The next morning dawned bright and fair. Randy awoke and rubbed her
eyes. "I believe there was something that made me uncomfortable
yesterday. Wonder what it was?" thought she. "Don't see what it could
have been," mused the girl, half awake. "I helped mother with the baking
and swept the kitchen for her, because I knew I ought to, instead of
reading that fairy book. Then I hunted for Prue.--Oh, that's it! mother
had to scold her, and that always makes me feel just awful.
"She was naughty, and seems 's if she might know better than to get into
such queer scrapes, though she isn't much more than a baby."
Here Randy turned over and looked at her little sister, who was still
fast asleep. "How pretty she looks!" said Randy, half aloud. The
sleeping child stirred, and thrust one chubby arm and hand under her
short curls. She drew a long breath, which was half a sigh, her eyelids
quivered, opened, closed, then opened wide, and she stared at Randy,
who, leaning upon her elbow, was gazing at little Prue.
"Oh, Randy! what are you looking at and thinking of?" said Prue, half
laughing.
"I was just thinking," said Randy, "that when you're asleep you don't
look as if you could ever be naughty."
Prue stopped laughing, and, putting her arm around her sister's neck,
she said, "Oh, Randy! I never mean to, and 'most always when I'm naughty
it's when I'm trying to help. Don't you know that time when I dropped
the platter and broke it all to smash? Mother put down the towel she was
wiping it with to look in the oven to see if the bread was burning. I
thought I'd s'prise you and mother, and show you I'd wiped the big
platter nice and dry. Just a minute before, mother said it was too big
for me to handle, and that just made me want to."
"I know it," said Randy, "I know you mean to be good, and I do believe
you can't help doing funny things, you best little sister in all the
world," and she kissed Prue, laughing at her at the same time. "Now, do
be good to-day, and, if you don't do a naughty thing before dinner, I'll
do something splendid. I'll have to help mother this morning, and do a
lot of things. Then, of course, I'll wipe the dinner dishes, and after
that you and I will go down to that shady place by the brook, and I'll
tell you some of the stories I read in that book I found."
"Oh, will you?" said Prue, "can you 'member them?"
"Yes, some of them; I can't remember all of them yet," said Randy.
"Why don't you take the book and read them?" said Prue.
"Because," said Randy, "father's got to look it over and see if it's a
good book first, mother says."
"Why isn't he 'fraid to read it, if p'r'aps, it isn't good?" said the
child, with such a funny expression on her face that Randy, who really
did not know how to answer such a question, laughed, and said she
thought it must be time to dress.
Up sprang little Prue, and out upon the floor. "You dress me first,"
said she. So Randy put on the little one's shoes and stockings, then,
piece by piece, her other little garments, all the time silently
admiring the round, dimpled arms, the roguish eyes, and tangle of short
curls, and the sweet little mouth, honestly believing that no girl in
all the world had so dear a little sister. Just as Randy turned to
button the little dress, Prue uttered a joyous cry, and darted over to
the window.
"Oh, come quick, quick!" she called. "See the butterfly almost coming in
our window." And sure enough, when Randy reached the window, there he
was, a gorgeous fellow, with bright, golden wings, swinging up and down
over a fresh rose-colored morning-glory.
"Oh!" cried Prue, "isn't it the handsomest butterfly you ever saw?"
"Yes, and look at the dewdrops on the pink morning-glory," said
imaginative Randy; "I wonder if the necklace that the fairy queen wore
looked as bright as that? In the picture in the book it looks just like
strings and strings of beads."
"I liked the beads and her dress, with a long train to it; but in the
picture she didn't have a nice face 't all," said Prue, the young
critic.
"Oh, but she was bea-utiful," said Randy. "She must have been, the story
said so," but just here Randy's raptures over the heroine of the fairy
tale were cut short by a loud call of "Randy! Randy! Prue! it's time to
come downstairs!"
So Randy hurried on her own clothing, and Prue amused herself while
waiting by counting the buttons on Randy's best gingham dress as it hung
on the first hook in the closet, and this is the way she half said and
half sung it:--
"Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief, doctor, lawyer,--Randy, what's a
lawyer? Your last button is a lawyer."
"I don't know," said Randy; "ask father;" but when they had reached the
lowest stair and entered the kitchen Prue had forgotten her question and
asked another.
"Father," she cried, "have you read the book yet? Are you going to let
Randy read it? the fairy book, I mean?"
"Two questions in one," said Mr. Weston, laughing. "Why, yes, I guess
I'll have to let her read it, if she wants to," said he.
"Going to let Randy read those outlandish tales?" said Mrs. Weston
coming out of the closet with a pie in her hand, which she placed upon
the table. "Why there wasn't a word of truth in them."
"I know it," said her husband, smiling, "but I didn't see anything wrong
about them, and the yarns that are in the book are so big that no
sensible girl, like our Randy, would s'pose she was expected to believe
them a minute. I looked it over last night after I'd thought over that
piece of medder land of Jason Meade's that he wants to swap for my
little pasture, and cal-lated 'bout what the bargain was worth. I just
took down that fairy book from behind the clock, and I thought I'd just
look it over to see if it was all right for Randy and Prue, and, if
you'd believe me, 'fore I knew it, I was 'most as interested as the
children was. As you say, there ain't any sense in it, but it reads
kinder fine, I must say."
Mrs. Weston laughed, and said that she was willing enough to let them
have it if the book was all right.
"Right enough," rejoined her husband, "only kind of foolish," and
smiling at the children's eager faces he said kindly, "Read it if you
like, only don't let it make you forget to help mother, Randy."
[Illustration: Randy and Prue started for the Brook]
"Randy don't often forget that," said Mrs. Weston, at which unwonted bit
of praise, Randy flushed with delight.
Mrs. Weston was a hard-working woman who loved her husband and children
dearly, but so busy was she, that she forgot to say the encouraging
word, or give the bit of praise, justly won, which seems a reward to the
husband for his care and toil, and to the child for "being good."
When the hot forenoon's work was done, and the dinner dishes put away,
Randy and Prue started for the brook, Randy carrying the wonderful book
very carefully, and little Prue skipping along beside her. Across the
fields, behind the barn, into a bit of woodland went the children, and
there they found the brook, calm and placid in one place, rippling and
chattering in another. "Hark! hear it talk," said Randy, but practical
little Prue said, "It only says 'wobble, wobble, wobble,' as it goes
over the stones, and I don't call that talking."
"Well, I do," said Randy, "and I always wonder what it says."
"How'll you find out?" said Prue.
"Oh, Prue!" said Randy, "what makes you ask questions that nobody could
answer?"
"But somebody could," said the child; "if it really says anything,
somebody, somewhere, would know what it means, now wouldn't they,
Randy?"
"I do believe there is some one who could understand it." Randy spoke so
earnestly that Prue stopped throwing pebbles at the water-spiders and
throwing her arms around Randy, she said, "Oh, Randy! don't look that
way. When your eyes get big, and you just think and think, it makes me
lonesome. Do begin to read the fairy stories."
So Randy roused herself from her dream about the brook, and sat down,
with Prue close beside her, on a rough plank which spanned the tiny
stream. There, with the book upon her lap, and one arm around her little
sister, she read the tales of wonder and enchantment, while the
sunlight, sifting through the leaves, touched her hair and made a halo
around the sweet face. Parts of the stories were too much for little
Prue to understand, but such of them as her small brain could take in
delighted her.
Randy read very well, although she had had but little schooling, and her
delight in the splendor which the stories described gave added
expression to her reading, and delighted little Prue exclaimed, "Oh,
Randy, you make it seem as if it was true!"
Randy laughed, well pleased with the compliment, and continued reading:
"'And as soon as she heard the witch's voice, she unbound her tresses.'"
"What's 'tresses'?" interrupted Prue.
"Why, hair," explained Randy.
"Then, why didn't they say 'hair'?" said the child.
"Tresses sounds nicer," answered Randy.
"I don't know," said Prue, doubtfully.
"Well, I do," said Randy. "If my hair was long, I'd enough rather have
it called tresses."
"I'll call it tresses," said obliging little Prue, "even if it isn't
very long. Now, go on, Randy."
So Randy continued: "'She unbound her tresses, and they fell down twenty
ells, and the witch mounted up by them.'"
"Oh, my, my!" interrupted Prue, "your hair's longer'n that!"
"Longer than what?" said the astonished Randy.
"Twenty ells," said Prue. "When you showed me the other day how to print
a L, it wasn't very big. Would twenty of 'em be so very much? Your hair
is most down to your waist, when I stretch the ends out so they don't
curl."
"O you funny child!" said Randy, half laughing, half impatient. "It
doesn't mean that kind of ell. What's the use of reading the stories?
You ask so many questions, I don't believe you half hear them."
"Oh, I do truly want to hear the stories, and if you'll only read, I
won't ask a question, 'less it's something I can't make out."
Again Randy found the place, and for some time the story went on without
interruption. Once they paused to see the picture of the lovely girl in
the tower, then Randy went on:--
"'The king's son wished to ascend to her, and looked for a door in the
tower, but he could not find one. So he rode home, but the song which
she had sung had touched his heart so much that he went every day to the
forest and listened to it. As he thus stood one day behind a tree, he
saw the witch come up and heard her call out:--
"'Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair.'
"'Then Rapunzel let down her tresses, and the witch mounted up.'"
"Oh, Randy!" cried Prue, excitedly, "why, didn't it 'most pull her head
off?"
Randy laughed. "O Prue, Prue!" she said, "I do believe you think of the
funniest questions to ask."
"But, Randy, do you b'lieve it didn't pull like everything?" And Prue's
eyes were round with wonder.
"Oh!" said Randy, "don't you know that father said we wouldn't be
expected to believe the stories, only just enjoy them?" But the little
girl looked bewildered; so, closing the book, Randy sought other means
to amuse her. "Let's play this is a beautiful bridge, this plank we're
sitting on, and this brook, a great big river," said Randy, "and we're
princesses waiting for a prince to come and save us--I mean rescue us,"
she corrected.
Again little Prue showed her lack of imagination. "Save us from what?"
said she.
"Oh, dragons that live in this big, roaring river."
"It don't roar much," said Prue, doubtfully; "but," she added, "we can
play it does."
Thus encouraged, Randy went on, giving her fancy full play. "And that
pretty green branch overhead, with sun on the leaves, that's an arch of
flowers such as the princess rode under in another story."
That was too much for Prue. "But, Randy!" she exclaimed, "there isn't a
blossom on it. If we were princesses, Randy, I could love you just the
same, couldn't I?" questioned Prue, looking up at her sister with eager
eyes.
"Of course you could," said Randy, giving Prue a hug, who thus assured
began to hum a little tune, swinging her legs to keep time with her
singing. They made a pretty picture, Randy with her arm still about the
little sister, Prue nestling as close as possible to Randy, and in the
brook below a reflection showing the two children. Randy was looking off
as if for the coming of the prince, while little Prue, becoming drowsy,
laid her head against her sister.
Suddenly Prue started: "S'pose that's the prince?" said she, as a low,
merry whistle sounded through the woods. Randy looked toward the
opening, then her laugh rang out. "Oh, Prue," said she, "it's 'Bijah
Bowstock, the deacon's hired man, going after the cows. Just look at
him!" she added. And Prue looked.
Little enough like the prince in the fairy book looked he! An old straw
hat upon the back of his head, a blue "jumper," and a pair of overalls
tucked into his boots, completed his costume. He did not see Randy and
Prue as he passed through the woods to a path far beyond the brook,
whisking off the blossoms with his switch as he went along.
"His clothes wasn't the kind the prince wore in the picture, was they,
Randy?" said Prue, when 'Bijah was out of sight. "In the picture in the
fairy book they wear such long, long stockings way over their knees, and
hats with feathers in them, and everything," said Prue, intending thus
to supply all the details of costume which she might possibly have
omitted.
Randy made no answer. Little Prue felt as many a grown person does, that
the clothes made the man; but Randy, thoughtful Randy, felt that, given
all the fine raiment, 'Bijah never could have even _looked_ the prince.
Little Prue edged her way along the plank on which they sat, and at last
succeeded in slipping off from the end of the board down to the edge of
the brook. There she found bits of bark which she freighted with moss,
and then floated them down the tiny stream.
The little crafts, aided by a gentle push, floated out into a placid
little pool just under Randy's feet. For an instant they paused,
wavered, then turning about they flew over the miniature rapids, made
there by three small stones below the surface, then sailed around a bend
in the brook and disappeared behind a clump of brakes growing at the
foot of an alder.
Sometimes the tiny boats foundered, and the passengers were tipped out
into the stream, but little Prue found other bits of bark for the boats
and gaily loaded them with moss for more passengers.
"Look, Randy! Look!" screamed Prue, "there's a fine new boat just under
your feet. The gray moss is mens, and the moss with the red tops is
womens. The red is their bonnets. Randy, Randy! why don't you hear me
when I'm close to you?"
Randy shook herself and sat upright, laughing. "I did hear you," she
said, "only I didn't think to answer. I guess I was dreaming."
"Well, don't dream in the daytime!" said Prue; "I've sent lots and lots
of pretty boats down the stream, and I kept telling you to look, and now
I don't believe you've seen one of them."
"Oh, yes, I have," said Randy, "only I was so busy thinking that I
didn't say anything about them. Come, we'll sail a few boats together,
and then I guess we'd better go home."
Prue was delighted, and to reward Randy for agreeing to play with her,
she hunted with all her might for finer pieces of bark and choicer bits
of moss, and gay indeed was the little fleet with its red-capped crew
and passengers. Prue wandered off to find even finer mosses, and Randy
was trying to capture a big water-spider for a passenger for a piece of
birch bark, when Prue came rushing down the path, crying, "Look, Randy!
Look! Here's old Mr. Plimpkins to sail in one of our boats."
In her surprise Randy let the water-spider escape, and, turning about,
saw Prue quite alone, running toward her, laughing and holding out
something which she had in her hand.
"Prue Weston! what do you mean?" said Randy.
Old Mr. Plimpkins was a farmer who lived at the outskirts of the town,
but Prue had seen him at church, and she thought him the funniest man
she had ever seen.
He was nearly as broad as he was tall. Winter and summer, he habitually
wore very broad-brimmed hats, and he walked with a comical waddle,
because his legs were completely bowed. As if to attract attention to
these members, they were always encased in light, snuff-colored
trousers, while about his neck, hot weather or cold, was always wrapped
an immense red plaid cotton handkerchief.
As Prue came along, she handed out to Randy the object which she called
Mr. Plimpkins, and, sure enough, clutched tightly in the little hot
hand, was a bit of twig on which two stems bowed together until they
nearly touched. On it, for a broad-brimmed hat, she had stuck a round
green leaf.
"Oh, I think it must be naughty to laugh about him, even if he is
funny," said Randy.
"But doesn't it look like him?" persisted Prue, "besides, _you're_
laughing, Randy, only not out loud."
Indeed, Randy was laughing, so, without attempting to reprove the little
sister, she placed the bit of birch, which represented the old farmer,
on the bark, and watched Prue as she floated it down the stream. Then,
turning toward home, they walked along the path which led to the
entrance to the wood.
Prue sang all the way, and, seeing her happiness, Randy, sweet Randy,
felt rewarded for the afternoon given up to her little sister's
amusement; but she felt that the reading of the fairy tales was not a
success. Clearly, the stories were beyond little Prue; for, at the
supper table, when there was a pause in the conversation, she described
the afternoon and Randy's reading, much to Randy's surprise and her
father's amusement.
"Oh, father!" she exclaimed, "we've been down to the brook, sailing
boats, an' Randy read me the beautifulest story! The girl's name
was--I've forgotten what, but her hair comed down to the ground, and the
prince clumb up on it, and 'most pulled her head off, and the tower was
so small the old witch couldn't live in it, and she cut her hair off,
and that's all I can think of, 'cept the girl sang all the time, and the
prince could hear her, and we sat on the plank and waited for the prince
to come."
All this she said in one breath. Her father laughed heartily at her
manner of telling the story, but Mrs. Weston said, "What on airth does
the child mean?" while Randy decided to read the stories to herself,
thereafter, and amuse Prue in another way.