Chapter 6

"Don't you call that good music?" asked his mistress, knitting as she spoke. "He came from Germany; there's where you get the best singers. Some canaries won't sing before company and some won't sing alone; they are fussy,--I call it _pernickitty_. Why, I had one with a voice like a flute; but I happened to buy some new wall-paper, and she didn't like the looks of it, and after that she never would sing a note."

"Are you in earnest?" asked Kyzie.

"Yes, it's a fact. But Job never was pernickitty, bless his little heart!"

She brought a tiny bell and let him take it in his claws.

"Now, I'll go out of the room, and you all keep still and see if he'll ring to call me back."

She went, closing the door after her. No one spoke. Job moved his head from side to side, and, apparently making up his little mind that he was all alone, he shook the bell peal after peal. Presently his mistress appeared. "Did you think mamma had gone and left you, Job darling? Mamma can't stay away from her baby."

The cooing tone pleased the little creature, and he sang again even more sweetly than before.

"Let me show you another of his tricks. You see this little gun? Well, when he fires it off that will be the end of poor Job!"

The gun was about two inches long and as large around as a lead pencil. Inside was a tiny spring; and when Job's claw touched the spring the gun went off with a loud report. Job fell over at once as if shot and lay perfectly still and stiff on the rug. Lucy screamed out:---

"Oh, I'm so sorry he is dead!"

But next moment he roused himself and sat up and shook his feathers as if he relished the joke.

The children had a delightful half hour with the captain's widow and her pets; only Lucy could not be satisfied because Bab was away.

"Too bad you went off riding yesterday," said she as they sat next morning playing with their dolls. "You never saw that blind canary that shoots himself, and comes to life and rings a bell."

"But can't I see him sometime, Auntie Lucy?"

"You can, oh, yes, and I'll go with you. But, Bab, you ought to have heard our talk about the play! Kyzie is going to be as much as a hundred years old, and I guess Uncle James will be a hundred and fifty. And they've got a pair of old glasses with sand inside--the same kind that Adam and Eve used to have."

"Why-ee! Did Adam and Eve wear glasses? 'Tisn't in their pictures; _I_ never saw 'em with glasses on!"

"No, no, I don't mean glasses _wear_! I said glasses with sand inside; _that's_ what Uncle James has got. Runs out every hour. Sits on the table."

"Oh, I know what you mean, auntie! You mean an _hour-glass!_ Grandpa Hale has one and I've seen lots of 'em in France."

Lucy felt humbled. Though pretending to be Bab's aunt, she often found that her little niece knew more than she knew herself!

"Seems queer about Adam and Eve," said she, hastening to change the subject; "who do you s'pose took care of 'em when they were little babies?"

"Why, Auntie Lucy, there wasn't ever any _babiness_ about Adam and Eve! Don't you remember, they stayed just exactly as they were made!"

"Yes, so they did. I forgot."

Lucy had made another mistake. This was not like a "truly auntie"; still it did not matter so very much, for Bab never laughed at her and they loved each other "dearilee."

"You know a great many things, don't you, Bab? And _I_ keep forgetting 'em."

"Oh, I know all about the world and the garden of Eden; _that's_ easy enough," replied the wise niece.

And then they went back to their dolls.

Half an hour later Kyzie Dunlee was standing in the schoolhouse door with a group of children about her when Nate Pollard appeared. As he looked at her he remembered "Jimmy's play," and the parts they were both to take in it; and the thought of little Kyzie as his poor old grandmother seemed so funny to Nate that he began to laugh and called out, "Good morning, grandmother!"

He meant no harm; but Kyzie thought him very disrespectful to accost her in that way before the children, and she tossed her head without answering him.

Nate was angry. How polite he had always been to her, never telling her what a queer school she kept! And now that he had consented to be her grandson in Jimmy's play, just to please her and the rest of the family, it did seem as if she needn't put on airs in this way!

"Ahem!" said he; "did you hear about that dreadful earthquake in San Diego?"

There had been a very slight one, but he was trying to tease her.

"No, oh, no!" she replied, throwing up both hands. "When was it?"

"Last night. I'm afraid of 'em myself, and if we get one here to-day you needn't be surprised to see me cut and run right out of the schoolhouse."

The children looked at him in alarm. Kyzie could not allow this.

"Oh, you wouldn't do that!" said she, with another toss of the head. "Before I'd run away from an earthquake! Besides, what good would it do?"

By afternoon the news had spread about among the children that there was to be a terrible earthquake that day. They huddled together like frightened lambs. The little teacher, wishing to reassure them, planted herself against the wall, and made what Edith would have called a "little preach."

She pointed out of the window to the clear sky and said she "could not see the least sign of an earthquake." But even if one should come they need not be afraid, for their heavenly Father would take care of them.

"And you mustn't think for a moment of running away! No, children, be quiet! Look at me, _I_ am quiet. I wouldn't run away if there were fifty earthquakes!"

Strange to say, she had hardly spoken these words when the house began to shake! They all knew too well what it meant, that frightful rocking and rumbling; the ground was opening under their feet!

Kyzie, though she may have feared it vaguely all along, was taken entirely by surprise, and did--what do you think? As quick as a flash, without waiting for a second thought, she turned and jumped out of the window!

Next moment, remembering the children, she screamed for them to follow her, and they poured out of the house, some by the window, some by the door, all shrieking like mad.

It was a wild scene,--the frantic teacher, the terrified children,--and Kyzie will never cease to blush every time she recalls it. For there was no earthquake after all! It was only the new "colonel" and his men blasting a rock in the mine!

Of course this escapade of the young teacher amused the people of Castle Cliff immensely. They called it "the little schoolma'am's earthquake"; and the little schoolma'am heard of it and almost wished it had been a real earthquake and had swallowed her up.

"Oh, Papa Dunlee! Oh, Mamma Dunlee!" she cried, her cheeks crimson, her eyelids swollen from weeping. "I keep finding out that I'm not half so much of a girl as I thought I was! What does make me do such ridiculous things?"

"You are only very young, you dear child," replied her parents.

They pitied her sincerely and did their best to console her. But they were wise people, and perhaps they knew that their eldest daughter needed to be humbled just a little. It was hard, very hard, yet sometimes it is the hard things which do us most good.

"O mamma, don't ask me to go down to dinner. I can't, I can't!"

"No indeed, darling, your dinner shall be sent up to you. What would you like?"

"No matter what, mamma--I don't care for eating. I can't ever hold up my head any more. And as for going into that school again, I never, never, never will do it."

"I think you will, my daughter," said Mr. Dunlee, quietly. "I think you'll go back and live this down and 'twill soon be all forgotten."

"O papa, do you really, really think 'twill ever be forgotten? Do you think so, mamma? A silly, disgraceful, foolish, outrageous, abominable,--there, I can't find words bad enough!"

As her parents were leaving the room she revived a little and added:--

"Remember, mamma, just soup and chicken and celery. But a full saucer of ice-cream. I hope 'twill be vanilla."

XIII

NATE'S CAVE

The little teacher went back to her school the very next day. It was a hard thing, but she knew her parents desired it. Her proud head was lowered; she could not meet the eyes of the children, who seemed to be trying their best not to laugh. At last she spoke:--

"I got frightened yesterday. I was not very brave; now was I? Hark! The people in the mine are blasting rocks again, but we won't run away, will we?"

They laughed, and she tried to laugh, too. Then she called the classes into the floor; and no more did she ever say to the scholars about the earthquake. She helped Nate in his arithmetic, and he treated her like a queen. He was coming to Aunt Vi's room that evening to show his knee-buckles and cocked hat and find out just what he was to do on the stage.

Kyzie wanted to see the cocked hat and felt interested in her own white cap which Mrs. McQuilken was making. It was a good thing for Katharine that she had "Jimmy's play" to think of just now. It helped her through that long forenoon. After this the forenoons did not drag; school went on as usual, and Kyzie was glad she had had the courage to go back and "live down" her foolish behavior.

When they met in Aunt Vi's room that evening it was decided not to have "Jimmy's play" on the tailings, for that was a place free to all. People would not buy tickets for an entertainment out of doors.

"My tent is the thing," said Uncle James, and so they all thought It was a large white one, and the children agreed to decorate it with evergreens. It would hold all the people who were likely to come and many more.

During the week Uncle James set up the tent not far from the hotel and in one corner of it built a staging. He did not mind taking trouble for his beloved namesake, James Sanford Dunlee. The stage was made to look like a room in an old-fashioned house. It had a make-believe door and window and a make-believe fireplace with andirons and wood and shovel and tongs. There was a rag rug on the floor, and on the three-legged stand stood the hour-glass with candles in iron candlesticks. The fiddle-backed chairs were there and two _hard_ "easy-chairs" and an old wooden "settle." Lucy and Bab said it looked "like somebody's house," and they wanted to go and live in it.

On the Saturday afternoon appointed the play had been well learned by the four actors. Everything being ready, this cosy little sitting-room was now shut off from view by a calico curtain which was stretched across the stage by long strings run through brass rings.

The play would begin at half-past two. Jimmy was dressed neatly in his very best clothes. He had a roll of paper and a pencil in one of his pockets and during the play he meant to add up the number of people present and find out how much money had been taken.

"But Jimmy-boy, it won't be very much," said Edith. "This is an empty town, and so queer too. Something may happen at the last minute that will spoil the whole thing."

She was right. Something did happen which no one could have foreseen. For an "empty" town Castle Cliff was famous for events.

As Jimmy left the hotel just after luncheon he overtook Nate Pollard and Joe Rolfe standing near a big sand bank, talking together earnestly.

"Come on, Jimmum," said Nate; "we've got a spade for you. We're going to dig a cave in the side of this bank."

"What's the use of a cave?"

"Why, for one thing, we can run into it in time of an earthquake."

"That's so," said Jimmy. "Or we could stay in and be cave-dwellers."

But as he took up the spade he chanced to look down at his new clothes. He had spoiled one nice suit already and had promised his mother he would be more careful of this one.

"Wait till I put on my old clothes, will you?"

Nate laughed and snapped his fingers. "We're in a hurry. I've got to be in the tent in half an hour. Go along, you little dude! We'll dig the cave without you."

The laugh cut Jimmy to the heart. And he had been learning to like Nate so well. A dude? Not he! Besides, what harm would dry sand do? It's "clean dirt."

Then all in a minute he thought of that wild journey on the roof. It had made a deeper impression upon him than any other event of his life.

"Poh! Am I going to dig dirt in my best clothes just because Nate Pollard laughs at me? I don't 'take stumps' any more; there's no sense in it, so there!"

And off he started, afraid to linger lest he should fall into temptation. Jimmy might be heedless, no doubt he often was; but when he really stopped to think, he always respected his mother's wishes and always kept his word to her.

This was the trait in Jimmy which marked him off as a highly bred little fellow. For let me tell you, boys, respect for your elders is the first point of high breeding all the world over.

Jimmy sauntered on slowly toward the door of the tent. There were a great many benches inside, but it was not time yet for the audience to arrive. Uncle James and Katharine and Edith were on the stage, and Aunt Vi was adding a few touches to Edith's dress.

"O dear," said Grandmamma Graymouse, "I hope I shan't forget my part. Tell me, Uncle James, do I look old enough?"

"You look too old to be alive," he answered; "fifty years older than I do, certainly! Mrs. Mehitable Whalen, are you my wife or my very great grandmamma?"

"But where's Nate Pollard?" Aunt Vi asked. "I told him to come early to rehearse."

"He said he'd be here in half an hour," said Jimmy. "He's off playing."

"I hope I shall not have to punish my young grandson," said Uncle James, solemnly, as he began to peel a sycamore switch.

Uncle James's name was now "Ichabod Whalen," and he and "Mehitable Whalen," his wife, were such droll objects in their old-fashioned clothes that they could not look at each other without laughing.

Their absent grandson, "Ezekiel Whalen" (or Nate Pollard), was a fine specimen of a boy of ancient times, and Aunt Vi had been much pleased with the way in which he acted his part. But where was he? Aunt Vi and the grandparents grew impatient. It was now half-past two; people were flocking into the tent; but the curtain could not rise, for nothing was yet to be seen of young Master "Ezekiel Whalen" and his small clothes and his cocked hat. The house was pretty well filled; really there were far more people than had been expected, Jimmy, with pencil and paper in hand, was figuring up the grown people and children, and multiplying these numbers by twenty-five and by fifteen. When he found that the sum amounted to nearly nine dollars he almost whistled for joy.

But all this while the audience was waiting. People looked around in surprise; the Dunlee family grew more and more anxious. Aunt Lucy pinched Bab and Bab pinched Aunt Lucy.

Suddenly there were loud voices at the entrance of the tent. The tent curtain was pushed aside violently, and Mr. Templeton and Mr. Rolfe rushed in exclaiming:--

"Two boys lost! All hands to the rescue!"

The people were on their feet in a moment and there was a grand rush for the outside. The panic, so it was said afterward, was about equal to "the little schoolma'am's earthquake."

XIV

JIMMY'S GOOD LUCK

"It's the Pollard and Rolfe boys," explained Mr. Templeton.

"Ho! I know where _they_ are!" cried Jimmy, "They're all right. They're only digging a cave in the side of a sand-bank."

"Show us where! Run as fast as you can!" exclaimed Mr. Rolfe and Mr. Pollard. Mr. Pollard had been hunting for the last half-hour. He knew Nate was deeply interested in "Jimmy's play" and would not have kept away from the tent unless something unusual had happened.

Jimmy ran, followed by several men who could not possibly keep up with him. But when they all reached the sand-bank, where were the "cave-dwellers"? They had burrowed in the sand till completely out of sight!

"Hello! Where are you"? screamed Jimmy.

There was no answer. In enlarging the cave they had loosened the very dry earth, and thus caused the roof over their heads to fall in upon them, actually burying them as far as their arm-pits! They tried to scream, but their muffled voices could not be heard. The "cave" looked like a great pile of sand and nothing more. Nobody would have dreamed that there was any one inside it if it had not been for Jimmy's story.

"Courage, boys, we're after you, we'll soon have you out!" said the men cheerily; though how could they tell whether the boys heard or not? Indeed, how did they know the boys were still alive?

Two men went for shovels. The other men, not waiting for them to come back thrust their arms into the bank and scooped out the sand with their hands. The sand was loose and they worked very fast. Before the shovels arrived a moan was heard. At any rate one of the boys was alive. And before long they had unearthed both the young prisoners and dragged them out of the cave.

Not a minute too soon, Joe gasped for breath and looked wildly about; but Nate lay perfectly still; it could hardly be seen at first that he breathed. His father and mother, the doctor and plenty of other people were ready and eager to help; but it was some time before he showed signs of life. When at last he opened his eyes the joy of his parents was something touching to witness.

Jimmy, who had been standing about with the other children, watching and waiting, caught his mother by the sleeve and whispered:--

"I should have been in there too, mamma, if it hadn't been for you!"

"What do you mean, my son? In that cave? I never knew the boys were trying to make a cave. I did not forbid your digging in the sand, did I?"

"No, mamma; but I knew you wouldn't want me to do it in these clothes--after all my actions! And I had promised to be more careful."

Mrs. Dunlee smiled, but there were tears in her eyes.

"How glad I am that my little boy respected his mother's wishes," said she, stooping to kiss his earnest face.

She dared not think what might have happened if he had disregarded her wishes!

It was a time of rejoicing. Mr. Templeton ordered out the brass band and the Hindoo tam tam. The horse Thistleblow seemed to think he must be wanted too, and came and danced in circles before the groups of happy people.

"I could believe I was in some foreign country," said Mrs. McQuilken, smiling under her East Indian puggaree, as she had not been seen to smile before, and dropping a kiss on the cheek of her favorite Edith.

After dinner the Dunlees met in Aunt Vi's room, and Aunt Vi observed that Mrs. Dunlee kept Jimmy close by her side, looking at him in the way mothers look at good little sons, her eyes shining with happy love and pride.

They were talking over "Jimmy's play," which had not been played. The money must all be given back to the people who had sat and looked so long at that calico curtain.

"We'll try 'Granny's Quilting' again next Saturday," said Aunt Vi.

They did try it again. There were no caves to dig this time, and young Master "Ezekiel Whalen" was on the stage promptly at half-past one, eager to show his grandparents that he was a boy to be relied upon after all. The play was a remarkable success. All the "summer boarders and campers" came to it, and everybody said:--

"Oh, do give us some more entertainments, Mrs. Sanford! Let us have one every Saturday."

Aunt Vi, being the kindest soul in the world, promised to do what she could. She gave the play of the "Pied Piper of Hamelin," with children for rats; and Eddo was dressed as a mouse, and squealed so perfectly that Edith's cat could hardly be restrained from rushing headlong upon the stage.

Later there were tableaux. Edith wore red, white, and blue and was the Goddess of Liberty. Jimmy was a cowboy with cartridge-belt and pistols. Lucy and Barbara were Night and Morning, with stars on their heads. Mr. Sanford was Uncle Jonathan. Mr. Hale was an Indian chief.

Jimmy's debts were more than paid, and a happier boy was not to be found in the state of California.

After this there were plenty of free entertainments on the tailings. At one of these, when the audience was watching a flight of rockets, Katharine heard two women not far away talking together. One of them asked:--

"Where's that little Dunlee girl, the one that keeps the play-school?"

"Over there in the corner," replied the other, "She hasn't any hat on. She's sitting beside the girl with a cat in her lap."

"Oh, is that the one? So young as that? Well, she's a good girl, yes, she is. I guess she _is_ a good girl," said the first speaker heartily. "My little Henry thinks there's nothing like her. He never learned much of anything till he went to that play-school. He never behaved so well as he does now, never gave me so little trouble at home. She's a _good_ girl."

A world of comfort fell on Kyzie. Young as she was and full of faults, she had really done a wee bit of good.

"And they didn't say a word about my jumping out of the window," thought she, with deep satisfaction. "Wait till I grow up, just wait till I grow up, and as true as I live I'll be something and do something in this world!"

She did not say this aloud, you may be sure; but there was a look on her face of high resolve.

Uncle James had often said to Aunt Vi:--

"Our Katharine is very much in earnest. I know you agree with me that "little Prudy's" eldest daughter is a golden girl!"

The "play-school" closed a few days later, and it was Henry Small who received the medal for good spelling. He wasn't so much of a cry-baby nowadays and the boys had stopped calling him "Chicken Little."

The Dunlee party went home the last week in August, declaring they had had delightful times at Castle Cliff.

"Only I never went down that mine in a bucket," said Lucy. "How could I when the men were blowing up rocks just like an earthquake?"

"And I wanted to wait till they found that vein," said Jimmy.

A few days before they left, Uncle James went hunting and shot a deer. I wish there were space to tell of the barbecue to which all the neighbors were invited a little later.

As it is, my young readers are not likely to hear any more of the adventures of the "bonnie Dunlees," either at home or abroad.

But during their stay in the mountains that summer Lucy begged Aunt Vi to write some stories, with the little friends, Bab and Lucy, for the heroines.

"Some 'once-upon-a-time stories,' Auntie Vi. Make believe we two girls go all about among the fairies, just as Alice did in Wonderland; only there are two of us together, and we shall have a better time!"

"Oh, fie! How could I take real live little girls into the kingdom of the elves and gnomes and pixies? I shouldn't know how!"

But she was so obliging as to try. The week before they left for home she had completed a book of "once-upon-a-time stories," which she read aloud to all the children as they clustered around her in the "air-castle." She called it "Lucy in Fairyland," though she meant Bab just as much as Lucy. If the little public would like to see this book it may be offered them by and by; together with the comments which were made upon each story by the whole Dunlee family,--Jimmy, wee Lucy, and all.