THE PICNIC.
The Tuckers arrived right on the dot with Cousin Park. I had hoped they
would get in first, but Henry Ford had a blow out and they had to stop
for repairs.
We always had to send for Cousin Park in a great old sea-going rockaway
that was never pulled out of the carriage house except on state
occasions. Father and I hated to ride in it as it always reminded us of
funerals and Cousin Park. It was a low swung vehicle with high, broad
mud guards and a peculiar swaying motion that was apt either to put you
to sleep or make you very seasick, if you were inclined that way. It
took two large strong plow horses to propel it. I don't know where
Father got it but I do know that he had always had it. I believe there
are no more built like it but its counterpart may be seen in museums. I
used to play dolls in it when I was a kid, and on rare hilarious
occasions when I had a companion we would get up great games of Jesse
James and Dick Turpin and other noted highwaymen who would stop the
coach and rob all the dolls.
Cousin Park came riding up in state, her ugly, cross old pug placed
between her and Cousin Sue, who had most generously offered to go to
Milton to meet our august relative so I could be at home to receive the
Tuckers. As the rockaway made its ponderous way down the drive, the plow
horses foaming painfully after their twelve-mile pull, six to Milton and
six back, I spied Henry Ford, in a swirling cloud of dust, turn into the
avenue, and in a trice he was whizzing up behind the old sea-going
rockaway. Pug wrinkled his fat neck and whimpered when he saw Brindle,
who occupied the back seat with Dee; Cousin Park gave an audible snort.
Brindle paid no attention at all to Pug but sat like a bulldog done in
bronze and for the time being even refrained from snuffling.
I dreaded the meeting between my dear friends, the Tuckers, and Cousin
Park, knowing that lady's overbearing manner when things did not go to
suit her. But I really had not fathomed the depth of Zebedee's mixing
powers. I remembered what Dee had said about his being able to make
crabs and ice cream agree if he set his mind to it.
All the Tuckers looked rather aghast as they drew up near the rockaway
from which Cousin Park was emerging, Pug clasped in her arms. They
composed their countenances quickly, however, at least Dee and Zebedee
did; Dum was never able to pull her social self together quite so
quickly as her father and sister. Zebedee shut off his engine and in a
moment was assisting my dignified relative with her many traveling
necessities: small pillows of various sizes and shapes, designed to ease
different portions of one's anatomy on trains and in carriages (she
carried four of them); several silk bags bulging with mysterious
contents; a black sunshade; her turkey-tail fan; Pug and a box of dog
biscuit.
Zebedee got them all safely into the house, even taking Pug tenderly in
his arms, much to the astonishment of that dull-witted canine. He
assured Cousin Park that Brindle would not hurt Pug, provided Pug did
not try to get too intimate with him and bore him.
"We can count on Brindle up to a certain point, but if he gets very
bored he is apt to be cross," another human attribute my dear Tuckers
gave their pet. Cousin Park rather bridled at the idea of her precious
dog's boring anything, but Zebedee's manner was so deferential and his
solicitude so apparent that mortal woman could not have withstood him.
Cousin Sue and the Tuckers took to one another from the beginning. I had
thought they would, but sometimes the friends that you expect to like
one another are the very ones that act "Dr. Fell" and develop a strange
and unreasoning dislike.
The picnic was under discussion and was approved of unanimously. I
thought Dum blushed a little when I announced that Mr. Reginald Kent was
back in the county. She undoubtedly had a soft spot in her girl's heart
for the good looking young illustrator who had been so enamoured of her
the winter before.
One thing occurred to mar our pleasant anticipations: Cousin Park,
instead of declining the invitation to go on the picnic, which Father
and I pressed upon her, expecting of course that she would refuse,
accepted with alacrity, announcing that the piney air would be good for
Pug. We told her the road was impossible for the rockaway and that she
would have to go in a spring wagon; but that made no difference, go she
would and go she did, four little cushions, bulging silk bags, purple
and black knitting, Pug and package of dog biscuit, turkey-tail fan and
all.
We made an early start to avoid the heat of the August day. Mammy Susan
had packed a hamper with every conceivable good thing the countryside
afforded, and the floor of the spring wagon was filled with watermelons,
the pride of my dear father's heart. Next to his library, Father loved
his watermelon patch. My earliest remembrance is watermelon seed spread
out on letter paper to dry, with a description of that particular melon
written on the paper. Every good melon must have some seed saved from it
for the purpose of reproducing the species. "Very rich in colour with
black seeds and thin rind. Sweet and juicy," would be one; then another:
"Small, round, dark green,--meat pale in colour but mealy and very
delicious;" another: "Large, striped rattlesnake variety,--good if
allowed to ripen, but great favourite with niggers."
On that hot day in August small round ones rubbed noses with large
rattlesnake varieties and the rich red ones with thin rinds and black
seeds jostled each other in the bottom of the wagon as we bumped over
the none too smooth roads that our country boasted.
Cousin Park required a whole back seat for herself and Pug and her many
belongings. Zebedee drove with Cousin Sue Lee and Brindle on the front
seat with him, and we three girls sat in the back with the tail gate
down and our legs a-dangling. It was thoroughly selfish of Cousin Park
to allow us to do it but we enjoyed it hugely. Father had many morning
calls to make but was to land at the ford for dinner.
Jo Winn was waiting at the cross roads in his knock-about, his favourite
setter between his knees and his handsome cousin by his side. Mr. Kent
could hardly wait for the vehicle to stop to jump out and speak to us.
Again he seemed to think we needed masculine protection so Dee changed
places with him and joined the grinning and delighted Jo, and the young
advertising artist squeezed in between Dum and me.
A jolly ride we had in spite of the many bumps in the road and the fact
that at every bump the watermelons would roll against our backs. Cousin
Park sat in solemn silence, but Zebedee and Cousin Sue kept up a lively
conversation on the front seat and we three with our legs a-dangling
never paused a moment in our lively chatter.
I think Cousin Park regretted many times that she had not decided to
spend the day quietly at Bracken with Miss Pinky Davis for company and
Mammy Susan to wait on her. We had not let her come without informing
her of the bad roads and the long drive to Uncle Peter's cabin and then
the rough walk to the ford, but nothing would keep her from coming and
now she was making the best of it. She emitted an occasional groan but
never a word of complaint, which was quite fine of her in a way.
We found Uncle Peter hoeing his tobacco but glad of an excuse to stop.
Aunt Rosana was as fat as ever and her cabin just as clean. She was
overjoyed to see us and flattered beyond measure when Mr. Kent told her
he had come all the way back from New York just to get another picture
of the inside of her house. This time he wanted to make a drawing, not
being satisfied with the time exposure he had taken before. Of course he
could not possibly find his way to the ford alone, so the wily youth
persuaded Dum to wait with him while he made his sketch. She seemed
nothing loath and even made a sketch herself.
"Lawsamussy, Rosana! Come look at dese here watermillions Docallison
done sent to de pickanigger!" exclaimed Uncle Peter, his eyes rolling in
delight. Aunt Rosana waddled out.
"Great Gawd! They mus' be one apiece."
"So they are, Aunt Rosana, and you must have one left here for you so
you can have your share. Which kind do you like best?" I asked.
"Well, all watermillions is good but some is scrumptious, and I low
I'll take a chanct on one er dem striped rattlers. If it do prove to be
scrumptious they will be so much er it. I is jes' lak a lil' pig wif a
million--whin he'll eat a whole bucket er slop an' thin git in de
bucket. I eats all they is an' thin jes' fair wallows in de rime."
"I can't raise no millions, it looks like," said Uncle Peter sadly. "Dem
dere swamp niggers comes an' gathers 'em whin dey's no bigger 'n
cowcumbers." He reached into the back of the wagon and thumped every
melon with his horny forefinger, a smile of extreme satisfaction
lighting his kindly features. "I tell yer, Docallison ain't a gwine ter
hab no millions on his plantation pulled green. He knows de music ub a
ripe un 'bout as well as he reckernizes de soun' ub pneumony in a sick
man's chist. Whin I comes to think ub it they is similar sounds. I'll be
boun' Docallison done got up hisself an' pulled dese here millions wif
de dew on 'em. Dey's still cold in spite of the heat dey done been in."
That was so. Father always pulled the watermelons himself and always did
it very early in the morning when the dew was still on them.
We started on our walk to the ford, the same walk we had taken the
winter before on our memorable deer hunt. Uncle Peter loaded the melons
into his wheelbarrow and Zebedee and Jo Winn swung the baskets on a
stout pole which they carried between them. Cousin Park got between Dee
and me and taking an arm of each proceeded on her ponderous way. I would
gladly have wheeled the watermelons or carried the hampers. It would
have been child's play beside the load we carried. Pug and Brindle
trotted along, Brindle still ignoring the existence of Pug and Pug
whimpering every time he caught Brindle's eye. Jo's setter kept well in
advance and pretended he was none of us.
"Why do we go so far? Why not sit down right here and have our repast?"
panted poor Cousin Park.
"But we are to fish at the river," suggested Cousin Sue, who was laden
with Cousin Park's many cushions and bags and the knitting and dog
biscuit.
"And there is such a fine spring there, too," I said, and added, knowing
Cousin Park's weakness: "We can't make the coffee unless we get near a
spring." And so we trudged on, Zebedee and Uncle Peter taking down the
worm fences to let Cousin Park and the watermelons through, and then
patiently building them up again.
There was the deep cathedral peace in the pine woods and our presence
seemed almost a sacrilege as we tramped heavily over the soft bed of
fragrant pine needles. Cousin Park had to sit down and rest every now
and then and it took the combined effort of all the males, white and
coloured, to get her on her feet after one of these pauses.
At last we reached our camping ground. The kindly and resourceful
Zebedee made a bed for my august relative of pine boughs and with the
help of the different sized and shaped pillows she was quite
comfortable. With her various bags distributed around her and her
knitting and her stupid Pug by her side she went off into a deep sleep,
much to the relief and delight of all of us.
"Now we can be ourselves!" exclaimed Zebedee, turning handsprings like a
boy; and Cousin Sue and Dee and I caught hold of hands and ran to the
spring which sparkled and gurgled in a beautiful stone grotto at the
foot of the hill near the river ford. Uncle Peter put all the melons
into the little branch flowing from the spring and there they cooled to
a queen's taste.
We made the camp fire and prepared the coffee well away from Cousin Park
and we devoutly hoped that she would sweetly sleep until her favourite
beverage was ready.
What a good time we did have that day! We fished in the river, and while
our catch was nothing to be proud of, we had fun all the same. Dee
caught a catfish that pulled and tugged at her line like a veritable
whale. She finally landed it with a shriek that made Cousin Park stir
uneasily from her bed of pine boughs and brought on herself, Dee, a good
shaking from Zebedee.
"Wake her up, and I declare you will have to entertain her! It's your
turn, anyhow."
I caught what Uncle Peter called "a mud turkle." We threw him back into
his delectable mud and he went in with a grateful "kerchunk," sending
back many bubbles of appreciation.
"Almost as good at making bubbles as a young lady I know," said
Zebedee, re-baiting my hook for me.
Enough small river perch were caught to make a little mess which Uncle
Peter cleaned with great skill and fried on our camp fire. Dum and her
cavalier, having finished the sketching, joined us with such a racket
that Cousin Park really waked up and confessed herself much refreshed
when she detected the odour of coffee in the air. She was much more of a
sport than I had expected to find her and not such a bad picnicker after
all.
Father got there in time to sit down to as good a dinner as was served
in all the land on that hot day in August, I am sure. Sally Winn had put
on the big pot and the little, and Mammy Susan had out-Susaned herself.
We had no forks for our fried fish, but the person who can't eat a fried
fish without a fork deserves to go fishless. Cousin Park drank so much
strong coffee that she was really boozy and actually flirted with
Zebedee.
The watermelons were--well, there are no words to describe those melons.
Watermelons are like sunsets--no words can picture them. You have to be
on the spot with both wonders to appreciate them. Father's pockets were
bulging with seeds, saved for next year's planting. Uncle Peter, who sat
over behind a pine tree having his dinner, declared himself "fittin' fur
to bust!"
All of us had reached our limit of endurance and when the food was all
disposed of decided we should either have to go on a long walk or drop
to sleep. Cousin Park again sought her pine bough couch where she sat in
state, dozing and knitting on her ugly black and purple shawl. Uncle
Peter acted as body guard to her while all the rest of us went on a long
tramp on the other side of the river.
We came back feeling fine and no longer full to "stuffifaction," as poor
dear Blanche used to say. Zebedee held up two fingers, the sign all the
world over among boys that a swim would be in order. Father responded
with a boyish laugh and all the men trooped off to a swimming hole that
Jo knew of a little way down the river. We could hear their shouts of
laughter and a great splashing.
They were hardly out of sight when we were out of our shoes and
stockings and in wading, Cousin Sue as eager as any of us. How good it
felt! I'd rather wiggle my toes in a clear brown stream with a sandy
bottom than do anything in the world. We took bits of bark and slender
twigs and scraps of stray paper and sailed them down the swift-flowing
water, watching to see which reached the tiny eddying rapids first and
cheering the winners. Then at Dee's suggestion we picked up little
pieces of wood and named them _Volunteer_, _Valiant_, _Vixen_, and
_Valkyrie_ and held an exciting cup race.
We dabbled our hands in the cool water. We splashed and sang. We romped
and ran. You know what we did and what fun we had if you ever spent part
of an August day in such a lovely spot.
But bye and bye we heard laughter again and voices, and we knew the men
were coming back. So we scrambled out of the stream, dried our feet on
the sunny bank and popped them again into demure and proper coverings.
We sighed a little that it was over--that glorious bit of freedom--but
argued that it must stop sometime.
And that reminds me: this book, too, must stop, and it might as well be
now, although the picnic story is not quite ended.
I had thought of telling how Uncle Peter took Cousin Park back to the
spring wagon in his wheelbarrow, and something of the wonderful drive
home with the crescent moon shining in the glow of the sunset. How
Father drove Cousin Sue in his buggy and I sat on the front seat with
Zebedee,--but I must stop.
I wonder,--shall I meet you all again when I am "Back at School with the
Tucker Twins?"
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Obvious punctuation errors were corrected.
Varied hyphenation was retained. This includes words such as cork-screw
and corkscrew; football and foot-ball. This text spells the more usual
"Monticello" as "Montecello."
Table of Contents, chapter VIII actually begins on page 82 instead of
the 83 that the original prints. This was changed.
Page 51, "Dun" changed to "Dum" (come!" wailed Dum)
Page 226, "dinnor" changed to "dinner" (for yesterday's dinner)
Page 270, "po'" changed to "Po'" ("Po' Jo," had met her)