CHAPTER IX.
FOURTH OF JULY.
The children were up at the peep of dawn. Granny was awakened bysomething that seemed not unlike the shock of an earthquake; butFlossy, rubbing her eyes, said with a sigh,--
"Oh, dear! Joe has begun with his pistol the first thing! What doespossess boys to be so noisy!"
Charlie, perched astride the gate-post, her clothes considerablytumbled, and her hair unkempt, thought it splendid. "If Joe would onlylet her fire _once!_ Just as soon as she had a dollar she meant to buya pistol of her own. It would always be good to keep away robbers!"
Joe laughed uproariously.
"Robbers indeed! There's nothing to steal here, unless it's some of theyoungsters. You'd be sure to go first, Charlie!"
"I shall be thankful when Fourth of July is over," said Granny in atroubled voice, while Joe was singing,--
"But children are not pigs, you know, And cannot pay the rint;"
but at that remark so derogatory to patriotism, he bridled up at once.
"Fourth of July's as good as Saint Patrick, or any other man. Whowould be so base and ignoble of soul, and stingy of powder, as not tocelebrate his birthday! when the country stretches from the north poleto the south, and is kept from bursting only by the centrifugal forcesof the equator"--
Hal's rooster finished the speech by his longest and loudest crow.
"Good for you! You've some patriotism, I see. You are not craven ofsoul, if powder doesn't come in your way. Granny, when can we havebreakfast? I'm about famished with all my speech-making."
Hal fed his crowd of chickens, and amused Dot, who did not quite enjoybeing deprived of her morning nap. Presently they were summoned totheir meal.
"I'm going over to the store," announced Joe. "I want to see theDeclaration of Independence read by the American eagle, and the salutefired by the Stars and Stripes, while the militia climb up theirmuskets and give three cheers."
"Are they going to do that?" asked Charlie. "Granny, can't I go too?"
"You must put on a clean dress."
"Oh, dear! when I slept in mine too, so as to be ready," Charlieexclaimed, broken-hearted. "Won't you wait, Joe?"
"I can't bother with girls," returned Joe.
Charlie lamented her hard fate, but emerged from the hands of Florencequite a respectable looking child. Kit spent some time in adorninghimself, and trying to smooth his refractory scalp-lock. He had beenvery quiet all the morning.
"Now that they are off we can have a little peace," said Florence.
Granny sighed. They were a great bother and torment, to be sure; but,after all, it was good to have the merry, noisy crew, safe and sound,and she should be glad when they returned.
Hal's tastes inclined neither to fire-crackers nor sky-rockets. So hewent into the garden, and began to look after his rather neglectedvegetables. The chickens made bad work, it must be confessed, thoughthe attractions of their buckwheat field were pretty strong, and Halingeniously repaired the fence with brush; but now and then there wouldbe a raid. The Lima beans were doing beautifully, the corn lookedpromising; and, altogether, he thought the prospect was fair. Then hemet with a delightful surprise.
"O Granny!" and he rushed into the house. "Just think,--three of mygrape-vines have beautiful long shoots on them. I haven't looked inever so long, for I thought they didn't mean to grow. Come and see."
There they were, sure enough. Hal had set out some cuttings from theneighbors, but he had been almost discouraged with their slow progress.
"That's a Concord, and that's a Hartford Prolific. Don't they looklovely in their soft, pinkish green! Why, I feel as if I could givethem all a hug. I'll have to put a lattice round, for fear of thechickens."
So he went to work. Dot wanted to help, and brought him useless sticks,while she carried off his hammer and lost his nails. But when shelooked up at him with the sweetest little face in the world, and said,"Ain't Dotty 'mart? Dotty help 'ou," he could not scold her.
The dinner was rather quiet. None of the stray youngsters made theirappearance. Afterward Florence dressed herself, and went to see NettyBigelow, her dearest school-friend, and imparted to her that she wasgoing to Seabury next Monday, to stay a month with a very elegant lady,and that she would live at a hotel. Then she described her ride toSalem, and the dinner.
"Oh, how nice it must have been!" said Netty. "You are the luckiestgirl I ever did know, Florence Kenneth."
"I just wish I was as rich as Mrs. Osgood. It seems to me that poorpeople cannot be very happy."
"I don't know," Netty returned thoughtfully. "The Graysons do not seem_very_ happy."
"But I never saw such mean, disagreeable girls; and they are notdressed a bit pretty. If there's any thing in school they always wanttheir share, but they never treat."
"And we are poor," continued Netty; "but I'm sure we are happy."
Florence felt that her friend could hardly understand the degree ofhappiness that she meant. She was rather out-growing her youthfulcompanions.
About mid-afternoon Hal took a walk over to the store. The old rustycannon of Revolutionary memory had been fired on the green, thespeeches made, and the small crowd dispersed. Nearly everybody had goneto Salem; but a few old stagers still congregated at the store, itbeing general head-quarters.
Hal picked Charlie out of a group of children, in a very dilapidatedcondition. Her once clean dress was soiled, torn, and burned; herhands gave the strongest evidence that dust entered largely intothe composition of small people; and her face was variegated byperspiration and dabs from these same unlucky hands.
"O Charlie! you look like a little vagabond!" exclaimed Hal in despair."I'm ashamed of you!"
"But I've had such fun, and cakes and candies and fire-crackers andtorpedoes! I wish Fourth of July would keep right straight along. Iburned one of my fingers, but I didn't mind," declared the patrioticgirl.
"Where's Kit?"
"I don't know. Joe was round this morning, but I guess he went toSalem."
"You must come home with me now."
"O Hal! we haven't found all the 'cissers' yet. They're almost as goodas fire-crackers."
Several of the children were burrowing in the grass and sand for"fusees,"--crackers that had failed to explode to the full extent oftheir powder. They broke them in two and relighted them.
Hal was inexorable; so Charlie cried a little, and then bade her dirtycompanions a sad farewell.
"Oh!" exclaimed Granny, as they came marching up the path, "what asight! And your Sunday best dress, Charlie!"
"Well," sniffed Charlie with a crooked face, though there were no tearsto give it effect, "I'm sure I didn't want to put it on. I hate to bedressed up! Something always happens to your Sunday clothes. I couldn'thelp tearing it, and Jimmy Earl set off a cracker right in my lap"--
"Well, I'm glad it wasn't your eyes," said Granny thankfully. And thenshe took the forlorn pyramid of dirt and disorder up stairs, where shehad a good scrubbing, and was re-arrayed in a more decent fashion.Anybody else would have scolded, but Granny was so glad to have herback safe and sound.
Her heart was sorely anxious about Kit and Joe. She let the supperstand on the table, and they all sat on the doorstep in the moonlight;for Dot had taken a nap in the afternoon, and was bright as a new penny.
And she fancied, as many mothers and grandmothers have before now, thatshocking accidents had happened, and maybe they would be maimed andcrippled for life.
Presently they came straggling along, and Granny uttered a cry ofrelief.
"Oh!" she said, "are you all here? Haven't you lost your hands, noryour fingers, nor"--
"Nor our noses, and not even our tongues," laughed Joe. "Here we are,pistol and all."
"O Kit! where have you been? I was a most worried to death; and youlook tuckered out."
For Kit was pale to ghostliness as he stood there in the moonlight.
"Where do you think I found him,--the small snipe? Way over to Salem!"
"O Kit
! did you see the fireworks and the soldiers?" exclaimed Charliebreathlessly.
Kit sank down on the doorstep.
"Walked all the way over there, and hadn't a penny!"
"How could you Kit, without saying a word?" exclaimed Granny in a toneof mild reproach.
"I could have given you a little money," said Hal tenderly.
"And it's a mercy that you didn't get run over, or shot to pieces, ortrampled to death in the crowd"--
"O Granny! don't harrow up our feelings," said Joe.
"I was afraid you wouldn't let me go," began Kit, at the firstavailable opportunity for slipping in a word. "And I didn't walk quiteall the way there,--a man came along, and gave me a ride. I wanted tohear the music so much! The soldiers were splendid, Charlie; some of'em with great white feathers in their hats and swords and beautifulhorses and coats all over gold"--
"Wonderful hats," suggested Joe with a twinkle; for Kit had gone onwith small regard to commas or accent.
"They all know what I mean!" said Kit rather testily.
"Don't plague him," interposed Hal. "About the music, Kit?"
"Oh! I can't half tell you;" and Kit gave a long sigh. "There weredrums and fifes, and those clappers--I don't remember what you called'em, but I liked it best when the men were horning with their horns"--
Joe gave a loud outburst, and went over on his head.
"Well," said Kit much aggrieved, "what are you laughing about?"
"Horning! That is good! You had better write a new dictionary, Kit.It is a decided improvement upon 'toot,' and must commend itself toFlossy's attention for superior elegance. There, my dear, give me avote of thanks;" and Joe twitched Flossy's long curls.
"I don't know what you call it, then," said Kit rather sulkily.
"They blew on the horns," Hal rejoined in his soothing tone, thatwas always a comfort in times of disturbance; "and the cornets,wind-instruments, I believe, though I don't know the names of them all.It must have been delightful."
"Oh, it was! I shut my eyes, and it seemed as if I was floating on asea, and there were all the waves beating up and down, and then a longsoft sound like the wind blowing in and shaking it all to echoes. I wasso sorry when they stopped. They all went into the hotel, I guess itwas. By and by I wandered off a little ways, and sat on a stoop; andsome one was playing on a piano. That was beautiful too. I'd like tocrawl inside of something, as the fairies do, and just live there andlisten forever."
"And then I found him, hungry and tired, and bought him some cake,"interrupted Joe. "We waited to see the fireworks, and rode home in Mr.Terry's wagon. But for that I guess he'd been sitting on the stoop yet."
"And you haven't tasted a mouthful of supper!" exclaimed Granny; "and Ia listenin' here, and never thinkin' of it."
"I'm not much hungry," said Joe. "I was treated a time or two by theboys."
But he thought he wouldn't tell that he had taken up his week's wagesin advance, and spent it all. Fourth of July did not come but once ayear, and a body ought to have a good time.
Poor Joe had discovered, much to his chagrin, that a dollar and a halfwould not work wonders. It seemed to him at first that he never couldget his suit of clothes paid for; then it was a hat, a pair of shoes,some cheap summer garments; and he never had a penny for Hal or any oneelse. In fact, he began to think that he would make more money workinground for the farmers. But then the store was steady employment.
He gave Charlie a glowing account of the fireworks, while Kit waseating a bowl of bread and milk; then they were glad to tumble into bed.
"I'm thankful it's all over, and their arms and legs are safe, andtheir eyes not blown out," said Granny with fervent gratitude.
Kit was pretty tired the next day, and Joe found it rather hard tomake all things work together for good. Granny shed a few tears overCharlie's "best dress," and wondered how she could patch it so as tolook decent.
Florence, in the mean while, was much occupied with her own plans. Shecould hardly wait for Monday to come, and proposed to do the usualwashing on Saturday, so there wouldn't be any "muss" around when Mrs.Osgood called.
She was neat as a new pin as she sat awaiting her visitor. Her clotheshad been looked over, and the best selected. There was nothing topack them in, however, except a small, moth-eaten hair trunk, or adilapidated bandbox; and the latter was Florence's detestation.
"I can do them up in a paper," she said; and Charlie was sent to scourthe neighborhood for the required article.
Mrs. Osgood and Mrs. Duncan came together. The latter lady had laugheda little at her sister's plan at first; but, when she found it wasreally serious, thought it would be as well for her to try it a month.
Mrs. Duncan was rather exclusive, and had a horror of crowds of poorpeople's children.
"It would be so much better to take some one who had no relatives," shesaid.
"I shall not adopt the whole family, you may be sure," was the response.
Some of Mrs. Duncan's prejudices were surmounted by the general orderand tidiness to which Florence had reduced matters; and she waswonderfully well-bred, considering her disadvantages.
"I shall keep her for a month, while I remain at Seabury; and, ifI should want her afterward, we can make some new arrangements,"Mrs. Osgood explained. "I shall see, of course, that she has ampleremuneration."
Florence colored. Living with such a grand lady seemed enough, withoutany pay.
"What are you crying for, Granny?" she asked as she followed her intothe kitchen. "How ridiculous! Why, it is just as if I were going awayupon a visit; and you wouldn't be sorry then."
"It isn't because I'm sorry;--but--none of you have ever been awayafore"--
Florence knitted her brows. How foolish to make such a fuss!
"There are so many of us, that we're like bees in a hive. You ought tobe glad to have me go. And I dare say I shall ride over some day"--
"To be sure. But every one is missed."
Florence kissed the children all round, and was much mortified at thebundle tied up in a newspaper.
"If I get any money, I mean to buy a travelling-bag," she commentedinternally.
"Tate me too," exclaimed Dot, clinging to Florence's dress: luckily herhands were clean.
"Oh! you can't go, Dotty: Charlie will show you the beautiful chickens."
Dot set up a fearful cry, and wriggled herself out of Charlie's arms,and Granny took her. Florence hurried through her good-bys, and wasglad to leave the confusion behind.
Granny indulged in a little cry afterward, and then went to herironing. Of course they must all flit from the old hive some time.She could hardly persuade herself that Florence was fifteen,--almost ayoung lady.
Joe and Hal wanted to hear all the particulars that evening. Charliedilated grandly on the magnificence of the ladies.
"It's real odd," said Joe. "Flossy always wanted to be a lady; andmaybe this is a step towards it. I wonder if I shall ever get to sea!"
"Oh, don't!" exclaimed Granny in a pitiful voice.
When Mrs. Green heard the news, she had to come over.
"I don't suppose they'd ever thought on't, if it hadn't been for me,"she exclaimed. "They stopped to my house while their wagon was bein'mended, and the sickly lookin' one seemed to be terribly interested inyour folks; so, thinks I, if I can do a good turn for a neighbor it'sall right; and I spoke a word, now and then, for Florence,--though it'sa pity her name hadn't been Mary Jane. I never did approve of suchromantic names for children. And I hope Florence will be a good girl,and suit; for the Lord knows that you have your hands full!"
Charlie ran wild, as usual, through vacation. In one of her longrambles in the woods she found a hollow tree with a rock beside it,and her fertile imagination at once suggested a cave. She worked veryindustriously to get it in order; brought a great pile of leaves fora bed, and armsful of brush to cook with, and then besought Kit to runaway and live in the woods.
Kit tried it for one day. They had some apples and berries, and apiece of bread
taken from the pantry when Granny wasn't around. Theyundertook to fish, but could not catch any thing; though Charlie wasquite sure, that, if Joe would lend her his pistol, she could shoot abird.
"Anyhow, we'll have a fire, and roast our apples," said Charlie,undaunted.
"But it's awful lonesome, I think. S'pose we don't stay all night:Granny'll be worried."
"Pooh!" returned Charlie with supreme disdain.
So she lighted her fire. The twigs crackled and blazed, and the flameran along on the ground.
"Isn't it splendid!" she exclaimed, "Why, it's almost like fireworks!Oh, see, Kit! that dead tree has caught. We'll have a gay old time now."
Alas! Charlie's "gay old time" came to an ignoble end. Some one rushedthrough the woods shouting,--
"Hillo! What the mischief are you at? Don't you know any better than tobe setting the woods on fire?"
It was Mr. Trumbull, looking angry enough. He bent the burning treeover, and stamped out the blaze; then poked the fire apart, and crushedthe burning fragments into the soft ground. A dense smoke filled thelittle nook.
"Whose work is this? You youngsters deserve a good thrashing, and I'vehalf a mind to take your hide off."
With that he caught Kit by the arm.
"He didn't do it," spoke up courageous Charlie. "He never brought aleaf nor a stick; and you sha'n't thrash him!"
"What's he here for, then?"
"I brought him."
"And did you kindle the fire?"
"Yes," said Charlie, hanging her head a little.
"What for? Didn't you know that you might burn the woods down, in sucha dry time? Why, I could shut you up in jail for it."
That frightened Charlie a good deal.
"I didn't mean to--do any harm: we thought--we'd have a littlefun"--came out Charlie's answer by jerks.
"Fine fun! Why, you're Granny Kenneth's youngsters! I guess I'll haveto march you off to jail."
"Oh, let Kit go home!" cried Charlie with a great lump in her throat."It wasn't his fault. He didn't even want to come."
Something in the child's air and frankness touched Mr. Trumbull'sheart, and caused him to smile. He had a houseful of children at home,every one of whom possessed a wonderful faculty for mischief; but thislittle girl's bravery disarmed his anger.
"I want to explain to you that a fire like this might burn down ahandsome piece of woodlands worth thousands of dollars. All these largetrees are sent to the sawmill, and made into boards and shingles andvarious things. So it would be a great loss."
"I'm very sorry," returned Charlie. "I didn't know it would do anyharm."
"If I don't take you to jail this time, will you promise never to do itagain?"
Charlie shivered a little at her narrow escape.
"I surely wouldn't," she said very soberly.
By this time Mr. Trumbull had the fire pretty well out.
"Well, don't ever let me catch you at it again, or you will not get offso easily. Now trot home as fast as you can."
Charlie paused a moment, tugging at the cape of her sun-bonnet.
"I'm glad you told me about burning up the woods," she said. "I didn'tthink of that."
Mr. Trumbull laughed pleasantly.
So the two walked homeward, Charlie in a more serious frame of mindthan usual.
"I tell you, Kit," she began at length, "out West is the place to havea cave, and fires, and all that Hal had a book about it. Sometimeschildren are kidnapped by Indians, and live in their tents, and learnhow to make bead-bags and moccasins"--
"I don't want to go;" and Kit gave his slender shoulders a shrug. "Theyscalp you too."
"But they wouldn't me. I should marry one of the chiefs." Then, after arather reflective pause, "I'm glad we didn't burn down Mr. Trumbull'swoods: only I guess he wasn't in earnest when he said he would put mein jail."
But for all that she begged Kit not to relate their adventure toGranny, and perplexed her youthful brain for a more feasible method ofrunning away.
The house seemed very odd without Florence. The children's small errorspassed unrebuked; and they revelled in dirt to their utmost content.For what with working out a day now and then, getting meals, patchingold clothes, and sundry odd jobs, Granny had her poor old hands quitefull. But she never complained.
The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe; Or, There's No Place Like Home Page 11