laughed Ben. “You’re a great boy. Better go home and
sit in mammy’s lap.”
In his sorrowful little heart, poor, tired Frankie wished most heartily
that he was on his mother’s lap that very minute, but he thought it
wouldn’t be manly to say so. He was too tired even to resent what Ben
had said, so he kept still and trudged on.
“I know what we’ll do,” said Joe. “Will and I’ll make a chair and carry
you. And you, Ben Field, had better keep mighty still, or I’ll settle
your case in a hurry.” For some reason, just then Ben thought best to
start off in pursuit of a butterfly.
Joe and Willie made a chair of their crossed hands, on which Frankie
seated himself, and put an arm around each of the boys’ necks. This mode
of traveling pleased him very much, and it seemed but a little while
before they reached the creek.
[Illustration: “WILL AND I’LL MAKE A CHAIR AND CARRY YOU.” Page 14.]
“Ain’t it jolly?” said Joe, as he led Frankie into the clear, cool
water.
“Oh! oh! see the fishes! the dear little fishes!” said Frankie, stooping
to pick them up. But the gay little shiners knew better than to allow
themselves to be picked up, even by such a nice little boy. Losing his
balance in his attempts to seize one of them, Frankie had a sudden bath
in the creek.
“Oh dear! my new pants and jacket!” was the first thing the wet little
fellow found breath to say after Joe and Willie had fished him out of
the water and set him on the bank to dry.
“That comes of bringin’ babies along,” said Ben, running down the bank.
That was the drop too much, and Frankie commenced crying, saying,
between his sobs, “I want to go home. Oh! please let’s go home.”
So Joe and Will made a chair again for Frankie and started for home,
leaving Ben to enjoy his wading alone.
They set Frankie down by the gate, and, picking up his boots and
stockings, he went into the house.
“Why, Frankie Western!” exclaimed his mother, as the wet, muddy, rueful
little figure stood in the sitting-room door. “Where have you been? Your
new clothes are ruined.” And, carrying the speechless little fellow into
the kitchen, she soon had him thoroughly washed, and put on one of his
old dresses in place of the new pants and jacket which were hung up for
future attention.
It was a good deal of water for one day, and the crash towel was rough,
and to go back into a dress and apron after wearing pants, was something
of a trial, but the poor child was too tired, and too glad to be at home
to care much about it. After he was dressed he sat contentedly in his
chair till supper-time, then ate his bread and milk and went to bed. It
was not long before he was dreaming of fishes and creeks, and muddy
pants, nor _very_ long before the morning sun drove away the dreams and
opened his eyes. Jumping up, he put on his stockings and boots, but
pants and jacket were nowhere to be seen, nothing but the brown gingham
dress and apron.
“Mamma, mamma, I want my pants. Please, mamma,” he said, running into
the kitchen where his mother was getting breakfast.
“They must be cleaned first. Put on your dress and come to breakfast.”
Her voice was so pleasant that Frankie forgot his impatience, and
dressed himself quickly and quietly.
After breakfast he was about to run out as usual, when his mother said,
“No, Frankie. Mother wants you to stay in the house this morning. She
has something to say to you.”
“But I don’t want to stay, mamma,” and he walked slowly toward the door.
“Frankie _must_ stay.” This was decisive, and he sat down in his chair.
After his mother had finished her work, she took him into the
sitting-room, and gave him a seat on a stool by her side.
“Now, Frankie,” she said, “I want you to tell me just what you did and
where you went yesterday afternoon.”
Frankie gave a truthful account of his adventures at the creek. Then his
mother said, “Did you know you were disobeying your mother, and, more
than that, disobeying God?”
“O mamma, I didn’t think, I wanted to go so much,” and Frankie looked
as though he wanted to cry.
“I know you _wanted_ to go, but you must do what is _right_, not what
you _want_ to do. I will teach you a verse from the Bible that you must
remember whenever you are tempted to disobey your mother. It is this:
‘Children _obey_ your parents in the Lord, for this is right.’ Can you
repeat it now?”
After a few trials, Frankie could say it without a mistake, and he
seemed to understand it, for, when his mother told him that he could run
out and play, he put his arms around her neck and kissed her, saying
softly, “I’ll remember, mamma, that God tells me to mind you.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]