But Ma was sympathetic. “Now don’t tease your sister,” she said. “She didn’t do it on purpose. We were just all too busy to help her, that’s all. It’s too bad I didn’t notice before we left.”
Pa chuckled. “But she did look like she had her head screwed on backwards when she walked up there,” he said.
“Now, Pa, you’re as bad as the boys,” Ma scolded. “Mabel feels bad enough already. Don’t make her feel worse!”
Of course I got over it all right. But that dress was never quite the same again. Though no one mentioned it, whenever I wore the dress to church, I was sure they all remembered how funny I had looked. Ma didn’t make a dress with so many buttons on the back again. And she was careful to check on me before we left the house to go anywhere.
Grandma laughed at the memory.
“It seems funny now,” she said, “but it was far from funny then. I guess it was just what I needed to take me down a peg.”
10
Nellie’s Trips to Town
The rain was splashing down, and I was bored.
“Grandma,” I said, “what did you do to have fun when you were a little girl?”
“Oh my,” said Grandma. “There was a lot to do on the farm. We had a swing in the big tree. We played in the barn loft when it rained. We waded in the brook and picked berries and nuts. There was always something to keep us busy.”
“Didn’t you ever go away on any trips?” I asked. “Did you have to stay on the farm all the time?”
“We went to church on Sunday,” said Grandma. “And sometimes we went to town with Ma and Pa for the day. That was a big treat.”
Grandma worked on her crocheting a few moments. Then she chuckled and said, “I remember one trip to town that had a funny ending. Run and get me another ball of thread, and I’ll tell you about it.”
I hurried back with the thread, and Grandma began the story.
It was a Friday, as I remember. Pa had several errands in town, and Ma wanted to do some shopping. So it was decided that the whole family would go and make a day of it. The boys hurried through their chores while Ma and I packed a lunch to take along. We were soon ready and on our way.
I went with Ma to pick out dress goods and other things she needed, and the boys went with Pa. We were to meet at the buggy later in the afternoon to get our lunch. We were going to picnic in the little grove at the edge of town. Pa tied Nellie to a hitching post near the blacksmith’s shop, and we all went our separate ways.
Ma and I took a long time picking out material and buttons and thread. Of course there were other things to look at too. By the time we got back to the blacksmith’s shop, Pa and the boys were already there.
Pa was looking up the road with a puzzled expression, and the boys were running around the back of the shop. Nellie and the buggy were nowhere to be seen.
Ma wasted no time in getting to the point.
“Pa,” she said, “where is Nellie?”
“I don’t know,” Pa replied. “But she doesn’t appear to be here.”
“Did you tie her tight?” Ma asked. “Could she have slipped the reins off the post and gone on home?”
“That’s not likely,” said Pa. “I’m sure I tied her as tight as usual. There must be some explanation for this.”
“Well,” said Ma. “I wish you’d find her in a hurry. Our lunch is in the buggy, and it’s getting late.”
“Yes, Pa,” I said. “I’m hungry.”
“We’ll find Nellie,” said Pa. “Don’t worry. I’ll ask around and see if anyone saw her start away.”
No one had. The blacksmith had noticed several buggies come and go, but he couldn’t say who was in them. There were still several horses tied there, but none of them was Nellie. Anyone who had noticed a horse pulling an empty buggy would surely have stopped it.
Evening was coming on, and we children were getting hungrier. Ma was getting more worried, and Pa had exhausted all the possibilities he could think of. At last he suggested that we go to the minister’s house to rest and decide what to do.
The minister’s wife was surprised to see us but very hospitable. “Why of course you’ll stay here,” she said when she had heard the story. “And after supper, Will can take you out to your place. I’m sure your horse must have gone on home.”
We were glad she had mentioned supper. The thought of the long ride home with nothing to eat was not a pleasant one for us children. The women began to prepare the meal, and Pa and the minister discussed our problem. There was never any thought that Nellie had been stolen. People just did not steal horses and buggies in our little town. Perhaps some mischievous boys had untied the horse, but even that didn’t seem likely with people around all the time.
There seemed to be no more to do about it that night, so after supper the minister hitched up his buggy, and we got in for our trip home. It was dark by that time, and only a few people were left on the street. Light shone from the blacksmith’s shop, however, and as we approached it, Roy called out, “Look, Pa! There’s Nellie, right where we left her!”
The minister stopped the horse, and Pa jumped down. Sure enough, Nellie and the buggy were sitting in the same spot where they had left them. Pa walked around and looked at the horse in disbelief. Nellie looked back at him as if to say, “Well, where have you been? Don’t you know it’s dark?”
By this time, the rest of us were gathered around. The lunch still sat in the buggy, untouched. We were too astonished to speak.
Finally Pa said, “I guess we might as well go home. She’s not going to tell us where she’s been.”
He thanked the minister for his help, and we climbed into our own buggy. The trip home was spent trying to find a reasonable explanation for what had happened. We could think of none. Pa was just glad to have the horse and buggy back and be on the way home.
Saturday morning we were still talking about the mystery when our neighbor Ed Hobbs drove into the yard. Pa went out to meet him and invited him in to breakfast.
“Thanks,” said Ed, “but I’ve already eaten. I just came to tell you folks what happened yesterday.”
He sat down at the table and told us the story.
“I was pretty busy yesterday,” he said, “and I had a broken plow that needed to be fixed. I couldn’t spare my boy to take it into town, so Grandpa said he’d do it for me. Grandpa’s getting pretty old and doesn’t see very well, but I thought he could probably make it to the blacksmith’s shop all right, so I loaded the plow in the buggy, and Grandpa started out.
“It wasn’t until early evening, long after Grandpa had returned, that I noticed a strange horse in the barn. Then I saw the buggy out beside the shed. I went into the house to see who was visiting. Grandpa was dozing by the fire, and there was no one else in the kitchen but the family.
“‘Grandpa,’ I said, ‘whose horse is that in the barn?’
“‘Why, it’s our horse, naturally,’ said Grandpa. ‘Whose did you think it was?’
“‘That’s not our horse, Grandpa,’ I said. ‘It looks like Brother O’Dell’s horse and buggy to me.’
“‘Brother O’Dell?’ said Grandpa. ‘Is Brother O’Dell here? Why didn’t he come in and sit a spell?’
“‘No, Grandpa,’ I replied. ‘Brother O’Dell isn’t here. I think you brought his horse and buggy home.’
“‘Now why would I do a thing like that?’ asked Grandpa indignantly. ‘I wasn’t anywhere near the O’Dells’ place today!’
“I gave up on Grandpa,” said Ed. “I hitched up your horse and drove it into town. There was our horse and buggy, right in front of the blacksmith’s shop. The blacksmith said you had been looking for your horse, but he didn’t know where you had gone, so I tied her up and came on home. I figured I’d come and tell you about it first thing this morning. I’m sorry about Grandpa. I wo
n’t send him on any more errands into town!”
Pa laughed as hard as we children did. He assured Ed that everything had turned out all right, and Grandpa Hobbs was forgiven. We seldom made a trip to town after that but someone would say, “Remember when Grandpa Hobbs took Nellie home by mistake?” I guess that was the most memorable trip to town we had when I was a little girl.
Grandma continued to rock and crochet, and I returned to the window to watch the rain and think what fun it would have been to be a little girl when Grandma was.
11
The New Pump
“Be careful,” said Grandma. “That’s hot!”
But I had already taken a swallow of the cocoa, and now I knew it was hot. It burned my tongue and all the way down.
“That’s too bad,” said Grandma. “I know how that feels. I’ve burned my tongue many times. Did you know that something doesn’t have to be hot to burn your tongue?”
“You can’t burn it on something cold,” I said, still rubbing at the tears that had come to my eyes.
“Oh my,” Grandma replied, “you surely can. And much worse than you’ve just burned yours. I know because I did it once.”
“How, Grandma?” I asked.
“I was quite often a foolish little girl,” said Grandma. “If someone told me not to do something, that was exactly what I wanted to do. Most of the time I had to pay dearly for it too. But this time I learned a lesson I didn’t forget for a long time.”
It was in the fall that Pa had gotten a new pump. We had drawn the water from a well before, and the pump was a wonderful thing. You just had to move the handle up and down, and the water came gushing out. We all felt quite privileged to have such a wonderful thing in our own yard. The boys didn’t fuss about whose turn it was to get water for Ma, and they could fill the horse trough in just a few minutes. The whole family enjoyed that pump.
The weather had gotten cold early that year, and we had frost most every night in October. By November the snow was falling, so the boys needed mittens on when they went to get water in the morning. The well was deep so the water didn’t freeze in the winter. Sometimes the pump would be frozen, though, and they would have to bring hot water from the kitchen to pour in and thaw it. Even that extra work didn’t take away from the enjoyment we children got from that new pump.
One evening our neighbor Mr. Hobbs stopped by to visit. He and Pa sat in the kitchen talking about the crops and the cold weather. I was helping Ma with the dishes. I was always anxious to enter into the conversation, but since I didn’t know much about crops, there seemed to be nothing for me to say. However, during a lull in the talking, I thought of something I did know about.
“Mr. Hobbs,” I said, “did you know we have a new pump?”
“No,” said Mr. Hobbs. “Do you really, now? I suppose you bring in all the water for your Ma and water the animals, too, don’t you?”
I knew Mr. Hobbs was just teasing. The handle was too heavy for me to move fast enough to get the water started. The boys had let me help them pump sometimes when they were in a good mood. But I laughed along with Mr. Hobbs and Pa. A few minutes later Mr. Hobbs rose to leave. As he opened the door, he turned to me and said with a laugh, “Well, Mabel, don’t put your tongue on that pump handle!” Then he and Pa went out into the yard.
That seemed a strange thing to say. Why would I want to do that? I concluded that Mr. Hobbs was teasing again and thought no more about it.
Several days later I came out of the house to find everything covered with new snow. I could see my breath in the frosty air, and there were little thin pieces of ice around the edges of the horse trough. I gave the pump handle a few pulls to see if I might be able to get some water, but of course nothing happened. The handle was white with frost, and as I stood looking at it, I remembered Mr. Hobbs’s remark. Since he was only fooling, there was no reason why I shouldn’t lick the frost off the handle if I wanted to. So I bent over and put my tongue on the pump handle. I knew right away that Mr. Hobbs hadn’t been fooling. My tongue was stuck fast!
It’s not very easy to holler without moving your tongue, but I could still cry, and I began to do so. Big tears ran down my cheeks and dripped on the pump handle. Fortunately, Reuben was coming from the barn and saw me.
“Mabel, what in the world are you doing?” he asked. Then he saw the predicament I was in.
“Wait right here,” he said. “I’ll go get Ma.”
Of course there was nothing I could do except wait right there, but it was comforting to know that help was on the way.
“Ma,” Reuben called, “Mabel has her tongue stuck on the pump handle!”
Ma came running out to look.
“Don’t pull on it, Mabel,” she said. “Just stay right here and I’ll get some warm water.”
I was getting a little tired of being told to stay right there when they all knew I couldn’t possibly move, but I nodded my head the best I could. Ma was soon back with a dipper of warm water.
“Now this will hurt,” she said, “but it’s the only way to get your tongue loose. My, what a silly thing for you to do. Didn’t you know that anything wet sticks to cold metal?”
I hadn’t known, but I did now. The warm water loosened my tongue, but some of the skin came off. I’ll tell you, I had a sore tongue for a long time. The new pump didn’t seem quite as enchanting to me for a while. I begged Pa not to tell Mr. Hobbs what I had done, and he promised me that no one would hear about it. Ma warned the boys not to tease me; she figured I had suffered enough for my foolishness.
Grandma shook her head at the memory.
“We all have to learn some way,” she said, “but I’m sure there’s a better way than that to do it. Sometimes we act the same way with God—He tells us not to do things, but we try them anyway. By the time we’re sorry about it, we’ve been hurt and feel just a little foolish.”
I slowly finished my cocoa while I thought about Grandma’s story.
12
You Can’t Always Believe
Grandma called me in from the yard. “I thought I asked you to put these slippers away,” she said.
“But I did, Grandma,” I replied. “I put them away when you told me to.”
“Then how did they get back out here?” asked Grandma. “You shouldn’t say you have done something when you haven’t. Now put them away, please.”
I picked up the slippers and walked slowly to my room. I had put them away when she told me to, and she didn’t believe me.
Later that morning I sat in the big kitchen waiting for the cookies to come out of the oven. Skip, the old farm dog, suddenly appeared around the corner dragging one of my slippers!
“Look, Grandma!” I said. “There’s how my slippers got back out here!”
“Well,” Grandma said to Skip, “I ought to use that slipper on you. Someone else got the scolding that you deserved.
“I’m sorry, child, that I didn’t believe you,” she said to me. “Next time I won’t be so quick to blame you until I find out what happened.”
Grandma took the cookies from the oven, and as she poured a glass of milk for me, she chuckled.
“I remember how something like that happened to my brother Roy,” she said. “It wasn’t very funny at the time, at least not to Roy, but we have laughed about it since.”
“Tell me about it, Grandma,” I said.
Grandma slid another pan of cookies into the oven, then sat down at the table.
It happened when Roy was about ten years old. It had rained all day Saturday and into the night. Sunday morning Pa called to Roy, who slept up in the loft above the kitchen with Reuben.
“Roy,” Pa said, “I think I told you to clean your shoes last night before you went to bed.”
“I did clean them, Pa,” he said. “I put them right by the fireplace.”
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“Well,” said Pa, “they are by the fireplace all right, but they certainly aren’t clean!”
Roy scrambled down the ladder and stared at the muddy shoes in disbelief.
“But, Pa—” he began.
“Don’t ‘But, Pa’ me. Get those shoes cleaned, and be quick about it,” said Pa.
Roy cleaned the shoes, but the look on his face said that something was unfair.
A few days later Pa came in from the barn as we were getting ready for school. “Boys,” he asked, “who was responsible for closing the gate on the sheep pen last night?”
“I was, Pa,” answered Roy. “And I closed it tight. I made sure it was latched.”
“Well,” said Pa, “you can also make sure that the sheep are all back in the pen before you leave for school. The gate was wide open this morning.”
After Roy had left to take care of the sheep, Pa said, “That boy needs working on. He doesn’t know what responsibility is anymore.”
On Saturday morning Ma went up to the boys’ room to change the bedding. Under Roy’s pillow she found several crumbled cookies and an apple. At noon, when we sat down to eat dinner, Ma said, “Roy, do you get enough to eat at the table?”
“Why sure, Ma,” Roy said. “I get plenty to eat.” He looked at her in surprise.
“Then why do you take food to bed with you?” Ma asked.
“To bed!” said Roy. “I don’t take food to bed!”
“Then I suppose Pep put the apple and cookies under your pillow,” Ma replied tartly.
Roy’s mouth dropped open, but before he could say anything, Pa put down his fork and looked sternly across the table.
“Young man, it seems that nothing that happens around here is your fault. Now if you don’t straighten up and stop this foolishness, I’m going to have to take the strap to you.”
Roy might have gotten that strapping too, except that quite by accident I helped him out. I developed a bad case of the croup, and Ma had to get up in the night to fix hot cloths and cough medicine for me. As she stood by the stove, she saw Roy coming down from the loft. He went to the fireplace, put on his shoes, and started for the door. Ma was about to call to him when she realized that Roy was fast asleep!
In Grandma's Attic Page 4