Part 2

Now all was ready, and we all stood waiting for the final moment. I do not know what were the thoughts of the Rubber Baby at this moment, but we were all in a state of great excitement.

“Get out of the way, children!” cried Papa. “Run away, Bay! Get behind the maple-tree, Mr. Bagabave! She’s going. Now, then! One, two, three, and away!” and Papa touched off the fuse.

A moment of great suspense, a tremendous report, a dense cloud of smoke. Up soared the Rubber Baby, higher than the top of the big maple-tree, almost to the very clouds (or so Bay thought).

We watched in silent rapture; then, as the intrepid air-traveller came down, still smiling, a loud cheer broke from the whole crowd.

No, not from the whole crowd; there was one exception. The kind gentleman who came to keep the best cousin from hurting himself gave a howl so loud and clear that we all started, and ran to see what was the matter.

The poor gentleman had been holding a cannon-cracker, which he was going to fire just when Papa gave the signal for sending off the Rubber Baby. In the excitement of the moment he forgot the cannon-cracker, and it went off in his hand, and burnt him quite badly.

We were all very sorry, not only for the poor gentleman’s own sake, but because now there was no one to see that the best cousin did not hurt himself.

A pretty young lady came, and tied up the poor gentleman’s hand so nicely with her soft handkerchief that he said he was glad the cracker had gone off in it.

The Rubber Baby said nothing, but sat still in the middle of the gravel walk. Perhaps it was waiting to see if some lovely young lady would come to cheer and comfort it; but no one came till little Bay took it up, wiped off the dust and powder, kissed it, and put it to bed.

THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE.

DOROTHY was all dressed to see the Fourth of July procession. She had on her white dress, her blue sash, and her red shoes. Her cheeks were red, too, and her eyes were blue, and when she pushed up her full muslin sleeves, she saw how white her fat little arms were as soon as you got past the sunburn. “I’se red, white and blue mine-self!” said Dorothy.

She went and stood on the top doorstep, which was very near the street. Pretty soon the trumpets began to sound and the drums to beat, first far away, then nearer and nearer. At last the procession came round the corner. First the drum-major, with his huge bearskin cap, tossing his great gilded stick about; then came the musicians, puffing away with might and main at their great brass horns and trumpets, and banging away at their drums and kettle-drums. It was a splendid noise; but they were really playing a tune, the “Red, White and Blue.”

The standard-bearer dipped his flag as he passed Dorothy’s house, for there was a great flag draped over the doorway, and red, white and blue streamers running up to the windows, and Dorothy waved a little flag as she stood on the top doorstep. “Three cheers for the red, white and blue!” sang the soldiers as they marched by.

“Sank you!” said Dorothy, spreading out her frock and patting her sash. “_I’se_ the red, white and blue! See mine sash!”

The soldiers laughed and cheered.

Then came a soldier who looked straight up at Dorothy, and held out his arms, though without stopping. And it was Dorothy’s own Papa!

In less than half a minute Dorothy was in his arms, and he had caught her up, and put her on his shoulder.

Dorothy waved her flag, and jumped up and down on Papa’s shoulder, and cried, “Three cheers for the red, white and blue! three cheers for me!” and all the soldiers shouted and cheered and laughed, and so Dorothy and the procession went on their way all through the village.

TOTTY’S CHRISTMAS.

THEY call me Totty, because I am small. I had a funny Christmas, and Mamma said I might tell about it.

I have the scarlet fever, and I live all alone with my Mamma in her room. Nobody comes in ’cept the doctor, and he says he sha’n’t come any more to see a girl who feels as well as I do.

Mamma wears a cap and an apron, and we have our own dishes, just like play, and she washes them in a bright tin pan, and then I have the pan for a drum, and beat on it till she says she shall fly.

I always stop then, for I do think I should be frightened to see Mamma fly. Besides, she might fly away.

Well, yesterday was Christmas, and I could get out of bed and sit up in a chair; it was the first time.

So I sat up to dinner, and it was a partridge, but we played it was a turkey. There was jelly and macaroni, and for desert we had grapes and oranges. Mamma made it all look pretty, and Papa gave her roses through the door, and she put them all over the table.

When she had washed the dishes, she turned the big chair round so that I could look out of the window, and Hal and John came out on the lawn and made a snow-man for me to look at.

It was a fine man, with two legs and two arms, and they kept playing he was the British, and knocking his head off.

Mamma told me I mustn’t turn round till she said I might, but I didn’t want to, anyhow, the man was so funny.

I heard Papa whispering at the door, and I _did_ want to see him, but I knew I couldn’t, ’cause the other children haven’t had the fever: and then I heard things rustle, paper and something soft, like brushing clothes.

They went on rustling, oh, a long time! and there was jingling, too, and I began to want to turn round _very_ much _indeed_; but I didn’t, of course, ’cause I said I wouldn’t.

_At last_ Mamma came up softly and tied something over my eyes, and told me to wait just a minute; and it really did not seem as if I could.

Then she turned the chair round, and took the thing off my eyes, and—_what_ do you think was there?

A Christmas tree! A dear little ducky tree, just about as big as I am, and all lighted with red and blue candles, and silver stuff hanging like fringe from the branches, and real icicles. (No! Mamma says they are glass, but they look real. They are in a box now, and I can play with them.)

And everything on the tree was for me. That makes a rhyme. I often make them.

There was a lovely doll, all china, with clothes to take off and put on, and buttons and buttonholes in everything. I have named her Christine, because that is the most like Christmas of any name I know.

And a tin horse and cart, and a box of blocks, and a _lovely_ white china slate to draw on, and a box of beasts, not painted, all carved, just like real beasts, and a magnet-box, with three ducks and two swans and four goldfish and a little boat, all made of tin, and lots of oranges and a lovely china box full of cream candy (the doctor said I might have it if Aunt May made it, and she did), and a box of guava jelly, and a little angel at the top, flying, all of white china.

And _everything_ will wash except the things to eat, ’cause everything I play with has to be burned up, unless it can be washed, so they all gave me washing things.

Even Christine has china hair, and all her clothes are white, so they can be boiled, and so can she, and Mamma says it won’t hurt her at all.

So I never had a nicer Christmas, though, of course, I wanted the other children; but then, _I_ had Mamma, and of course _they_ wanted _her_, poor dears!

And nobody need be afraid to read this story, ’cause it is going to be _baked in the oven_ before it is printed.

A CERTAIN BOY.

I KNOW a little bright-eyed boy Who lives not far away, And though he is his mother’s joy, He plagues her, too, they say. For when his task he’s bid to do, He sits him down and cries, “Boo-hoo! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!”

Yes! whether he’s to practise well, Or do his horrid sums, Or “Hippopotamus” to spell, Or clean to wash his thumbs: It matters not, for with a frown The corners of his mouth go down,— “I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t!”

Oh! what a joyful day ’twill be For mother and for son, When smiling looks they both shall see Beneath the smiling sun. For in his heart he knows ’tis stuff, And knows that if he tries enough, He can! he can! he can! he can! he can!

THE NEW SISTER.

“LOOK carefully!” said the kind Nurse, turning down a corner of the flannel blanket. “Don’t touch her, dears, but just look.”

The children stood on tiptoe and peeped into the tiny red face. They were frightened at first, the baby was so very small, but Johnny took courage in a moment.

“Hasn’t she got any eyes?” he asked. “Or is she like kittens?”

“Yes; she has eyes, and very bright ones, but she is fast asleep now.”

“Look at her little hands!” whispered Lily. “Aren’t they lovely? Oh, I do wish I could give her a hug!”

“Not yet,” said Nurse. “She is too tender to be hugged. But Mamma sends word that you may give her something,—a name. She wants you and Johnny to choose the baby’s name, only it must not be either Jemima, Keziah or Keren-Happuch.”

The Nurse went back into Mamma’s room, and left Johnny and Lily staring at each other, too proud and happy to speak at first.

“Let’s sit right down on the floor and think!” said John. So down they sat.

“I think Claribel is a lovely name!” said Lily, after a pause. “Don’t you?”

“No!” replied Johnny, “it’s too girly.”

“But baby _is_ a girl!”

“I don’t care. She needn’t have such a _very_ girly name. How do you like Ellen?”

“Oh, Johnny! why, _everybody’s_ named Ellen. We don’t want her to be just like everybody. Now Seraphina is not common.”

“I should hope not. I should need a mouth a yard wide to say it. What do you think of Bessie?”

“Oh, Bessie is very well, only—well, I should be always thinking of Bessie Jones, and you know she isn’t very nice. I’ll tell you what, Johnny! suppose we call her Vesta Geneva, after the girl Papa told us about yesterday.”

“Lily, you are a perfect silly! Why, I wouldn’t be seen with a sister called that! I think Polly is a nice, jolly kind of name.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“You needn’t get mad if you don’t. Cross-patch!”

“You’re perfectly horrid, John Brown; I sha’n’t play with you any more.”

“Much I care, silly Lily!”

“Well!” said Nurse, coming in again, “what is the name to be, dears? Mamma is anxious to know.”

Two heads hung very low, and two pairs of eyes sought the floor and stayed there. “Shall I tell you,” the good Nurse went on, taking no notice, “what I thought would be a very good name for baby?”

“Oh yes! yes! do tell us, ’cause we can’t get the right one.”

“Well, I thought your mother’s name, Mary, would be the very best name in the world. What do you think?”

“Why, of course it would! We never thought of that. Oh, thank you, Nurse!” cried both voices, joyously. “Dear Nurse! will you tell Mamma, please?”

Nurse nodded, and went away smiling, and Lily and John looked sheepishly at each other.

“I—I will play with you, if you like, Johnny, dear.”

“All right, Lil.”

BUTTERCUP GOLD.

OH! the cupperty-buts! and oh! the cupperty-buts! out in the meadow, shining under the trees, and sparkling over the lawn, millions and millions of them, each one a bit of purest gold from Mother Nature’s mint. Jessy stood at the window, looking out at them, and thinking, as she often had thought before, that there were no flowers so beautiful. “Cupperty-buts,” she had been used to call them, when she was a wee baby-girl and could not speak without tumbling over her words and mixing them up in the queerest fashion; and now that she was a very great girl, actually six years old, they were still cupperty-buts to her, and would never be anything else, she said. There was nothing she liked better than to watch the lovely golden things, and nod to them as they nodded to her; but this morning her little face looked anxious and troubled, and she gazed at the flowers with an intent and inquiring look, as if she had expected them to reply to her unspoken thoughts. What these thoughts were I am going to tell you.

Half an hour before, she had called to her mother, who was just going out, and begged her to come and look at the cupperty-buts.

“They are brighter than ever, Mamma! Do just come and look at them! golden, golden, golden! There must be fifteen thousand million dollars’ worth of gold just on the lawn, I should think.”

And her mother, pausing to look out, said, very sadly,—

“Ah, my darling! if I only had this day a little of that gold, what a happy woman I should be!”

And then the good mother went out, and there little Jessy stood, gazing at the flowers, and repeating the words to herself, over and over again,—

“If I only had a little of that gold!”

She knew that her mother was very, very poor, and had to go out to work every day to earn food and clothes for herself and her little daughter; and the child’s tender heart ached to think of the sadness in the dear mother’s look and tone. Suddenly Jessy started, and the sunshine flashed into her face.

“Why!” she exclaimed, “why shouldn’t I get some of the gold from the cupperty-buts? I believe I could get some, perfectly well. When Mamma wants to get the juice out of anything, meat, or fruit, or anything of that sort, she just boils it. And so, if I should boil the cupperty-buts, wouldn’t all the gold come out? Of course it would! Oh, joy! how pleased Mamma will be!”

Jessy’s actions always followed her thoughts with great rapidity. In five minutes she was out on the lawn, with a huge basket beside her, pulling away at the buttercups with might and main. Oh! how small they were, and how long it took even to cover the bottom of the basket. But Jessy worked with a will, and at the end of an hour she had picked enough to make at least a thousand dollars, as she calculated. That would do for one day, she thought; and now for the grand experiment! Before going out she had with much labor filled the great kettle with water, so now the water was boiling, and she had only to put the buttercups in and put the cover on. When this was done, she sat as patiently as she could, trying to pay attention to her knitting, and not to look at the clock oftener than every two minutes.

“They must boil for an hour,” she said; “and by that time all the gold will have come out.”

Well, the hour did pass, somehow or other, though it was a very long one; and at eleven o’clock, Jessy, with a mighty effort, lifted the kettle from the stove and carried it to the open door, that the fresh air might cool the boiling water. At first, when she lifted the cover, such a cloud of steam came out that she could see nothing; but in a moment the wind blew the steam aside, and then she saw,—oh, poor little Jessy!—she saw a mass of weeds floating about in a quantity of dirty, greenish water, and that was all. Not the smallest trace of gold, even in the buttercups themselves, was to be seen. Poor little Jessy! she tried hard not to cry, but it was a bitter disappointment; the tears came rolling down her cheeks faster and faster, till at length she sat down by the kettle, and, burying her face in her apron, sobbed as if her heart would break.

Presently, through her sobs, she heard a kind voice saying, “What is the matter, little one? Why do you cry so bitterly?” She looked up and saw an old gentleman with white hair and a bright, cheery face, standing by her. At first, Jessy could say nothing but “Oh! the cupperty-buts! oh! the cupperty-buts!” but, of course, the old gentleman didn’t know what she meant by that, so, as he urged her to tell him about her trouble, she dried her eyes, and told him the melancholy little story: how her mother was very poor, and said she wished she had some gold; and how she herself had tried to get the gold out of the buttercups by boiling them. “I was so sure I could get it out,” she said, “and I thought Mamma would be so pleased! And now—”

Here she was very near breaking down again; but the gentleman patted her head and said, cheerfully, “Wait a bit, little woman! Don’t give up the ship yet. You know that gold is heavy, very heavy indeed, and if there were any it would be at the very bottom of the kettle, all covered with the weeds, so that you could not see it. I should not be at all surprised if you found some, after all. Run into the house and bring me a spoon with a long handle, and we will fish in the kettle, and see what we can find.”

Jessy’s face brightened, and she ran into the house. If any one had been standing near just at that moment, I think it is possible that he might have seen the old gentleman’s hand go into his pocket and out again very quickly, and might have heard a little splash in the kettle; but nobody was near, so, of course, I cannot say anything about it. At any rate, when Jessy came out with the spoon, he was standing with both hands in his pockets, looking in the opposite direction. He took the great iron spoon and fished about in the kettle for some time. At last there was a little clinking noise, and the old gentleman lifted the spoon. Oh, wonder and delight! In it lay three great, broad, shining pieces of gold! Jessy could hardly believe her eyes. She stared and stared; and when the old gentleman put the gold into her hand, she still stood as if in a happy dream, gazing at it. Suddenly she started, and remembered that she had not thanked her kindly helper. She looked up, and began, “Thank you, sir;” but the old gentleman was gone.

Well, the next question was, How could Jessy possibly wait till twelve o’clock for her mother to come home? Knitting was out of the question. She could do nothing but dance and look out of window, and look out of window and dance, holding the precious coins tight in her hand. At last, a well-known footstep was heard outside the door, and Mrs. Gray came in, looking very tired and worn. She smiled, however, when she saw Jessy, and said,—

“Well, my darling, I am glad to see you looking so bright. How has the morning gone with my little housekeeper?”

“Oh, mother!” cried Jessy, hopping about on one foot, “it has gone very well! oh, very, _very_, _very_ well! Oh, my mother dear, what do you think I have got in my hand? _What_ do you think? oh, what _do_ you think?” and she went dancing round and round, till poor Mrs. Gray was quite dizzy with watching her. At last she stopped, and holding out her hand, opened it and showed her mother what was in it. Mrs. Gray was really frightened.

“Jessy, my child!” she cried, “where did you get all that money?”

“Out of the cupperty-buts, Mamma!” said Jessy, “out of the cupperty-buts! and it’s all for you, every bit of it! Dear Mamma, now you will be happy, will you not?”

“Jessy,” said Mrs. Gray, “have you lost your senses, or are you playing some trick on me? Tell me all about this at once, dear child, and don’t talk nonsense.”

“But it isn’t nonsense, Mamma!” cried Jessy, “and it did come out of the cupperty-buts!”

And then she told her mother the whole story. The tears came into Mrs. Gray’s eyes, but they were tears of joy and gratitude.

“Jessy dear,” she said, “when we say our prayers at night, let us never forget to pray for that good gentleman. May Heaven bless him and reward him! for if it had not been for him, Jessy dear, I fear you would never have found the ‘Buttercup Gold.’”

ONE AFTERNOON.

PAPA and Mamma went out to row, And left us alone at home, you know,— Roderick, James and me. “My dears,” they said, “now play with your toys Like dear little, good little, sweet little boys, And we will come home to tea.”

We played with our toys the _longest_ while! We built up the blocks for nearly a mile,— Roderick, James and I. But when they came tumbling down, alas! They fell right against the looking-glass,— Oh! _how_ the pieces did fly!

Then we played the stairs were an Alpine peak, And down we slid with shout and with shriek,— Roderick, I and James. But Jim caught his jacket upon a tack, And I burst the buttons all off my back, And Roderick called us names.

Then we found a pillow that had a rip, And all the feathers we out did slip,— Roderick, James and I. And we made a snowstorm, a glorious one, All over the room. Oh! wasn’t it fun, As the feathery flakes did fly!

But just as the storm was raging around, Papa and Mamma came in, and found Roderick, James and me. Oh! terrible, terrible things they said! And they put us all three right straight to bed, With the empty pillow-case under our head, And none of us had any tea!

THE STOVE.

BETTY has a real stove, just as real as the one in the kitchen, if it is not quite so big. It has pots and kettles and a frying-pan, and a soup-pot, and the oven bakes beautifully, and it is just lovely! I went to spend the afternoon with her yesterday, and we cooked all the time, except when we were eating. First, we made soup in the soup-pot, with some pieces of cold goose, and we took some to Auntie (she is Betty’s mother), and she said it was de-licious, and took two cups of it. (They were doll’s cups; Betty says I ought to put that in, but I don’t see any need.) Then we made scrambled egg and porridge, and baked some custard in the oven, and it was just exactly like a big custard in the big cups at home. The cake was queer, so I won’t stop to tell about that, though Rover ate most of it, and the rest we crumbled up for the pigeons, so it wasn’t wasted; but the best of all was the griddle-cakes. Oh, they were splendid! The griddle is just the right size for one, so they were as round as pennies, and about the same size; and we had maple syrup on them, and Maggie the cook said she was so jealous (she called it “jellies”) that she should go straight back to Ireland; but I don’t believe she will. I don’t feel very well to-day, and Betty wasn’t at school, either. But I don’t think it had anything to do with the griddle-cakes, and I am going to play with Betty again to-morrow,—if Mamma will let me.

JOHN’S SISTER.

WHAT! no elder sister? I wouldn’t be you! Who buttons your jacket? Who ties up your shoe?

Who gives you a boost When you climb a tree? Who bathes your bumps, As kind as can be?

Who guided your oar The first time you paddled? Who blows your bird’s eggs, E’en when they’re addled?

Who sets your moths, Your butterflies, too? Who mops up the floor When you spill the glue?

Who makes you taffy? (I tell you it’s fine!) Who baits your hook, Untangles your line?

Who takes out your splinters, All in a minute? Who tells you stories, And sings like a linnet?

No sister! I pity you, Truly I do. And oh! for a whole farm I wouldn’t be you.

NEW YEAR SONG.

“NEW YEAR, true year, What now are you bringing? May-day skies and butterflies, And merry birds a-singing? Frolic, play, all the day, Not an hour of school?” But the merry echo, The laughing New Year echo, Only answered, “School!”

“New Year, true year, What now are you bringing? Summer roses springing gay, Summer vines a-swinging? Jest and sport, the merriest sort, Never a thought of work?” But the merry echo, The laughing New Year echo, Only answered, “Work!”

“New year, true year, What now are you bringing? Autumn fruits all fire-ripe, Autumn horns a-ringing? Keen delight o’ moonlight nights, When dull folks are abed?” But the merry echo, The laughing New-Year echo, Only answered, “Bed!”

WHAT WAS HER NAME?

“WAKE up!” said an old gentleman, dressed in brown and white, as he gently shook the shoulder of a young lady in green, who was lying sound asleep under the trees. “Wake up, ma’am! it is your watch now, and time for me to take myself off.”

The young lady stirred a very little, and opened one of her eyes the least little bit. “Who are you?” she said, drowsily. “What is your name?”