RAINY DAYS AND SUNDAYS
Every day was full, but rainy days were fullest of all. Those were
the times when the children made fiddles of cornstalks, popguns of
elder, and candles of bayberry wax, using elder stems for moulds;
the times when they played in the big unfinished garret where two
or three barrels of beautifully lumpy maple sugar always stood. Boy
Cousin’s mother had a loom and kept up the old custom of weaving one
piece every year. The threads of the warp were all drawn into the
harness and the piece was well begun when Ella came, and she thought
it would be the easiest thing in the world to give the shuttle the
skillful little push that sent it sliding across the threads. “Please
mayn’t I try it only once?” she begged. “I’m almost sure I could make
it go through just as you do”; and finally Boy Cousin’s good-natured
mother let her try it. The shuttle must have been bewitched, for
although Ella was certain that she started it in exactly the same way
that it had been trained to go, it was willing to go anywhere and
everywhere rather than to the one proper place. It fell down on the
floor and slid away back under the loom.
But if Ella could not weave, she could fill quills. These quills were
short pieces of the hollow elder stem with the pith pushed out. The
thread of the woof was wound on them and they were slipped into the
shuttle. To wind these, the “quilling wheel” was used. It was much
like a spinning wheel, only smaller. The children took turns in using
it, making believe that they were waging war with the fairy king of
the elder bushes, and that the spools were prisoners whom they had
taken and were binding with chains.
Rainy days were good times to try whatever new ways they had learned
of “taking it off” in cat’s-cradle, good times to braid bulrushes.
They learned how to make three-strand and seven-strand and how to sew
the braid together and make quite respectable hats.
Painting was always in order. They manufactured a very good red paint
from the juice of the elderberry; and when they wanted purple, they
added a little soft soap. For other colors there was Ella’s paint-box
to depend upon; for long before this she had had a new box to take
the place of the one buried among the roses.
They made various games, but this was not without its difficulties.
Cardboard was at least ten miles away; birch bark would curl up; but
no lack of materials was ever allowed to interfere with their plans,
there was always something else that would answer the purpose. In
this case they pasted several thicknesses of newspaper together,
deceived the world by adding a facing of light brown wrapping paper
when the white gave out; put the cards under flatirons to make as
sure as possible that they would dry without wrinkles; and when they
were dry, painted them with whatever the games required of words or
pictures. It must be admitted that when these cards were shuffled,
they were a little like the croquet balls in that no one ever knew
which way they would go, and Boy Cousin’s father suggested that they
be dealt with a snowshovel; but the children looked upon them as a
great success.
If there was ever a minute when they had nothing else to do, the
yellow-covered Farmer’s Almanac was ready to keep them busy. Here
were the riddles and conundrums and charades and enigmas of the
preceding year, and a new collection for them to puzzle over, whose
answers would not be revealed until the following year. There were
bits of poetry and wise sayings of famous men. Here was occupation
enough for many rainy days. Ella felt a little envy of Boy Cousin
because he had the Almanac the first of January and she did not see
it until July or August. Queerly enough, it was so associated in
her mind with rainy days in the New Hampshire garret that she never
thought of looking for a copy anywhere else.
Sometimes the rain fell heavily all day, and even more heavily up in
the mountains at the source of the river. This meant that the water
would roll down faster and faster. The big meadow was only a little
above the river’s level, and before the afternoon was half gone,
it would be a wide-spreading sea. Higher and higher the water rose
under the bridge. Not a rock was to be seen. The whole meadow and the
bed of the river was full of a torrent of black water, foaming and
bubbling.
After one of these rainy days, the children went out to see what harm
had been done, and they found that Beauty Bay was gone, that even
the water had been washed away, and the Bay had become a part of the
river. The fish that had dwelt in such comfort in the Bay would now
have to make their own living as best they could, for they had been
swept into the river, into the pond, perhaps all the way to the briny
ocean, and what would a fresh-water fish do then, poor thing?
In the midst of all the happy occupations of weekdays came Sunday
with a dull thud. Everything stopped, everything was different. No
more tramping shoes and runabout dresses; people must wear their
best clothes to meeting. The little white meetinghouse was several
miles away, and the two extra passengers made extra weight; they must
drive slowly. No one could count upon the exact minute of arrival,
and sometimes there were what seemed to Ella whole hours of waiting
before they went into the church.
The Sunday after the flood they started earlier than usual, for the
roads might have been washed by the rain. They proved to be in good
condition, and the time of waiting was longer than ever. This was
very pleasant for the older folk. They met their friends and had nice
little chats with them; but it happened that most of the children
lived quite a long distance from Ella’s grandfather’s, and she did
not know them. There was an attractive little road that rambled away
from one side of the church, and she wished that she might ramble
with it. Over the hill there would surely be a brook. Cardinal
flowers grew beside brooks. It was not their season, but there might
be just one. Any way, there would certainly be some kind of wild
flowers. But the minister was coming and they must go into church.
After the service came the Sunday school, and then people went out
into the little graveyard and ate the lunch that they had brought
with them. When Ella first saw this, she was a little surprised to
see people treat a graveyard in so familiar and friendly a fashion.
Then she remembered a strange story that she had once read about a
little girl who had been carried to fairyland. She was allowed to see
her old friends once every year, provided not one of them forgot to
come to the place of meeting.
Ella wondered if the people who lay in this graveyard were pleased to
have them come and eat lunch there. If they were, she was very glad
to help make them happy. The afternoon sermon did not seem nearly so
long as that of the morning, and she went home thinking that if the
people under the stones really liked to see her, she should like to
come again. She even hoped it would not be so rainy the next Sunday
that she would have to disappoint them.
Sunday was divided into three parts. It was very much Sunday until
they were at home from meeting. Then it was allowable to put on a
dress that was not a really best one, but was a little better than
one for everyday. Dinner was at about four o’clock. After this came
the third part of the day. It was not proper to play games, but one
might pop corn. One might go to walk, not on a real tramp through the
woods, but quietly up or down the road.
Ella was never quite sure that she understood all the Sunday
distinctions. For instance, one might pick berries in the garden,
but it would never have done to take a pail and go to pick them in
the fields. If you were walking on the road and came to a bush full
of them, you might fold up a big leaf or make a birch-bark basket—a
very simple one, of course—and fill it to carry home. Even then,
however, it was better to explain that the sky looked like rain and
the berries would have been spoiled and so wasted before morning if
left on the bush.
After dinner on the Sunday after the flood, Ella and Boy Cousin went
sedately up the road for a little walk. They came to a tree of early
apples, which proved to be as sour as apples could possibly be.
“That tree ought to be grafted,” said Boy Cousin.
“How do you graft?” Ella asked.
“You stick into the sour tree some twigs from a good tree and put
wax around them to keep them dry,” replied Boy Cousin.
“Let’s stick one into this tree.”
“Why isn’t that work just as much as ploughing would be?” Boy Cousin
queried.
“Trees grow Sunday just as much as on other days, and if we graft
them so they can raise good apples instead of poor, we are not
working; we are only helping them to do their own work well. We
haven’t any wax, but why can’t we get some spruce gum? That would
keep the water out.”
“There isn’t a good apple tree anywhere near.”
“Put in a raspberry twig then,” suggested Ella. “A raspberry as big
as an apple would be good, I know.”
So they began, and before they were done, not only raspberry, but
also maple, spruce, woodbine, wild cherry, and even hardhack had been
grafted into that long-suffering tree.
Monday morning Boy Cousin, his father, and Ella were going part way
up one of the mountains to visit a pasture. In the spring, as soon
as the grass was green, it was the custom to drive cattle and young
colts up to a mountain pasture, where they could feed till autumn.
Every few weeks the owner paid a visit to the pasture to make sure
that his “creatures” were safe and to give them salt.
They started when the mists were rolling away from the valleys, and
the sun was just peering over Ossipee. It was a beautiful ride
through the cool fresh woods, showing here and there a spray of
scarlet leaves. Occasionally they had a glimpse of a rabbit or a
woodchuck, and once a deer watched them for a moment, then bounded
gracefully across the road and disappeared in the woods.
At the foot of the mountain the little company started up the narrow
footpath, at first smooth, then stony, as they came to places where
the rain had washed the soil. Most of the way was through the woods,
but here and there were openings where they could get views of the
mountains around them. From one of these openings they could see the
old homestead half hidden by its great maples.
At last they came to a large pasture surrounded by woods. Boy
Cousin’s father laid some salt on a big flat rock, and then called,
“Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!” For a minute all was still, then a crash of broken
limbs was heard far off in the woods. Then two or three cattle
plunged headlong out of the forest. Then came others, and then four
little colts. They knew that the visit meant salt, and every one
started for the flat rock. But every one stopped short, and stood
as still as a statue and gazed at Ella. It was almost embarrassing,
for when she walked to one side, they all walked after her and gazed
more curiously than ever. They had seen men before, but how a little
girl could come into their pasture, and what a little girl might be,
was a wonder. The shy little colts were so devoured with curiosity
that they stood still and stared when Ella ventured to slip up and
pat their silky heads. Then they went to the salt; and after they
had eaten what they wanted, they wandered back, one by one, into the
forest, and Boy Cousin’s father and the children set out for home.
“Good-bye,” called Boy Cousin, as Ella climbed out over the high
wheel. “We’ll go and see how our grafts are the first thing in the
morning.”
But when Ella opened the door, there stood the mother before the
trunk, folding up their clothes and laying them in. The mail had
brought a letter that made it necessary for them to return to the
city in the morning. There was no time to visit the tree; and this is
why no one knows what happens when a raspberry twig is grafted into a
sour apple tree on Sunday afternoon.