CHAPTER VII.
A FEAST OF SAILS.
NOW ring your merriest tune, ye silver bells of the magic caldron. 'Tisa birthday feast that awakes your chiming, so make your key-note joy.And now if the little princes and princesses will thrust their curiousfingers into the steam as the water bubbles again, it will take them faraway from the Cuckoo's Nest. They will see the village of Plainsville,Kansas, and the little brown house where the Ware family lived.
* * * * *
The day that the Little Colonel's letter reached Joyce was Holland'stenth birthday. One would not have dreamed that there was a party of tenboys in the parlour that bright September afternoon, for the shutterswere closed, and every blind tightly drawn. Jack had darkened the roomto give them a magic lantern exhibition, while Joyce was spreading thetable under an apple-tree in the side yard. Mary, her funny littlebraids with their big bows of blue ribbon continually bobbing over hershoulders, was helping to carry out the curious dishes from the housethat had taken all morning to prepare.
There was never much money to spend in entertainments in the littlebrown house, but birthdays never passed unheeded. Love can always findsome way to keep the red-letter days of its calendar. Joyce and hermother had planned a novel supper for Holland and his friends, thinkingit would make a merry feast for them to laugh over now, and a pleasantmemory by and by, when three score years had been added to his ten.Looking back on the day when somebody cared that it was his birthday,and celebrated it with loving forethought, would kindle a glow in hisheart, no matter how old and white-haired he might live to be.
The little mother could not take much time from her sewing, but shesuggested and helped with the verses, and came out when the table wasnearly ready, to add a few finishing touches.
A Feast of Sails, Joyce called it, saying that, if Cinderella'sgodmother could change a pumpkin into a gilded coach, there was noreason why they should not transform an ordinary luncheon into a fleetof boats, for a boy whose greatest ambition was to be a naval officer,and who was always talking about the sea.
These were the invitations, printed in Jack's best style, and decoratedby Joyce with a little water-colour sketch of a ship in full sail:
Please come, hale and hearty, To Holland Ware's party, September, the twenty-first day, And partake in a bunch Of a queer birthday lunch, And afterward join in a play. The things which we'll eat Will be boats, sour and sweet, With maybe an entree of whales. Will you please to arrive Awhile before five, The hour that this boat-luncheon sails.
The invitations aroused great interest among all Holland's friends, andevery boy was at the gate long before the appointed hour, curious to seethe "boats sour and sweet" that could be eaten. But even Holland did notknow what was in store for them. Joyce had driven him out of the kitchenwhile she was preparing the surprise, and would not begin to set thetable until Jack had marshalled every boy into the dark parlour andbegun his magic lantern show. The baby was with them, a baby no longer,he stoutly declared, as he had that day been promoted from kilts to hisfirst pair of trousers, and he insisted on being called henceforth byhis own name, Norman.
As he and Jack were to be added to the party of ten, the table was setfor twelve. It was a gay sight when everything was ready. From themirror lake in the middle, on which a dozen toy swans were afloat, arosea lighthouse made of doughnuts. It was surmounted by a little lanternfrom which floated a tiny flag. At one end of the table a hugewatermelon cut lengthwise, and furnished with masts and sails of redcrepe paper, looked like a brig just launched. At the other end rose thegreat white island of the birthday cake, with its ten red candles. Alldown the sides of the table was a flutter of yellow and green and whiteand blue sails, for at each plate was a little fleet sporting thecolours of the rainbow.
It had been an interesting task to make the dressed eggs into canoes, tocut the cheese into square rafts, and hollow out the long cucumberpickles into skiffs, fitting sails or pennons to each broomstraw mast.It had been still more interesting to change a bag of big fat raisinsinto turtles, by poking five cloves and a bit of stem into each one forthe head, legs, and tail.
Joyce took an artistic pleasure in arranging the orange boats around thetable. She had made them by cutting an orange in two, and putting astick of peppermint candy in each half for a mast, and they had aforeign, Chinese look with their queer sails, flaming with littlered-ink dragons. Jack had drawn them. Here and there, over the sea ofwhite tablecloth, she had scattered candy fish and the raisin turtles.At the last moment there were potato chips to be heated, and islands ofsandwiches and jelly to distribute, and the can of sardines to open.Mary had insisted on having the sardines to personate whales, and sheherself served one to each guest on a little shell-shaped platebelonging to her set of doll dishes. It had taken so long to prepare allthese boats, that Joyce had had no time to decorate the menu cards asshe had planned, but Jack had cut them in the shape of an anchor, andstuck a fish-hook through each one for a souvenir. This was what wasprinted on them:
MENU. An egg Canoe A Skiff of pickle A Cheese Raft too. Your taste to tickle. Turtles galore, Entree of Whales Found alongshore. (A la sardine tails). Chips in a pile, and A Sandwich Island. The Brig _Watermelon_ An orange boat last With sails all a-swellin'. With a candy mast. The Island of Cake With fish from Sweet Lake.
Mary gave the signal when everything was ready, a long toot on an oldtin whistle that sounded like a fog-horn. She blew it through thekeyhole of the parlour door, expecting a speedy answer, but was notprepared for the sensation her summons created. The door flew open sosuddenly that she was nearly taken off her feet, and the boys fell allover each other in their race for the table. When they were all seated,Norman, standing up at the foot of the table, repeated the rhyme whichJoyce had carefully taught him:
"Heave ho, my hearties, let these boats Sail down the Red Sea of your throats."
"They're surely obeying orders," said Mary, mournfully, a few minuteslater, when she hurried into the kitchen for another Sandwich Island."They're swallowing up those boats quicker'n the real Red Sea swallowedup old Pharaoh and all his chariots. There'll be nothing left for us butthe rinds and the broom-straws."
"Oh, yes, there will," said Joyce, cheerfully, opening the pantry doorand showing her three plates on the lower shelf. "There is our supper. Iput it aside, for boys are like grasshoppers. They'll eat everything insight. I didn't take time to put sails in my boats or in mother's, butyou've got one of every kind just like the boys, even to a menu-cardwith a fish-hook in it."
There was a broad smile on Mary's beaming little face as she surveyedher part of the feast, and popping one of the fat raisin-turtles intoher mouth, she hurried back to her duties as waitress. Joyce followed topass around the birthday cake, telling each boy to blow out a candle ashe took a slice, and to make a birthday wish.
Just as she finished there was a click of the gate-latch, and one of herschoolmates came up the path. It was Grace Link, one of her bestfriends, yet Joyce wished she had not happened in at that particulartime.
Grace had a way of looking around her with a very superior air. It mayhave been due to her effort to keep her eye-glasses in position, butJoyce found it irritating at times. The glances made her feel how shabbythe little brown house must look in comparison to the Links' eleganthome, and she resented Grace's apparent notice of the fact.
"In just a minute, Grace," she called, thinking she would pass the cakearound once more, and leave the boys to finish quietly by themselves.But she did not have a chance to do that. With a whoop as of one voice,each boy started up, grabbing another slice of cake in one hand as hepassed the plate, and all the candy fish he could scoop up with theother, and was off for a noisy game of hum-bum in the back yard.
"My gracious! what a noisy lot," exclaimed Grace, recognising her ownsmall brother among them, and making mental note of a lecture she meantto give him after awhile.
"Oh, you ought to have seen how beautiful everything looked when theysat down," cried Mary, noticing Grace's critical glances, as shesurveyed the wreck they had made of the table. "They've eaten up thelighthouse all but the lantern and the flag, and the watermelon ship was_so_ pretty. Here's what the little boats looked like." She dashed intothe pantry for her own gay little fleet of egg and orange and pickleboats with their many-coloured sails.
"How cunning!" said Grace, looking admiringly from the boats to the rowof raisin-turtles. "But what a lot of time and trouble you all must havetaken for those kids. Do you think boys appreciate it? I don't."
"My brothers do," said Joyce, stoutly. "We can't afford to have ices andfine things from the confectioner's, so we have to think up all sortsof odd surprises to take their place. Mother began it long ago when Jackand I were little, and she gave us our first Valentine tea. She said itwas no more trouble to cut the cookies and sandwiches heart-shaped thanto make them round, and it took very little time to decorate the tableto look like a lace-paper valentine, but it made a world of differencein our enjoyment. Jack and I have dozens of bright spots to rememberbecause she made gala days of all our birthdays and holidays, and it'sno more than right that we should do it for Mary and Holland and thebaby, now that she is so busy."
"We have something for every month in the year," chimed in Mary,"counting our five birthdays and Washington's, and New Year andDecoration Day and Christmas and Hallowe'en and Valentine andThanksgiving."
"There are more than that," added Joyce, "for there's always the Fourthof July picnic, you know, and the eggs and rabbits and flowers atEaster."
"Yes, and April fool's day," Mary called out triumphantly after them, asthe two girls walked slowly toward the house. "That makes fifteen."
"Can't you go over to Elsie Somers's with me, Joyce?" asked Grace."That's what I stopped by for. It is only half-past five. I want tolook at the centrepiece she is embroidering before I begin mine, and askher about the stitch. Then I can begin it this evening after supper."
"Oh, I don't believe I can," answered Joyce, sitting wearily down on thedoorstep, and making room for Grace beside her. "There's all that messto clean up, and the boys will be coming in soon when it begins to getdark, for their bonfire stories. Do you see that enormous pile of leavesover there? We're going to have a jolly big bonfire after awhile, andsit around it telling stories. That is Holland's idea, and part of ourway of keeping birthdays is to let the one who celebrates choose what hewould like to do."
"_Hum, bum! Here I come!_" shouted several voices from the stable roofand alley fence, and Jack repeated it at the top of his voice, as hedashed around the corner of the house.
"Here, Joyce," he cried, pitching a letter toward her. "It came in thelast mail, and I forgot to give it to you when I came back from thepost-office. Just thought of it," and off he went again.
"It is from the Little Colonel," said Joyce, in a pleased tone. "Don'tyou want to hear it?"
Grace, who had heard so much about the happenings at the house partythat she almost felt as if she had been one of the guests, promptlysettled herself to listen, and at Joyce's call, Mrs. Ware, who was stillstitching beside the dining-room window, laid down her sewing, and cameout to be part of the interested audience.
"Oh, goody! Betty has written, too," said Joyce, as she unfolded theclosely written pages. "I've wondered so often what Lloyd would think oflife at the Cuckoo's Nest, and if it would seem the same to Betty afterher visit at Locust."
But there was nothing of the Little Colonel's experience, in eitherletter. Not a word about Aunt Jane's illness, or the game ofbarley-bright, or the trap-door accident. They had just come fromlistening to Molly's pitiful story, and both letters were full of it.The story-telling gift, that was to make Betty famous in after years,showed in the pathetic little tale she wrote Joyce, and so real did shemake the scene that Joyce could scarcely keep a tremble out of her voiceas she read it aloud.
"Wouldn't you love to see the picture that looks so much like Molly'slittle lost sister?" asked Mary, drawing a deep breath when the letterwas done.
"Maybe we've got it at home," said Grace, eagerly. "We've taken the_Harper's Weekly_ for years, and there is a pile of them in the attic.Some of them have been lost or torn up, but if I can find the pictureI'll bring it over. What did Betty say is the date of that number?"
"THE PICTURE PASSED AROUND THE CIRCLE."]
"December twenty-fifth, ninety-seven," said Joyce, referring to theletter.
"Well, as you can't go over to Elsie's with me now, I'll wait till someother time. I'll go home now and look for that picture before dark."
"Come back in time for the bonfire," said Joyce cordially. "We have somefine stories ready."
"All right," responded Grace. "I'd love to."
"In the meantime we'll clear away the wreck, and eat our supper," saidJoyce, as Grace went down the path and Mary followed the little motherinto the pantry. They had just hung up the last tea towel and calledJack to light the bonfire, when Grace came back. She had the picturewith her, and they looked long and earnestly at the little bunch ofmisery, sobbing in the corner.
"What if Dot's father has brought her out West!" exclaimed Mary,impulsively, as she continued to gaze at the forlorn little figure."What if she should come to our house begging some day, and we shouldfind her! Wouldn't it be grand? and wouldn't Molly and the girls beglad?"
"THE PICTURE PASSED AROUND THE CIRCLE."]
"It makes me want to cry," said Joyce. "If I were rich I'd go out andhunt for all the poor little children like this that I could find, anddo something to make them happy. Surely somebody of all the thousandswho have seen that picture must have been moved to pity by it. Notelling how much good that artist has done, by making people see some ofthe misery in the world that they can help. That is the kind of anartist I hope to be some day."
There were many stories told that evening around the birthday bonfire,which Jack kept ablaze, not only with leaves, but with pine cones andhickory knots. Giants and ghosts and hobgoblins, Indians and burglarsand wild beasts, took their turns in the thrilling tales. But none madesuch a profound impression as the story of Molly's little lost sister,who perhaps at that very moment was locked in a dark closet by a drunkenfather, or sobbing herself to sleep, bruised and hungry. For one reason,it was real, and for another, the picture passed around the circle inthe light of the glowing bonfire appealed to every child heart there.
"I wish the Giant Scissors were real," said Holland, referring to hisfavourite tale. "They'd find her. Joyce, what would you have to say tothem to make them go in search?"
"Giant Scissors, rise in power! Find little Dot this very hour!
And then they would go rushing away over mountains and dales," continuedJoyce, who knew how greatly Holland enjoyed these variations of hisfavourite story. "Through streets and through alleys they'd go, throughmansions and tenements until they found her and brought her back toMolly. Then, hand in hand, the big sister and the little one wouldfollow the Scissors back to the home of Ethelred, because, like him, theonly kingdom that they crave is the kingdom of a loving heart and ahappy fireside. There would be feasting and merrymaking for seventy daysand seventy nights, with the Scissors keeping guard at the portal ofEthelred, so that only those who belong to the kingdom of loving heartsand gentle hands might enter in."
Strangely moved by the story, little Norman got up from his seat and ranto Joyce, burying his head in her lap. "I hope I'll never be losted from_my_ big sister," he cried, his voice quivering, despite the fact thathe no longer wore kilts.
"Me, too," said Holland, sliding along the bench a little closer to her."Fellows that haven't got any sisters to get up birthday parties for 'emand everything don't know what they miss."
Joyce looked over at Grace with a smile that seemed to say, "What
did Itell you? These kids, as you call them, do appreciate what their sistersdo for them."
Long after the bonfire was out and the birthday guests had departed,Holland turned restlessly on his pillow. The many boats he had eaten mayhave had something to do with his restlessness, but the thought of thelonely little child for whom Molly was grieving was still in his mind,when his mother looked in an hour later, to see if all was well for thenight.
"I'm thankful for the party," he announced unexpectedly, as she bentover him, "and I'm thankful for most everything I can think of, but I'mmost thankfullest because we aren't any of us in this house lost fromeach other."
"Please God you may say that on all your birthdays," whispered hismother, kissing him. Then she went away with the light, and silencereigned in the little brown house.
The Little Colonel's Holidays Page 10