Part 5

"He never should have been left in this forlorn way. Those who had had his youth and strength should have cared for him in his age;" and Mrs. West looked indignant.

"So they should, ma'am; but Miller was a mean man, and when he moved, he just left the old horse to live or die, though he told me, himself, that Major had served him well, for nigh on to twenty years. What do you calculate to do about it, ma'am?" asked Mr. White, in a hurry to be off.

"I'll show you, sir. Ned, let down the bars, and lead old Major in. That shall be his home while he lives, for so faithful a servant has earned his rest, and he shall have it."

Something in the ring of mamma's voice and the gesture of her hand made Ned's eyes kindle, and Mr. White walk away, saying, affably,--

"All right, ma'am; I haven't a word to say against it."

But somehow Mr. White's big barn did not look as handsome to him as usual when he remembered that his neighbor, who had no barn at all, had taken in the friendless horse.

It was difficult to make Major enter the field; for he had been turned out of so many, driven away from so many lawns, and even begrudged the scanty pickings of the roadside, that he could not understand the invitation given him to enter and take possession of a great, green field, with apple trees for shade, and a brook babbling through the middle of it.

When at last he ventured over the bars, it was both sad and funny to see how hard he tried to enjoy himself and express his delight.

First, he sniffed the air, then he nibbled the sweet grass, took a long look about him, and astonished the children by lying down with a groan, and trying to roll. He could not do it, however, so lay still with his head stretched out, gently flapping his tail as if to say,--

"It's all right, my dears. I'm not very strong, and joy upsets me; but I'm quite comfortable, bless you!"

"Isn't it nice to see him, all safe and happy, mamma?" sighed Posy, folding her hands in childish satisfaction, while Ned sat down beside his horse, and began to take the burrs out of his mane.

"Very nice, only don't kill him with kindness, and be careful not to get hurt," answered mamma, as she went back to her work, feeling as if she had bought an elephant, and didn't know what to do with him.

Later in the day a sudden shower came up, and mamma looked about to be sure her little people were under cover, for they played out all day long, if possible. No chickens could the maternal hen find to gather under her wings, and so went clucking anxiously about till Sally, the cook, said, with a laugh,--

"Ned's down in the pastur', mum, holding an umberella over that old horse, and he's got a waterproof on him, too. Calvin see it, and 'most died a-laughing."

Mamma laughed too, but asked if Ned had on his rubber boots and coat.

"Yes, mum, I see him start all in his wet-weather rig, but I never mistrusted what the dear was up to till Calvin told me. Posy wanted to go, but I wouldn't let her, so she went to the upper window, where she can see the critter under his umberella."

Mamma went up to find her little girl surveying the droll prospect with solemn satisfaction; for there in the field, under the apple tree, stood Major, blanketed with the old waterproof, while his new master held an umbrella over his aged head with a patient devotion that would have endeared him to the heart of good Mr. Bergh.

Fortunately the shower was soon over, and Ned came in to dry himself, quite unconscious of any thing funny in his proceedings. Mamma kept perfectly sober while she proposed to build a rough shed for Major out of some boards on the place. Ned was full of interest at once; and with some help from Calvin, the corner under the apple tree was so sheltered that there would be no need of the umbrella hereafter.

So Major lived in clover, and was a happy horse; for Cockletop, the lame chicken, and Bobtail, the cat, welcomed him to their refuge, and soon became fast friends. Cockle chased grasshoppers or pecked about him with meditative clucks as he fed; while Bob rubbed against his legs, slept in his shed, and nibbled catnip socially as often as his constitution needed it.

But Major loved the children best, and they took good care of him, though some of their kind attentions might have proved fatal if the wise old beast had not been more prudent than they. It was pleasant to see him watch for them, with ears cocked at the first sound of the little voices, his dim eyes brightening at sight of the round faces peeping over the wall, and feeble limbs stirred into sudden activity by the beckoning of a childish hand.

The neighbors laughed at Ned, yet liked him all the better for the lesson in kindness he had taught them; and a time came when even Mr. White showed his respect for old Major.

All that summer Neddy's horse took his rest in the green meadow, but it was evident that he was failing fast, and that his "good time" came too late. Mamma prepared the children for the end as well as she could, and would have spared them the sorrow of parting by having Major killed quietly, if Ned had not begged so hard to let his horse die naturally; for age was the only disease, and Major seemed to suffer little pain, though he daily grew more weak, and lame, and blind.

One morning when the children went to carry him a soft, warm mash for breakfast, they found him dead; not in the shed, where they had left him warmly covered, but at the low place in the wall where they always got over to visit him.

There he lay, with head outstretched, as if his last desire had been to get as near them as possible, his last breath spent in thanking them. They liked to think that he crept there to say good by, and took great comfort in the memory of all they had done for him.

They cried over him tenderly, even while they agreed that it was better for him to die; and then they covered him with green boughs, after Ned had smoothed his coat for the last time, and Posy cut a lock from his mane to make mourning rings of.

Calvin said he would attend to the funeral, and went off to dig the grave in a lonely place behind the sand-bank. Ned declared that he could not have his horse dragged away and tumbled into a hole, but must see him buried in a proper manner; and mamma, with the utmost kindness, said she would provide all that was needed.

The hour was set at four in the afternoon, and the two little mourners, provided with large handkerchiefs, Ned, with a black bow on his arm, and Posy in a crape veil, went to drop a last tear over their departed friend.

At the appointed time Calvin appeared, followed by Mr. White, with a drag drawn by black Bill. This delicate attention touched Neddy; for it might have been bay Kitty, and that would have marred the solemnity of the scene.

As the funeral train passed the house on its way down the lane, mamma, with another crape veil on, came out and joined the procession, so full of sympathy that the children felt deeply grateful.

The October woods were gay with red and yellow leaves, that rustled softly as they went through the wood; and when they came to the grave, Ned thanked Calvin for choosing such a pretty place. A pine sighed overhead, late asters waved beside it, and poor Major's last bed was made soft with hemlock boughs.

When he was laid in it, mamma bade them leave the old waterproof that had served for a pall still about him, and then they showered in bright leaves till nothing was visible but a glimpse of the dear white tail.

The earth was thrown in, green sods heaped over it, and then the men departed, feeling that the mourners would like to linger a little while.

As he left, Mr. White said, with the same gravity which he had preserved all through the scene,--

"You are welcome to the use of the team and my time, ma'am. I don't wish any pay for 'em; in fact, I should feel more comfortable to do this job for old Major quite free and hearty."

Mamma thanked him, and when he was gone, Ned proposed that they should sing a hymn, and Posy added, "They always sing, 'Sister, thou art mild and lovely' at funerals, you know."

Mamma with difficulty kept sober at this idea but suggested the song about "Good old Charlie," as more appropriate. So it was sung with great feeling, and then Posy said, as she "wiped her weeping eyes,"--

"Now, Ned, show mamma our eppytap."

"She means eppytarf," explained Ned, with a superior air, as he produced a board, on which he had printed with India ink the following words,--

"Here lies dear old Major. He was a good horse when he was young. But people were not kind to him when he was old. We made him as happy as we could. He loved us, and we mourn for him. Amen."

Ned's knowledge of epitaphs was very slight, so he asked mamma if this one would do; and she answered warmly,--

"It is a very good one; for it has what many lack,--the merit of being true. Put it up, dear, and I'll make a wreath to hang on the gravestone."

Much gratified, Ned planted the board at the head of the grave, Posy gathered the brightest leaves, and mamma made a lovely garland in which to frame the "eppytap."

Then they left old Major to his rest, feeling sure that somewhere there must be a lower heaven for the souls of brave and faithful animals when their unrewarded work is done.

Many children went to see that lonely grave, but not one of them disturbed a leaf, or laughed at the little epitaph that preached them a sermon from the text,--

"Blessed are the merciful."

VI.

WHAT THE GIRLS DID.

"I'm so disappointed that I can't go; but papa says he can't afford it this summer. You know we lost a good deal by the great fire, so we must all give up something;" and Nelly gave a sigh, as if her sacrifice was not an easy one.

"I'm sorry, too, for I depend on hearing all about your adventures every summer. It is almost as good as going myself. What a pity Newport is such an expensive place," answered Kitty Fisher, Nelly's bosom friend.

"I dare say papa could manage to let me go for a week or so; but my outfit would cost so much I dare not ask him. One must dress there, you know, and I haven't had a new thing this summer," said Nelly.

"I'm sure your old things as you call them, are nice enough for any place. I should think I was made, if I had such a lovely wardrobe;" and Kitty's eye roved round the pretty room where several gowns and hats were strewn as if for a survey.

"Ah, my dear, you don't know how quickly fashionable women spy out make-shifts, and despise you for them. All the girls I should meet at Newport would remember those clothes and I shouldn't enjoy myself a bit. No, I must stay at home, or slip away to Aunt Becky's, up in New Hampshire, where no one minds your clothes, and the plainer they are the better. It is as dull as tombs up there, and I long for the sea, so it seems as if I _couldn't_ give up my trip."

"Why not go to a cheaper place?" asked Kitty, adding, with sudden excitement, "Now look here! This is just the thing, and I can go too, so you won't be lonely.

"Mary Nelson wrote me the other day, begging I'd come down to Oceana, and stay with her. It's a nice, quiet place, with a beach all to ourselves, lighthouse, rocks, fishing, boats, and all sorts of agreeable things. Not a bit fashionable, and every one wears old clothes and enjoys him or her self in a sensible way."

"What's board there?"

"Ten a week, with bath-house, boats, and an old carriage thrown in."

"Who is there?"

"Several teachers resting, a family or two of children, and a lot of boys camping out on the Point."

"And old clothes really will do?"

"Mary says she lives in her boating-dress, and went to an evening party in a white morning-gown. I'd quite decided to go and have a nice free time, after you were off; but now you come with me, and for once see what fun we poor folks can have without any fuss or feathers."

"I will. Papa wants me to go somewhere, and will not think my expenses down there are extravagant. I'll pack to-day, and to-morrow we will be off."

Next day they _were_ off, to be heartily welcomed by Mary, and speedily made at home by Marm Wolsey, as the old lady who kept the house was called. It was a delightfully quiet, pleasant place, with big rooms plainly furnished, but clean and full of fresh sea breezes day and night. Being founded on a rock, the boats were moored almost at the door, the bath-house was close by, on a smooth beach, and the lighthouse twinkled Cheerfully, through fog or moonlight, just over the Point.

Such pleasant times as the girls had; taking early dips in the sea, lying in hammocks on the airy piazza through the hot hours, rowing, fishing, scrambling over the rocks, or sitting in shady nooks, working and reading.

No one thought of clothes; and when Nelly timidly put on a delicate silk one day, she was told finery was not allowed, and a merry resolution was passed that no one should "dress up" under penalty of a fine. So flannel boating suits were all the fashion: and Miss Phelps would have rejoiced at the sight of half-a-dozen rosy-faced girls skipping about the rocks in a costume as simple and sensible as the one she recommends.

Of course the campers on the Point soon discovered the mermaids in the Cove, and, by a series of those remarkable accidents which usually occur at such times, got acquainted without much ceremony.

Then the fun increased amazingly, and the old house saw gay doings; for the lads had bonfires, concerts by moonlight on the rocks, and picnics in every available cove, grove, and sea-weedy nook the place could boast.

The mothers of the flocks of riotous children were matrons to the girls; and the shy teachers came out amazingly when they found that the three friends were not fashionable city ladies, but lively girls, bent on having an agreeable and sociable time.

Nelly particularly enjoyed all this, and daily wondered why she felt so much better than at Newport, forgetting that there her time was spent in dressing by day, and dancing in hot rooms half the night, with no exercise but a drive or a genteel sail, with some one to do the rowing for her.

"It is the air and the quiet, I fancy," she said one day, when a month had nearly gone. "I'm getting so brown papa won't know me, and so fat I have to let out all my things. I do believe I've grown several inches across the shoulders with all this rowing and tramping about in a loose suit."

"Just so much health laid up for next winter. I wish I could afford to bring down a dozen pale girls every season, and let them do what you have been doing for a month or two. Poor girls, I mean, who lose their health by hard work, not by harmful play," said Mary, who knew something about the dark side of life, having been a governess for years, with little brothers and sisters to care for, and an invalid mother.

"It is so cheap here I should think most any one could afford to come," said Nelly, feeling a virtuous satisfaction in the thought of the money she had saved by this economical trip.

"Ah, what seems cheap to you would be far beyond the means of many a poor girl who only makes three or four dollars a week. I've often wondered why rich people don't do little things of that sort more. It must be so pleasant to give health and happiness at such small cost to themselves."

"If papa were as well off as he was before the fire, I _could_ do something of that sort, and I'd like to; but now I can do nothing," and Nelly felt rather uncomfortable at the memory of the seventeen easy years she had passed without ever thinking of such things.

"Girls, I've got an idea, and you must give me your advice at once," cried Kitty, bouncing in with her hat half off and her eyes full of fun.

"Tell on. What is it?" asked Nelly, ready for any thing.

"Well, you know the boys have been very polite to us in many ways; they break camp in two days, and we ought to give them a farewell of some sort, to show that we are grateful for their civility. Don't you think so?"

"Of course! What shall we do?"

"We have had picnics and water parties, and sings and dances in our parlor, so we _must_ get up something new."

"Have a masquerade; it's such fun to fix up dresses," said Nelly, who rather longed to show some of her neglected splendor.

"We might borrow the old barn, to have a grand time. There's no hay in it, so we could light it up splendidly," added Kitty, seizing upon the idea with delight.

"How about supper?" asked prudent Mary, remembering the appetites of a dozen hearty lads sharpened by sea air and exercise.

"I'll pay for the supper. I've saved so much by my cheap trip, I can spare twenty dollars as well as not," cried Nelly, bound to have the thing done handsomely if at all.

"Bless you, child, it needn't cost half that! Don't go and be extravagant, for we can have cake of Marm Wolsey, and make lemonade ourselves; it won't cost much, and the boys will be just as well off as if we had a grand spread."

"You let me manage that part of the affair. I have ordered suppers at home, and I know what is proper. I will go up to town by the first boat to-morrow, and be back in time to help about dresses, and trimming up the barn. Marm will lend us sheets, and with green boughs, flowers, and candles, we can make a lovely room for our little party. I'll bring down some colored candles, and get some old-fashioned dresses at home, and do any errands for you."

Here Nelly stopped for breath, and the others fell to discussing what they would "go as." Their fellow-boarders were taken into the secret, and in an hour Marm Wolsey's whole establishment was in a ferment. Notes of invitation were dispatched; and replies on birch-bark came pouring in with most agreeable promptitude.

The campers accepted to a man, and were soon seen ravaging the little town for red flannel and fisherman's toggery, or shouting with laughter in their tents as they fabricated horse-hair beards, Indian wampum and Roman armor.

Next morning Nelly departed, charged with sundry very important commissions, and the rest fell to work decorating the barn and overhauling their wardrobes, while good-natured Marm "het the big oven" and made cake till the air smelt as if a gale from the Spice Islands had blown over the Point.

At four, the boat came in; but no one saw Nelly arrive, for the whole flock had gone over the rocks to get hemlock boughs in the grove.

When Mary and Kitty returned, they ran to the big room where they held their confabulations, and there found Nelly looking over a bundle of old brocades. Something odd in her face and manner made them both say at once,--

"What's the matter? Has any thing gone wrong?"

"I'm afraid you will think so, when I tell you that I have ordered no supper, got no pretty candles or flowers, and only spent two dollars of my money," said Nelly, looking both amused and anxious.

"Lost your purse?" cried Kitty.

"No."

"Thought better of it, like a wise child," said Mary.

"I brought something down that you didn't ask for, and may be sorry to have; but I couldn't help it. Look out there and see if that isn't better than bon-bons or finery."

Nelly pointed to a rock not far from the window, and both her friends stared in surprise; for all they saw was a strange girl sitting there, gazing out over the sea with an expression of wordless delight in her tired, white face and hungry eyes.

"Who is it?" whispered Mary.

"My little seamstress," answered Nelly. "I went to get her to fix my dress, and found her looking so pale and used up my heart ached. All the while she was fitting me, and I was telling her about our fun down here, she kept saying with a little gasp as if for fresh air,--

"'How beautiful it must be, Miss Nelly! I'm so glad you are enjoying so much and look so well.'

"Then what you once said, Mary, came into my head, and my money burnt in my pocket till I broke out all of a sudden, saying,--

"'Wouldn't you like to go down with me for a week and get rested and freshened up a little, Jane?'

"Girls, if I had asked her to go straight to heaven, or do any lovely thing, she could not have looked more amazed, delighted, and touched.

"'O, Miss Nelly, you are too good. I'm afraid I ought not to leave work. It seems almost too splendid to believe.'

"I wouldn't hear a word, for my heart was set on doing it when I saw how she longed to go. So I said she could help us with our dresses, and I must have her come on that account if no other.

"Then she said she had nothing fit to wear, and I was so glad to be able to tell her that none of us wore nice clothes, and hers were quite fit. I just made her put on her bonnet, brought her away in the twinkling of an eye, and there she is enjoying rest, fresh air, sunshine and her first view of the sea."

"Nelly, you are an angel!" and Kitty hugged her on the spot, while Mary beamed at her with tears in her eyes, as she said, quietly,--

"I did not think my little sermon would be so soon and beautifully taken to heart. The sight of that poor child, sitting there so happy, is better than the most splendid supper you could have ordered. I shall always love and honor you for this, dear."

Nelly's face was a pretty mixture of smiles and tears, as her friends kissed and praised her. Then she said, brightly,--

"Now we will have nothing but our cake and lemonade, and make up in good spirits for the supper we have lost. Flowers will do for favors, and tallow candles will help the moon light up our 'hall.' See my Bo-Peep dress; and here are lots of things for you. To-morrow Jane will help us, and we will be splendiferous."

Three happy faces bent over the old brocades, three busy tongues chattered gaily of trains and flounces, and three pairs of friendly eyes peeped often at the quiet figure on the rocks, finding greater satisfaction in that sweet little tableau than in any they could plan.

Merry times they had next day, for Jane's skilful fingers worked wonders, and gratitude inspired her with all manner of brilliant ideas. She was introduced as a friend; any deficiencies in her wardrobe were quietly supplied by Nelly, and she proved herself an invaluable ally, enjoying every minute of the precious time.

Nothing could have been prettier in its way than the old barn, draped with sails and sheets, with flags and pennons from the boats, great peonies and green boughs for decorations. Candles and lanterns twinkled their best, and the great doors at both ends stood wide open, letting in floods of moonlight, fresh air and lovely glimpses of the sea.

The neighbors all came to "peek," and the hearty laughter of the big brown fishermen clustered round the door was good to hear, as the comical, quaint, or charming figures entered the room. Tow-headed children roosted on the beams, women in calico gowns sat staring in the stalls, while babies slept placidly in the hay-racks, and one meek cow surveyed the scene with astonished eyes.

Powhattan, St. George, Brother Jonathan, Capt. Cuttle, Garibaldi and other noble beings came from the camp, to find Bo-Peep in a ravishing little costume, with a Quakeress, Sairey Gamp, Dolly Varden and a host of other delightful ladies ready to receive them.

What happy hours followed, with the promenades, and plays, and homely yet delightful surroundings. The barn was so cool, so spacious, and every thing was so free and simple, that every one "went in and enjoyed himself like a man," as Capt. Kyd gracefully remarked to Mary Nelson, who was capitally and cheaply got up as the Press, dressed in newspapers, with a little telegraph, posts, wires and all, on her head.

Fruit, cake and lemonade was all the feast, spread on the big rock in front of the barn, and no one complained; for moonlight, youth and happy hearts lent their magic to the scene.