Part 4

All the rooms in this delightful cottage were exactly the right size, for you could have as many people in them at once as was just agreeable. Every room was filled with handsome, comfortable furniture, and the most beautiful things imaginable, besides; not such fine things as Mr. Marcotte, the French cabinet-maker, invents. Oh, no! they were far more wonderful and admirable; for there, in one corner, you would come upon a tiny bird's nest, the marvellous construction of which would fill you with admiration for the cunning little architect. Even Mr. Renwick, who built Grace Church and the Smithsonian Institute, could never make one like it if he tried all his life.

In another corner would be a few cotton bolls of sea-island cotton, the soft, snowy mass bursting from within, a perfect marvel to behold. Then Peter's father and sister would take long walks in the woods, and bring from thence great bunches of strange and splendid ferns, and wild flowers, growing unseen and unregarded, save by such refined and ardent admirers of Nature.

His elder sister sketched beautifully, and painted in water colors, and the walls were adorned with lovely little "bits" of landscape, so correctly drawn and softly tinted, that the eye delighted to rest upon them, and, altogether, "Clear Comfort" was just such a house as Washington Irving, N. P. Willis, Curtis, or any person of great taste and refinement would be enchanted to live in.

The waters of the Narrows streamed past the windows; opposite, were the lovely shores of Long Island, and beyond, the wide Atlantic Ocean. Every steamship and other vessel passed by so close, that if you waved your handkerchief, passengers were sure to return the politeness. Peter once waved a large cat at the Persia, as she went by in her stately grandeur, with flags flying in the sweet summer wind, and some one on board, seeing and enjoying the joke, held up a pig by the ears by way of return, and Peter ran into the house laughing, and declared to his sister that he heard it "creek," by which queer word, he meant "squeak."

One morning Peter jumped out of his little crib, which was close to his mother's bed, and felt in such excellent spirits, that he turned to his mother, and cried, "Do wake up, mamma! wake up, papa! it is so pleasant! I could jump out of the window with joy. I will, _too!_" and before his mother could spring from the bed to prevent him, Peter had scrambled out of the window, and was running along the eaves, his one little garment fluttering behind him in the soft summer breeze. He came presently to the window of his sister Minnie's room, and, as it was open, jumped in, and commenced dancing about and turning somersets in a perfect ecstasy of delight, exclaiming, "I am so happy! I am so happy! I don't know what to do! I wish I could sit up the whole time, and never go to bed any more, or have to spell long words, or learn that stupid multi-something-cation table; but just eat lumps of sugar, and play the whole time."

"Why, Peter!" said Minnie, who was now awake, and laughing at his comical antics, "I don't think it very likely you will ever die of learning. What are you going to do when you grow up, if you don't learn, while you are young, to read, write, and cipher?"

"Oh, there will always be plenty of people to read to me, just as there are now. I mean to hire two big girls to do nothing else but to read to me; when one is tired, the other shall begin. Just look at my little white mouse, Minnie: I dare say it is nothing but hard work, and that dreadful studying, that has turned his hair white! I mean to take care of my health, my dear," and the queer little fellow shook his head at her in a solemn fashion, looking at least fifty, and then scampered off to his mother's room to be dressed.

While the dressing was going on, Peter saw a spider, and exclaimed, "Only look, mamma! at that great daddy long-legs staring in at the window! I should think his legs were about two miles long. And, see! he has four tails sticking out behind!"

"Two inches would be nearer, Peter," answered his mother, "and his tails are all legs. I expect he is looking in to invite some poor little lady-fly into his parlor, and when he has her there, he will pounce upon his company and eat her up."

"The hateful thing!" exclaimed Peter; "I'll just tie a string to one of his legs, and throw him into the water. I've a first-rate string in my pocket. But here! what's the matter? what ails my pantaloons? where's my pockets?" he continued, looking down in dismay at the strange, baggy appearance of the garment.

The truth is, Peter's mother had been so busy looking at the spider, that she had put on and buttoned his pantaloons the wrong side before.

Peter went on saying, "Why, mother, what's a fellow to _do_? How am I to get my hands in my pockets?" He twisted his head over his shoulders till he made a terrible kink in his neck, and turned his arms nearly out of their sockets in his efforts to dive into his pockets; and there came over his childish face such a ridiculously solemn and tragical air, that his mother nearly died of laughter.

When she could speak she said, "You must excuse me, Peter, it was an accident. It is very fortunate your head don't come off. If I had buttoned _that_ the wrong side before, you would have been worse off than a crab; they walk sideways, but you would have had to have walked backwards."

In a few moments the pantaloons were danced off, and put on again; this time "all right and tight," as Peter said. Then his mother washed his face and hands, till they perfectly shone, they were so bright and clean; and, at his earnest request, she brushed his hair very carefully, with a seam down behind, and a flourishing curl on top, "like the dandies."

And now the little boy's face assumed a serious, thoughtful expression, as, kneeling by the side of his good mamma, he repeated this little prayer:--

"Ere from my room I wend my way, God grant me grace my prayers to say: O God! preserve my mother dear, In strength and health, for many a year; And O! preserve my father, too, And may I pay him reverence due; And may I my best thoughts employ, To be my parents' hope and joy: And O! preserve my sisters dear, From every hurtful influence here: And may we always love each other, Our sisters, father, and our mother; And still, O Lord, to me impart An innocent and grateful heart, That, after my last sleep, I may Awake to thy eternal day."[A]

[A] S. T. Coleridge.

After saying this beautiful prayer he ran down stairs, and out into the sweet, fresh air, and had a glorious scamper, which gave him a famous appetite for his breakfast.

I am obliged to tell you that my little friend Peter was as full of mischief as an egg is full of meat, and he always went so seriously to work, with such a grave twinkle in his bright, blue eyes, that you could not help laughing if you were ever so angry.

One morning he was alone in the parlor, sitting in his little arm-chair; a pair of old spectacles, which he had picked up somewhere, perched on the end of his little nose, and one leg nursed up on the other, "just like grandpa," as he said. He was pretending to read the newspaper.

Presently he rose up, stretched his little legs, (and very fine legs they were,) the stockings upon which were tightly gartered above the knee, and pushing the spectacles up on the top of his forehead, as he had seen his grandfather do, he said to himself, "Dear me! very little news in the paper to-day! Only the quarantine burned down. I wish _I_ had been there! What fun! to run all round with my little pail full of water, and help to put it out! I wish they would set something else on fire in the day time, and give a _man_ a chance to see it! I wonder what I shall do next?" and Peter approached the window and looked out.

It was a still, lovely day; the sun sailed slowly up in the heavens, and the blue and rippling waters caught his richest beams. Numerous crafts crept lazily along, their snowy sails looking, in the distance, like the listless wings of great white birds resting upon the waves. Upon the pillars of the piazza the vines hung in rich festoons, and the naked arms of one great tree near by (which, from some cause, was dead) were perfectly covered with a prodigal and splendid flowering vine, presenting a strange but graceful and beautiful appearance, a monument to the exquisite and subtle taste which had spared it for this purpose.

Peter, young as he was, felt the witching influence of this lovely scene. He watched, with intense interest, a flock of birds high up in the heavens, wheeling swiftly round, and darting here and there, happy, joyous and free; and then he turned to look at a little singing bird of his sister's, imprisoned in a cage, hanging in the window.

"Well," said Peter, "it is a real shame to lock up this little bird, when its father and mother, uncles and aunts, godfathers and godmothers, and ever so many cousins, are running about in the sky, doing exactly as they please--that's a fact! I'll just let him out," and he opened the door of the cage.

In an instant the little bird flew out, darted through the window, and was lost in the distance. When he had watched until it had disappeared, Peter looked at the cage, and his face grew blank. All at once he began to think it barely possible that his sister would not be quite as delighted at the loss of her bird as he had at first fancied. To be sure this was a free country, but with certain reservations. He began to feel queer and frightened. "Goody! what shall I do?" he said to himself, burying his hands in his pockets, and standing in a contemplative attitude, with his chubby little legs very wide apart, the spectacles still on the top of his head, "Goody! Minnie will want to cut off all my fingers and toes for opening the door, I am sure she will! Oh! I know; I'll just go and catch a chicken, and put it in the cage; it will be all the same as the bird."

So the little scamp rushed into the kitchen for a handful of corn, and as the chickens were very tame, and clustered around him the moment he called them, he had no difficulty in capturing a small, white hen. Laden with his prize, Peter went, with a hop, skip and jump, back to the parlor, and by main force pushed and jammed the poor thing through the door of the cage, and shut it, and then sat down, his face excessively red, and breathing so hard you would have thought it was a porpoise come out of the water to make a call upon the family.

The chicken, meanwhile, was lifting up first one leg and then the other, in her very close quarters, with an expression of perfect astonishment and disgust--occasionally giving vent to her displeasure by a dismal "squawk," very unlike the sweet tones of a singing bird.

Peter thought the new bird might, perhaps, be hungry, and was scolding him about it; so he went again into the kitchen, and walked off with nearly a whole loaf of bread, which he crumbled in a great heap in a corner of the cage. The chicken only kicked it out in all directions over the carpet, and made a worse noise than ever, which plainly said, "I want to get out! I want to get out!"

Poor Peter felt that he was in a terrible scrape when he heard this abominable noise. I wish you could have seen his face when his sister Minnie came into the parlor, a few moments after, to practise her music. It was just the color of a stick of sealing wax or a fireman's shirt, and he looked frightened out of his five senses, and the whole of his wits.

At first she did not notice that any thing was amiss, as the piano was at the other end of the room, and she commenced playing a beautiful overture, when, suddenly, a loud, angry "cluck! cluck!" caused her to jump up, with a little scream.

Looking round at the cage, she exclaimed in great astonishment, "Why, what on earth! what is it? Has the bird got the dropsy and swelled out in that dreadful manner? Impossible! Goodness!" she exclaimed again, as the chicken gave vent to another cry, "It is not the bird at all!--it is a chicken. But how did it come there? Why, Peter! what a red face! Do you know, Peter? Answer me, this moment!"

And now poor little Peter fairly gave way. His lips, which had been trembling all the time she was speaking, were drawn down at the corners, nearly under his chin, as he sobbed out, "Why, Minnie, I thought the bird wanted to run up into the sky, where all the other birds were, so I just opened the door. I thought he would not go more than fifty miles, you know, and then come back you know! I am so sorry, Minnie, it is forty million pities if he _don't_ come back. I put the chicken in the cage on purpose to please you; but she can't sing any thing but that old 'cluck, cluck!' and she kicked all the bread in my face, and I can't bear her. Oh, dear! oh, dear me!"

For her life Minnie could not help laughing, and, besides, she could not help admiring the brave manner (if he _did_ cry about) with which her little brother told the truth. Peter was the baby of the family, an only son, and a great pet; but if he _was_ dreadfully mischievous he never did a mean thing, _and never told a lie_! Think of _that_, boys and girls, and take example by the little fellow.

Minnie, when she saw how distressed he really was, generously forgave him, and bade good-by to her bird, though not without some tears, for she loved the little creature dearly; and to comfort Peter took him in her lap, and told him an entertaining story.

One day, his mother said, "I am going to New York for a few days; what shall I bring you, my darling, when I return?"

"Oh, mother! a penknife and a pair of skates for next winter, and a penknife! and a basketfull of lemons, to make lemonade! and--and--if you please, a penknife; do, please, mamma!"

His mother laughed at the great desire for a penknife, without which, all boys feel, I believe, that they are very much abused, and deprived of their peculiar right.

"I will remember all your wishes, my dear boy," she said, "particularly the penknife."

"Well, mamma, for fear you might forget, I will write you a letter, and papa shall take it to-morrow."

So that very afternoon, Peter took a large sheet of paper out of his mother's writing-desk, and, pressing his sister Alice into his service, dictated the following epistle:

"MY DEAR DARLING MAMMA,--I am very sorry you have gone away! very sorry, indeed; so I am, certainly. I have just bumped my head, and it hurts very much--not so very much, though--hardly any. I wish you were here, and, besides, I want to see you very much indeed. I want you to buy me a penknife. We have very pleasant weather here, and I hope you have pleasant weather in New York; I really _do_ hope so, that's a fact, certainly. I 'spect you will buy me a penknife and a pair of skates.

"I wish I could come to see you; but, unluckily, I am too little, and, besides, I have no money, only but one penny; of course that would not do, as I have not enough money to go to and fro--of course not--I have only one penny.

"Have you money enough to buy my penknife? I have been a pretty good boy, except sometimes, when I was cross--sometimes, last night, when I wanted two pieces of cake; but I don't mean to be cross again, not that I know of--may be. I hope you will bring my penknife. I think that is long enough--of course it is. Good-by, my dear mamma. I hope you will come back soon, and bring my penknife the same day. Bring it in your pocket, shut up, with a paper round it, and tied, and I am your affectionate son, "PETER."

"Shall I write a postscript?" said Alice.

"What's a postscript?" said Peter, with his head on one side.

"It is some thing very particular indeed, which ladies always put in after the letter is finished."

"Oh, yes!" cried Peter, "I'm the boy for a postscript--certainly, of course!"

"Well," said Alice, holding her pen over the paper.

"Well," repeated Peter, "Postscript, put _that_! Got that down?"

"Yes, all written beautifully!" answered Alice.

"Dear mamma, please _pertikerlary_ to bring me a penknife and--" oh, Alice, "a pair of skates and a penknife!" and then the wonderful letter was finished and sent the next morning; and let me tell you, Peter's mother laughed over and enjoyed this letter more than she would have done the finest complimentary epistle from the President of the United States.

You may be sure that Peter got the penknife and his skates, too. With the first, like boys in general, he cut himself about once a day; but he did not care a button for that, but just had his finger tied up by one of his kind sisters, and marched off, without even making a wry face, with his precious knife in his pocket. The skates came, too; but, as there had been no ice as yet, Peter had only tried them on dry ground, which Alice told him was far the best and safest style of skating, and repeated, for his edification, Mother Goose's solemn poem of--

"Three children sliding on the ice-- All, on a summer's day-- The ice was thin; they all fell in; The rest, they ran away. Now, had these children been at home, Or sliding on dry ground, Ten thousand pounds to one penny They had not all been drowned."

All of which was heathen Greek to Peter, or, as he called it, "Stuff!"

One day, soon after her return, Peter's mother took him with her to visit an excellent lady of her acquaintance, who lived near by. They found her sitting in the parlor, with her eldest son and daughter, looking over a new and beautiful book, called Melodies for Childhood. Soon after they were seated the lady said, "Something very amusing happened up-stairs just now. I have a friend here spending the day, who brought her little baby of four months with her. My little girl is just the same age. Of course my friend's baby must have her nap, and I gave her my little one's cradle to sleep in. But my baby was so very much put out at this that she could not sleep at all; and little Harry, who, as you know, is not quite three years old, was so grieved at what he supposed was the wickedness of the other baby, in taking away his sister's property, that he marched up to the cradle--his little breast heaving, his eyes flashing, and his hand raised, while, with high, indignant voice, he asked, "_Mamma, sall I_ SAPP _her?_" and I had to run to save the little innocent from the impending blow."

Peter listened to all this with very large eyes and all the ears he had, which were only two, and quite small; and when Harry came into the room, a moment after, he rushed up to him, in a prodigious hurry, and cried, "Harry, did you slap her? I would! Let's both go up-stairs and do it now. Give it to her like sixty, for sleeping in your sister's bed!" This proposal so delighted Harry that, in turning round suddenly to go out, he fell over a chair and bumped his nose. Fortunately, this accident kept both the children in the room, and the slapping of the baby had to be postponed.

In the winter time, on the island, the ladies hold sewing meetings, and sew for the poor; and many a warm garment and nice hood is made, and given away to those who otherwise would suffer from the bitter cold.

The pleasantest of these meetings, every one said, was at "Clear Comfort." They, all seemed to feel and acknowledge the sweet spell of the place; and then, Minnie made such wonderful cakes, and the hot biscuit were so light and feathery, that it certainly was the very clearest comfort and enjoyment to eat them, and an inducement to sew ever so much faster afterwards.

It was at one of these delightful meetings that I first met Peter, sitting in front of the splendid wood fire in his own little arm-chair, with his kitten in his lap and a demure twinkle in his blue eye, but not in the least abashed at being the only gentleman in the party.

It was perfectly surprising how many kisses were bestowed upon Peter, and how like a matter of course he took them, and how like a real little gentleman he answered all the questions the ladies asked him; which so delighted a very short, brown lady that she wanted to give him a houseful of books and toys; but, not being quite able to afford that, she sent him on last Christmas eve some stories she had written many years before, accompanied by this string of rhymes, each verse of which must be read in _one_ breath; and, as taking long breaths is beneficial to the lungs, I may as well say that this is about all the merit they have. Here it is. Peter calls it his "Pottery" letter:--

I.

My dear little Pet- Er, so very neat, With such tiny feet As can't well be beat; And dressed up so sweet That it's quite a treat To walk up the street, And take a cool seat Away from the heat, On purpose to meet And kindly to greet (Almost wishing to eat) This dear little Pete, Who lives in the mansion Called "Comfort Complete."

II.

And now only look! I send you this book By Dinah, the cook, Who is black as a rook; And she's _undertook_, By hook or by crook, Or by crook or by hook, To take you this book; And she shall be _shook_ If she says she's _mistook_, And to the wrong Peter Has given this book.

III.

I do not affect To be quite correct, But I've _tried_ to collect These stories direct; Which you may reject, If the least disrespect, Or the smallest neglect, Or word incorrect On the subjects elect You can ever detect. And please recollect, That you may suspect That I wish to protect, And keep quite select, My stories for children I love and respect.

IV.

Then, what will you do? Why, you'll tie up one shoe; Then another--that's two You'd begun to undo; For all the world knew You were sleepy "a few." And looking askew At the cat, who said "Mew!" Meaning "Good-night," to you. You'll wake up anew, And say, "Mamma, who Sent this book on view? Have you the least clue? I'm afraid she's a shrew, As the color is blue. The stories are true, I supposes; don't you?"

V.

Then she'll say, "My dear, 'Tis Aunt Fanny, I hear. She's nothing to scare, For she's little and spare: She's not very fair, And as high as a chair." Then you'll put on an air-- For in this affair You have a great share-- And say, "I don't care If she's _not_ very fair, And so little and spare, Or as cross as a bear: I protest and declare I like her, now--there!"

VI.

And now, Peter, attend! To me your ear lend. Your little head bend, My dear little friend! And never pretend You don't comprehend; But just condescend, For a very good end, That face to unbend, Those fingers extend; And, smiling, commend And, frowning, defend This book that I send. Say, "Sir, your opinion You're asked to suspend."

VII.

Then I'll say, "Where'er You go, and, whene'er At 'Clear Comfort,' whate'er You do, and howe'er, The writer will ne'er From her inmost heart tear Little Peter; but wear A sweet souvenir there Of her little friend dear, Which no one shall share As long as she's here."

This "Pottery" pleased Peter very much, and he kept his sisters busy reading the stories in the little book to him.

As Peter is only six years old at present, I cannot possibly tell you the whole of his history; but I will keep my eye upon him all this coming year, and next Christmas, if you like, I will make another story about his funny doings and sayings; or, if you prefer, you can make his acquaintance, personally, in that charming place called _Clear Comfort_.