PRANKS AND PLAYS
As there is no particular plan to this story, except to describe a few
scenes in the life at Plumfield for the amusement of certain little
persons, we will gently ramble along in this chapter and tell some
of the pastimes of Mrs. Jo’s boys. I beg leave to assure my honored
readers that most of the incidents are taken from real life, and
that the oddest are the truest; for no person, no matter how vivid
an imagination he may have, can invent anything half so droll as the
freaks and fancies that originate in the lively brains of little people.
Daisy and Demi were full of these whims, and lived in a world of their
own, peopled with lovely or grotesque creatures, to whom they gave the
queerest names, and with whom they played the queerest games. One of
these nursery inventions was an invisible sprite called “The Naughty
Kitty-mouse,” whom the children had believed in, feared, and served for
a long time. They seldom spoke of it to any one else, kept their rites
as private as possible; and, as they never tried to describe it even
to themselves, this being had a vague mysterious charm very agreeable
to Demi, who delighted in elves and goblins. A most whimsical and
tyrannical imp was the Naughty Kitty-mouse, and Daisy found a fearful
pleasure in its service, blindly obeying its most absurd demands,
which were usually proclaimed from the lips of Demi, whose powers
of invention were great. Rob and Teddy sometimes joined in these
ceremonies, and considered them excellent fun, although they did not
understand half that went on.
One day after school Demi whispered to his sister, with an ominous wag
of the head,--
“The Kitty-mouse wants us this afternoon.”
“What for?” asked Daisy, anxiously.
“A _sackerryfice_,” answered Demi, solemnly. “There must be a fire
behind the big rock at two o’clock, and we must all bring the things we
like best, and burn them!” he added, with an awful emphasis on the last
words.
“Oh, dear! I love the new paper dollies Aunt Amy painted for me best
of any thing; must I burn them up?” cried Daisy, who never thought of
denying the unseen tyrant any thing it demanded.
“Every one. I shall burn my boat, my best scrap-book, and _all_ my
soldiers,” said Demi, firmly.
“Well, I will; but it’s too bad of Kitty-mouse to want our very nicest
things,” sighed Daisy.
“A _sackerryfice_ means to give up what you are fond of, so we _must_,”
explained Demi, to whom the new idea had been suggested by hearing
Uncle Fritz describe the customs of the Greeks to the big boys who were
reading about them in school.
“Is Rob coming too?” asked Daisy.
“Yes, and he is going to bring his toy village; it is all made of wood,
you know, and will burn nicely. We’ll have a grand bonfire, and see
them blaze up, won’t we?”
This brilliant prospect consoled Daisy, and she ate her dinner with a
row of paper dolls before her, as a sort of farewell banquet.
At the appointed hour the sacrificial train set forth, each child
bearing the treasures demanded by the insatiable Kitty-mouse. Teddy
insisted on going also, and seeing that all the others had toys, he
tucked a squeaking lamb under one arm, and old Annabella under the
other, little dreaming what anguish the latter idol was to give him.
“Where are you going, my chickens?” asked Mrs. Jo, as the flock passed
her door.
“To play by the big rock; can’t we?”
“Yes, only don’t go near the pond, and take good care of baby.”
“I always do,” said Daisy, leading forth her charge with a capable air.
“Now, you must all sit round, and not move till I tell you. This flat
stone is an altar, and I am going to make a fire on it.”
Demi then proceeded to kindle up a small blaze, as he had seen the boys
do at picnics. When the flame burned well, he ordered the company to
march round it three times and then stand in a circle.
“I shall begin, and as fast as my things are burnt, you must bring
yours.”
With that he solemnly laid on a little paper book full of pictures,
pasted in by himself; this was followed by a dilapidated boat, and
then one by one the unhappy leaden soldiers marched to death. Not one
faltered or hung back, from the splendid red and yellow captain to the
small drummer who had lost his legs; all vanished in the flames and
mingled in one common pool of melted lead.
“Now, Daisy!” called the high priest of Kitty-mouse, when his rich
offerings had been consumed, to the great satisfaction of the children.
“My dear dollies, how _can_ I let them go?” moaned Daisy, hugging the
entire dozen with a face full of maternal woe.
“You must,” commanded Demi; and with a farewell kiss to each, Daisy
laid her blooming dolls upon the coals.
“Let me keep one, the dear blue thing, she is so sweet,” besought the
poor little mamma, clutching her last in despair.
“More! more!” growled an awful voice, and Demi cried, “That’s the
Kitty-mouse! she must have every one, quick, or she will scratch us.”
In went the precious blue belle, flounces, rosy hat, and all, and
nothing but a few black flakes remained of that bright band.
“Stand the houses and trees round, and let them catch themselves; it
will be like a real fire then,” said Demi, who liked variety even in
his “sackerryfices.”
Charmed by this suggestion, the children arranged the doomed village,
laid a line of coals along the main street, and then sat down to watch
the conflagration. It was somewhat slow to kindle owing to the paint,
but at last one ambitious little cottage blazed up, fired a tree of
the palm species, which fell on to the roof of a large family mansion,
and in a few minutes the entire town was burning merrily. The wooden
population stood and stared at the destruction like blockheads, as
they were, till they also caught and blazed away without a cry. It
took some time to reduce the town to ashes, and the lookers-on enjoyed
the spectacle immensely, cheering as each house fell, dancing like
wild Indians when the steeple flamed aloft, and actually casting one
wretched little churn-shaped lady, who had escaped to the suburbs, into
the very heart of the fire.
The superb success of this last offering excited Teddy to such a
degree, that he first threw his lamb into the conflagration, and
before it had time even to roast, he planted poor dear Annabella on
the funeral pyre. Of course she did not like it, and expressed her
anguish and resentment in a way that terrified her infant destroyer.
Being covered with kid, she did not blaze, but did what was worse, she
_squirmed_. First one leg curled up, then the other, in a very awful
and lifelike manner; next she flung her arms over her head as if in
great agony; her head itself turned on her shoulders, her glass eyes
fell out, and with one final writhe of her whole body, she sank down a
blackened mass on the ruins of the town. This unexpected demonstration
startled every one and frightened Teddy half out of his little wits. He
looked, then screamed and fled toward the house, roaring “Marmar” at
the top of his voice.
Mrs. Bhaer heard the outcry and ran to the rescue, but Teddy could only
cling to her and pour out in his broken way something about, “poor
Bella hurted,” “a dreat fire,” and “all the dollies dorn.” Fearing
some dire mishap, his mother caught him up and hurried to the scene of
action, where she found the blind worshippers of Kitty-mouse mourning
over the charred remains of the lost darling.
“What have you been at? Tell me all about it,” said Mrs. Jo, composing
herself to listen patiently, for the culprits looked so penitent, she
forgave them beforehand.
With some reluctance Demi explained their play, and Aunt Jo laughed
till the tears ran down her cheeks, the children were so solemn, and
the play was so absurd.
“I thought you were too sensible to play such a silly game as this. If
I had any Kitty-mouse I’d have a good one who liked you to play in safe
pleasant ways, and not destroy and frighten. Just see what a ruin you
have made; all Daisy’s pretty dolls, Demi’s soldiers, and Rob’s new
village, beside poor Teddy’s pet lamb, and dear old Annabella. I shall
have to write up in the nursery the verse that used to come in the
boxes of toys,--
‘The children of Holland take pleasure in making,
What the children of Boston take pleasure in breaking.’
Only I shall put Plumfield instead of Boston.”
“We never will again, truly, truly!” cried the repentant little
sinners, much abashed at this reproof.
“Demi told us to,” said Rob.
“Well, I heard Uncle tell about the Greece people, who had altars
and things, and so I wanted to be like them, only I hadn’t any live
creatures to sackerryfice, so we burnt up our toys.”
“Dear me, that is something like the bean story,” said Aunt Jo,
laughing again.
“Tell about it,” suggested Daisy, to change the subject.
“Once there was a poor woman who had three or four little children, and
she used to lock them up in her room when she went out to work, to keep
them safe. One day when she was going away she said, ‘Now, my dears,
don’t let baby fall out of the window, don’t play with the matches, and
don’t put beans up your noses.’ Now the children had never dreamed of
doing that last thing, but she put it into their heads, and the minute
she was gone, they ran and stuffed their naughty little noses full of
beans, just to see how it felt, and she found them all crying when she
came home.”
“Did it hurt?” asked Rob, with such intense interest that his mother
hastily added a warning sequel, lest a new edition of the bean story
should appear in her own family.
“Very much, as I know, for when _my_ mother told me this story, I was
so silly that I went and tried it myself. I had no beans, so I took
some little pebbles, and poked several into my nose. I did not like it
at all, and wanted to take them out again very soon, but one would not
come, and I was so ashamed to tell what a goose I had been that I went
for hours with the stone hurting me very much. At last the pain got so
bad I had to tell, and when my mother could not get it out the doctor
came. Then I was put in a chair and held tight, Rob, while he used his
ugly little pincers till the stone hopped out. Dear me! how my wretched
little nose did ache, and how people laughed at me!” and Mrs. Jo shook
her head in a dismal way, as if the memory of her sufferings was too
much for her.
Rob looked deeply impressed and I am glad to say took the warning to
heart. Demi proposed that they should bury poor Annabella, and in
the interest of the funeral Teddy forgot his fright. Daisy was soon
consoled by another batch of dolls from Aunt Amy, and the Naughty
Kitty-mouse seemed to be appeased by the last offerings, for she
tormented them no more.
“Brops,” was the name of a new and absorbing play, invented by Bangs.
As this interesting animal is not to be found in any Zoölogical Garden,
unless Du Chaillu has recently brought one from the wilds of Africa, I
will mention a few of its peculiar habits and traits, for the benefit
of inquiring minds. The Brop is a winged quadruped, with a human face
of a youthful and merry aspect. When it walks the earth it grunts,
when it soars it gives a shrill hoot, occasionally it goes erect, and
talks good English. Its body is usually covered with a substance much
resembling a shawl, sometimes red, sometimes blue, often plaid, and,
strange to say, they frequently change skins with one another. On their
heads they have a horn very like a stiff brown paper lamp-lighter.
Wings of the same substance flap upon their shoulders when they fly;
this is never very far from the ground, as they usually fall with
violence if they attempt any lofty flights. They browse over the earth,
but can sit up and eat like the squirrel. Their favorite nourishment is
the seed-cake; apples also are freely taken, and sometimes raw carrots
are nibbled when food is scarce. They live in dens, where they have a
sort of nest, much like a clothes-basket, in which the little Brops
play till their wings are grown. These singular animals quarrel at
times, and it is on these occasions that they burst into human speech,
call each other names, cry, scold, and sometimes tear off horns and
skin, declaring fiercely that they “won’t play.” The few privileged
persons who have studied them are inclined to think them a remarkable
mixture of the monkey, the sphinx, the roc, and the queer creatures
seen by the famous Peter Wilkins.
This game was a great favorite, and the younger children beguiled
many a rainy afternoon flapping or creeping about the nursery, acting
like little bedlamites and being as merry as little grigs. To be
sure, it was rather hard upon clothes, particularly trouser-knees and
jacket-elbows; but Mrs. Bhaer only said, as she patched and darned,--
“We do things just as foolish, and not half so harmless. If I could
get as much happiness out of it as the little dears do, I’d be a Brop
myself.”
Nat’s favorite amusements were working in his garden, and sitting in
the willow-tree with his violin, for that green nest was a fairy world
to him, and there he loved to perch, making music like a happy bird.
The lads called him “Old Chirper,” because he was always humming,
whistling, or fiddling, and they often stopped a minute in their work
or play to listen to the soft tones of the violin, which seemed to lead
a little orchestra of summer sounds. The birds appeared to regard him
as one of themselves, and fearlessly sat on the fence or lit among the
boughs to watch him with their quick bright eyes. The robins in the
apple-tree near by evidently considered him a friend, for the father
bird hunted insects close beside him, and the little mother brooded as
confidingly over her blue eggs as if the boy was only a new sort of
blackbird, who cheered her patient watch with his song. The brown brook
babbled and sparkled below him, the bees haunted the clover fields on
either side, friendly faces peeped at him as they passed, the old house
stretched its wide wings hospitably toward him, and with a blessed
sense of rest and love and happiness, Nat dreamed for hours in this
nook, unconscious what healthful miracles were being wrought upon him.
One listener he had who never tired, and to whom he was more than a
mere schoolmate. Poor Billy’s chief delight was to lie beside the
brook, watching leaves and bits of foam dance by, listening dreamily to
the music in the willow-tree. He seemed to think Nat a sort of angel
who sat aloft and sang, for a few baby memories still lingered in his
mind and seemed to grow brighter at these times. Seeing the interest
he took in Nat, Mr. Bhaer begged him to help them lift the cloud from
the feeble brain by this gentle spell. Glad to do any thing to show
his gratitude, Nat always smiled on Billy when he followed him about,
and let him listen undisturbed to the music which seemed to speak
a language he could understand. “Help one another,” was a favorite
Plumfield motto, and Nat learned how much sweetness is added to life by
trying to live up to it.
Jack Ford’s peculiar pastime was buying and selling; and he bid fair
to follow in the footsteps of his uncle, a country merchant, who sold
a little of every thing and made money fast. Jack had seen the sugar
sanded, the molasses watered, the butter mixed with lard, and things of
that kind, and labored under the delusion that it was all a proper part
of the business. His stock in trade was of a different sort, but he
made as much as he could out of every worm he sold, and always got the
best of the bargain when he traded with the boys for string, knives,
fish-hooks, or whatever the article might be. The boys, who all had
nicknames, called him “Skinflint,” but Jack did not care as long as the
old tobacco-pouch in which he kept his money grew heavier and heavier.
He established a sort of auction-room, and now and then sold off all
the odds and ends he had collected, or helped the lads exchange things
with one another. He got bats, balls, hockey-sticks, etc., cheap, from
one set of mates, furbished them up, and let them for a few cents a
time to another set, often extending his business beyond the gates of
Plumfield in spite of the rules. Mr. Bhaer put a stop to some of his
speculations, and tried to give him a better idea of business talent
than mere sharpness in overreaching his neighbors. Now and then Jack
made a bad bargain, and felt worse about it than about any failure in
lessons or conduct, and took his revenge on the next innocent customer
who came along. His account-book was a curiosity; and his quickness at
figures quite remarkable. Mr. Bhaer praised him for this, and tried to
make his sense of honesty and honor as quick; and, by and by, when Jack
found that he could not get on without these virtues, he owned that his
teacher was right.
Cricket and football the boys had of course; but, after the stirring
accounts of these games in the immortal “Tom Brown at Rugby,” no feeble
female pen may venture to do more than respectfully allude to them.
Emil spent his holidays on the river or the pond, and drilled the
elder lads for a race with certain town boys, who now and then invaded
their territory. The race duly came off, but as it ended in a general
shipwreck, it was not mentioned in public; and the Commodore had
serious thoughts of retiring to a desert island, so disgusted was he
with his kind for a time. No desert island being convenient, he was
forced to remain among his friends, and found consolation in building a
boat-house.
The little girls indulged in the usual plays of their age, improving
upon them somewhat as their lively fancies suggested. The chief and
most absorbing play was called “Mrs. Shakespeare Smith;” the name
was provided by Aunt Jo, but the trials of the poor lady were quite
original. Daisy was Mrs. S. S., and Nan by turns her daughter or a
neighbor, Mrs. Giddy-gaddy.
No pen can describe the adventures of these ladies, for in one short
afternoon their family was the scene of births, marriages, deaths,
floods, earthquakes, tea-parties, and balloon ascensions. Millions of
miles did these energetic women travel, dressed in hats and habits
never seen before by the mortal eye, perched on the bed, driving the
posts like mettlesome steeds, and bouncing up and down till their heads
spun. Fits and fires were the pet afflictions, with a general massacre
now and then by way of change. Nan was never tired of inventing fresh
combinations, and Daisy followed her leader with blind admiration. Poor
Teddy was a frequent victim, and was often rescued from real danger,
for the excited ladies were apt to forget that he was not of the same
stuff as their long-suffering dolls. Once he was shut into a closet for
a dungeon, and forgotten by the girls, who ran off to some out-of-door
game. Another time he was half drowned in the bath-tub, playing be a
“cunning little whale.” And, worst of all, he was cut down just in time
after being hung up for a robber.
But the institution most patronized by all was the Club. It had no
other name, and it needed none, being the only one in the neighborhood.
The elder lads got it up, and the younger were occasionally admitted
if they behaved well. Tommy and Demi were honorary members, but were
always obliged to retire unpleasantly early, owing to circumstances
over which they had no control. The proceedings of this club were
somewhat peculiar, for it met at all sorts of places and hours, had all
manner of queer ceremonies and amusements, and now and then was broken
up tempestuously, only to be re-established, however, on a firmer basis.
Rainy evenings the members met in the school-room, and passed the time
in games: chess, morris, backgammon, fencing matches, recitations,
debates, or dramatic performances of a darkly tragical nature.
In summer the barn was the rendezvous, and what went on there no
uninitiated mortal knows. On sultry evenings the Club adjourned to the
brook for aquatic exercises, and the members sat about in airy attire,
frog-like and cool. On such occasions the speeches were unusually
eloquent, quite flowing, as one might say; and if any orator’s remarks
displeased the audience, cold water was thrown upon him till his
ardor was effectually quenched. Franz was president, and maintained
order admirably, considering the unruly nature of the members. Mr.
Bhaer never interfered with their affairs, and was rewarded for this
wise forbearance by being invited now and then to behold the mysteries
unveiled, which he appeared to enjoy much.
When Nan came she wished to join the Club, and caused great excitement
and division among the gentlemen by presenting endless petitions,
both written and spoken, disturbing their solemnities by insulting
them through the key-hole, performing vigorous solos on the door, and
writing up derisive remarks on walls and fences, for she belonged to
the “Irrepressibles.” Finding these appeals vain, the girls, by the
advice of Mrs. Jo, got up an institution of their own, which they
called the Cosy Club. To this they magnanimously invited the gentlemen
whose youth excluded them from the other one, and entertained these
favored beings so well with little suppers, new games devised by Nan,
and other pleasing festivities, that, one by one, the elder boys
confessed a desire to partake of these more elegant enjoyments, and,
after much consultation, finally decided to propose an interchange of
civilities.
The members of the Cosy Club were invited to adorn the rival
establishment on certain evenings, and to the surprise of the gentlemen
their presence was not found to be a restraint upon the conversation or
amusement of the regular frequenters; which could not be said of all
Clubs, I fancy. The ladies responded handsomely and hospitably to these
overtures of peace, and both institutions flourished long and happily.