Caddie Woodlawn

by Carol Ryrie Brink

  Miss Parker laid down her ruler with a sigh of relief. “Well, well,” she said, “it’s the last day of school. Run along now, all of you.”

  But as they were starting home, all happily reunited, she ran after them to say: “Better come back and wait until the storm’s over. You’ve got a long ways to go.”

  “We can make it,” called back Tom cheerfully. “Mother’ll worry if we’re late. Good-by, Miss Parker.”

  “Good-by! Good-by! Good-by!” called the other three.

  “Good-by!” called Miss Parker, “and you’re nice children, all of you, even if Warren did disgrace me.”

  Before they had gone half a mile, the storm broke with all its strength. Lightning and thunder crashed and flashed together in a perfect fury! Stunned by the force of it, the children ran for shelter under the great oak tree that marked the halfway point between home and school. Its branches lashed and creaked, but it was something sturdy to cling to. Caddie and Warren and Hetty clung together under the tree, but Tom urged them on.

  “Let’s get home,” he shouted, “let’s run for it.”

  “Oh, please let’s wait here,” begged the others.

  “No!” cried Tom, “we’ve got to get home. Come along, every one of you.” When Tom made up his mind, the others followed him. Shielding their faces, they dashed out of shelter and along the road.

  Crash! Bang! There was a blinding flash and something hurled them onto the ground. Dazed and crying, they picked themselves up and looked back. The oak tree had been split in two by lightning. Another moment under its shelter and all of them might have been killed.

  How they ran that last half mile! No one had ever run it so quickly before. Even Hetty could not outstrip the others to be the first to tell. Breathless and wild-eyed, with wet and muddy clothes, they rushed into the kitchen.

  “Mother!” they shouted all together. “Mother, listen to what happened to us!”

  17. Pee-Wee

  Some days later the members of the Woodlawn family were finishing breakfast. Caddie, Tom, and Warren, at one side of the table, were buzzing and tittering over some project for the day. Now that school was over, their days were full of delight. Today they were talking of going to Chimney Bluffs. Father folded his napkin and pushed back his chair.

  “All play and no work,” said Father, purposely misquoting the old adage, “makes Tom, Caddie, and Warren lazy children. Isn’t that so?” He looked down the table at them and smiled.

  “Oh, no, Father,” said Caddie, “we’ve been very industrious.”

  “The results of their industry,” said Mrs. Woodlawn dryly, “being dirty faces, holes in their stockings, and three-cornered rents in trousers and pettitcoats.”

  “Well,” said Father, “suppose I put them to work? I’m going to give you three children the far field to plow, the one next to the woods. You may hitch Betsy to the plow and take turns at it if you wish. Take as long as you like, but I’ll expect your task well done.”

  “All by ourselves? Without Robert? That’ll be bully! We can go to Chimney Bluffs some other day,” cried the three adventurers, and away they dashed for Betsy and the plow. Indian John’s dog barked and ran with them. It was almost as good as having Nero.

  The first few furrows were great fun. Sometimes in the past they had turned up Indian arrowheads in plowing the far field, but nothing so fortunate happened today and plowing gets very monotonous after a while. It was a sparkling spring day with a blue sky and a warm sun. The silver birches in the wood had begun to glow with a faint aura of budding green, and the willows at the edge of the river were turning yellow. Overhead flew a phœbe bird, crying: “Pee-wee! Pee-wee!”

  “Let’s take turns with the plow,” said Tom. “All three of us don’t have to go around every time. It takes only one to guide the plow. Let one guide the plow twice around the field while the other two sit in the fence corner and tell stories.”

  “Hurrah!” yelled Warren. “I speak to be first to sit in the fence corner.”

  “All right,” said Tom. “I’ll take Betsy around first while you and Caddie sit. I’ll be thinking up a story.”

  “You spoke to be first to sit,” said Caddie to Warren. “I speak to be the one to sit when Tom tells his story.”

  “Oh, that’s no fair. Tom’s got to tell it to me, too.”

  “All right,” said Tom again. “I’ll tell it twice, but first I’ve got to make it up.” He flapped the reins over Betsy’s back, caught the handles of the plow, and started his first furrow. Caddie and Warren settled down in a sunny corner of the zigzag rail fence to think up stories. They usually retold Robert Ireton’s lusty Irish tales or some old favorites from the tattered volume of Andersen’s Fairy Tales. Sometimes they even told the stories which Mother read them from The Young Ladies’ Friend or The Mother’s Assistant, when they weren’t too dull or moral. But Tom made his stories up. That’s why Tom’s stories were always in demand. Tom’s stories had the virtue of novelty, and they were full of wild and bloody action. That they, too, were a sort of compound of Ireton and Andersen did not occur to the children, who knew few stories, except those in the Bible and the school reader.

  “Have you thought it up yet?” cried Warren and Caddie, as Tom came around at the end of his first furrow. “Pee-wee! Pee-wee!” called the phœbe bird overhead. Betsy would have stopped, but Tom slapped the reins over her back and swung into his second furrow.

  “Yep!” he called back. “I’m gettin’ it.”

  Reluctantly Warren took the plow when Tom came back from his second round. Caddie and John’s dog cuddled close to Tom as he sat down. The spring air was still a little keen for sitting long in comfort.

  “Well, begin,” said Caddie.

  Tom’s eyes were bright with satisfaction over his

  story. “Well,” he said, “once upon a time there was an old farmer named Pee-Wee.”

  “What a funny name for a farmer!” exclaimed Caddie.

  “Never you mind that,” said Tom, a trifle impatient at being interrupted. “You’ll know why his name had to be Pee-Wee in a minute, if you’ll listen.”

  “Go on, then.”

  “Well, once there was an old farmer named Pee-Wee, and he had a farm beside a lake. And one day he was out plowing up his field when a little bird flew overhead, calling ‘Pee-wee! Pee-wee!’ Now, old man Pee-Wee had a pretty bad temper, and he thought the little bird was just making fun of him. So what did he do but pick up a rock he had just plowed out, and heave it at the bird. ‘I’ll teach you to make fun of old man Pee-Wee!’ says he. The bird just flapped his wings and flew on, but the rock fell back and hit one of Pee-Wee’s oxen on the head, and it fell over dead.

  “Well, old man Pee-Wee was mighty mad, but he wouldn’t ever let anything get him down. So he stopped plowing and skinned his ox and took the hide to town to see what he could get for it.

  “Well, just as he was driving into town, he saw a secondhand store with a lot of old furniture sitting out in front, and there were some young people running about and playing I Spy. Just as Pee-Wee drove up, he saw a very rich young man run and hide himself in a big, empty churn, and pull the cover shut after him. So Pee-Wee got down off his wagon and took the ox hide in to the storekeeper.

  “ ‘What’ll you give me for this hide?’ says he to the storekeeper.

  “ ‘Why, nothing,’ says the storekeeper. ‘I haven’t got money to spend on old ox hides.’

  “ ‘I’ll tell you what,’ says Pee-Wee. “Trade me that worthless old churn for my hide, an’ you’ll be getting the best of the bargain.’

  “ ‘All right,’ says the storekeeper, ‘if you’ll carry it off.’ So Pee-Wee left his hide and loaded the churn up onto his wagon.

  “Now, when Pee-Wee had got the churn a little ways out into the country, the rich young man began to pound on the side of it and yell: ‘Let me out! Let me out!’

  “ ‘How so?’ says Pee-Wee. ‘I bought this churn and everything in it. You belong to me.’
/>   “ ‘I’m rich,’ says the young man. ‘I’ll pay you anything. Only let me out.’

  “So Pee-Wee let the young man out an’ the young man gave him a purse full of gold. When Pee-Wee got home, he showed all his neighbors the purse full of gold which he had got in exchange for the ox hide. As soon as they saw it, the neighbors all ran to kill their best oxen and take the hides to town. When they found they could get nothing for them, they were so mad at Pee-Wee they swore they’d never speak to him again.”

  “Is that all?” asked Caddie eagerly, as Tom paused for breath.

  “Oh, no,” said Tom, “the best part’s coming.”

  Warren, going by on his first furrow, looked at them wistfully, but Tom motioned him on.

  “Well, some time after that,” continued Tom, “Pee-Wee and his old wife were out hoeing potatoes, when that same bird flew over the potato patch, and sang: ‘Pee-wee! Pee-wee!’

  “ ‘You’ll try that again, will you?’ yells Pee-Wee, flying into a passion. ‘I’ll teach you!’ and he threw his hoe at the bird. But the bird flew away and the hoe came down and hit Pee-Wee’s wife over the head and killed her.”

  “Oh, dear!” said Caddie. “Did you really mean it to kill her, Tom?”

  “That’s all right,” said Tom, “it’s just a story. So then, when Pee-Wee saw that his wife was dead, of course he felt very sorry, but he wouldn’t ever let anything get him down. So he tied her sunbonnet on her to shade her face, and set her up on a seat with her back

  to the lake and facing the highway which ran along by the lake at that place. Then he set a basket of oranges on one side of her and a basket of lemons on the other, and then he went and hid himself in the bushes near by. Pretty soon along came a man driving a coach and four black horses. When the man saw Pee-Wee’s wife sitting beside the road, he stopped his horses and got down off the coach.

  “ ‘Say, old lady, how do you sell your oranges?’ he asked.

  “Pee-Wee’s wife didn’t answer.

  “ ‘How do you sell your lemons?’ No answer.

  “The man thought she was deaf, and he began to shout as loud as he could: “Say, old lady, how do you sell your oranges? How do you sell your lemons?’ Still no answer, and was he mad! Before he knew what he was doing, he reached out and gave her a punch, and the poor old woman fell over backward into the lake.

  “Now Pee-Wee came out of the bushes, and he says, says he: ‘You’ve drowned my poor old wife, you rascal. I’ll have the law on you.’

  “ ‘Oh, please, sir,’ says the driver of the coach, ‘don’t do that. I didn’t mean to drown her at all, at all. Here, I’ll give you my coach and four black horses, if you’ll say nothing more about it.’

  “ ‘Very well,’ says Pee-Wee, ‘but see you don’t go around pushing any more old women into lakes.’

  “Well, Pee-Wee’s neighbors had said they’d never speak to him again, but when they saw him driving a fine coach and four prancing black horses, they couldn’t help coming to ask him about them. Pee-Wee told them he’d accidentally killed his wife, and how he’d set her up by the roadside, and the coachman had given him the coach and four in exchange for her. So all of the farmers knocked their old wives on the head and set them up by the road to wait for a coach.”

  “Good land, Tom!” cried Caddie. “They’d never do that!”

  “Say, who’s telling this story anyway?” demanded Tom irritably.

  “Well, go on.”

  “Of course, the coach didn’t come along,” continued Tom, “and the other farmers were good and mad, as you may well believe.”

  “I should think so!” said Caddie.

  “They began to plot how they could get rid of Pee-Wee. So they came to his farm one day and got him and put him in a big hogshead barrel. They headed it up with Pee-Wee inside, and they trundled it down to the lake, where they meant to drown him. Now, on the edge of the lake, there was a tavern like the one down to Dunnville, and before they drowned Pee-Wee, the farmers decided they’d go in an’ get a drink to celbrate getting rid of him. So in they went, leaving Pee-Wee in the hogshead on the edge of the lake.

  “ ‘Let me out! Let me out!’ shouts Pee-Wee, pounding his fists on the sides of the hogshead.

  “Now just at this time along comes an old shepherd, driving his flock of sheep. He was old and he had come a long way, an’ he was mighty tired of life. So he asked Pee Wee what was the matter, and, when Pee-Wee told him, he says, ‘I’ll change places with you, Pee-Wee. I’m old, I am, and mighty tired of life.’ So he took the head off the barrel and let Pee-Wee out, and he got in himself. Well, Pee-Wee headed up the hogshead and went off, driving all the sheep before him to his own farm.

  “Pretty soon out came the other farmers, feeling pretty gay. ‘Good-by, Pee-Wee,’ says they. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish,’ and they up and pushed the hogshead into the lake. On their way home, they stopped by Pee-Wee’s farm to divide up his things among themselves, an’ there was old Pee-Wee himself with a fine new flock of sheep.

  “‘How come you’re here, an’ where did you get those sheep?’ asked the farmers. ‘We thought you were at the bottom of the lake.’

  “ ‘So I was,’ says Pee-Wee. ‘You put me there yourselves, didn’t you? But ’tis a grand place at the bottom of the lake an’ full o’ sheep. I took only the smallest part for myself. There’s flocks and flocks left for the rest of you.’

  “ ‘Do tell!’ says the rest of the farmers, and they were all so greedy that they ran and jumped in the lake to get flocks of sheep. Of course they never came back again, and Pee-Wee was lord and master of all their lands and cattle, and that’s the end.”

  Caddie heaved a deep sigh.

  “That’s a good story, Tom,” she said admiringly, “only I hope he didn’t live happily every afterward.”

  “Well, sometimes he used to have nightmares,” conceded Tom.

  “My turn now,” said Warren, coming up from the second round.

  Caddie set her hands to the handles of the plow and chirped to Betsy. As she went away down the field, she heard Tom beginning: “Once upon a time there was an old farmer named Pee-Wee—” How many times she was to hear it again! For that became the Woodlawn children’s favorite story. Many years later Caddie, herself, laughing and protesting, had to tell it over and over to begging children and grandchildren.

  18. News from the Outside

  One spring day a hoarse whistle sounded down the river. “The Little Steamer!” everybody cried. “The Little Steamer is back again!”

  Father hitched up the wagon and the children all clambered in behind. Mother came out with her hands full of letters for Boston. On top was the one addressed to Miss Annabelle Grey.

  “If the sugar and coffee have come in, Johnny, be sure to lay in a supply.”

  “Yes, Harriet.”

  “And don’t forget the mail.”

  “Oh, no, we won’t forget the mail!” shouted everybody.

  Only a few letters and papers got through by sledge during the winter, and the first steamer in the spring was sure to be loaded with news from the outside world. The Little Steamer was a keel boat belonging to the lumber company and it was principally used to take men and goods up and down the river to different lumber camps. But for the settlers it meant something far more than this—it was the one thing that linked them up with the outside world.

  The river bank was crowded with people to see the Little Steamer come in. Father drove up just as it reached the dock, and the children stood up in the back of the wagon and waved and cheered.

  “What’s the news, Skipper?” shouted someone on the bank. The captain tossed a coil of rope to the many eager hands on shore waiting to pull it in.

  “General Lee has surrendered,” he shouted back.

  “Lee surrendered? No! Can it be possible? Lee surrendered! Then, by golly, the war is ended! The abolitionists have won the war! Hooray! Hooray!” The people on the banks began tossing up their hats and shouting.

  T
he Woodlawn children shouted, too. “Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!”—until their throats were hoarse.

  Hetty plucked Caddie by the skirt. “Why is the war over, Caddie?”

  “Well, you see,” said Caddie, giving Hetty an excited hug, “General Lee is the leader of the South, and when he surrenders, that means that our side and President Lincoln’s side has won the war.”

  “Hooray!” shouted Hetty. “Hooray!”

  “Hooray for the slaves! Hooray for Abraham Lincoln!” shouted Tom. The name of the president caught the crowd’s fancy.

  “Hooray for Honest Abe!” they cried. “Long live Abe Lincoln!”

  After the excitement of this news, even the piles of letters and papers from Boston for Mother were an anticlimax. But still there was the fun of breaking the news at home to Mother and Clara and Mrs. Conroy and the men. Father almost forgot the sugar and coffee in the excitement of politics, and Hetty had to remind him. But at last they were on their way homeward, chattering and bouncing, and shouting to make their voices heard above the rattling of the wheels.

  What a day it was! There were so many letters to be read, so many of the world’s doings to be caught up with. That night as they sat about the fire, even nuts and candle lighters were forgotten. They sat with wide eyes and clasped hands while Mother read aloud from the back numbers of The Young Ladies’ Friend and The Mother’s Assistant, and Clara turned the pages of Godey’s Lady’s Book and sighed over the beautiful costumes. At bedtime, they knelt together as they did when the circuit rider came, and Father gave thanks for the end of the war and begged that Mr. Lincoln be made strong and wise to lead them back to peace and security.

  Spring came quickly in the next few days, and what a happy spring it was, with no shadow of war to spoil its glitter! All through the woods sprang up a carpet of trilliums and wind flowers and hepaticas. They were delicate pink and blue and white, and there were so many of them that picking did not spoil them. The wild cherry trees put on dresses of white like brides or young ladies at their first ball. The tender new leaves on the trees were almost as many-colored as in autumn. Some were softly yellow, some pinkish-red, some like bronze or copper. Later they would all be green, and they would grow dusty with summer and look tired and languid in the heat. But now everything was fresh and young.