Part 6
It may be imagined, therefore, that as time went on all manner of vehicles were there gathered together. Some of these were in good running order, while others had been bought partly with a view to their being repaired and sold at a profit. The expression on Aunt Phebe’s face when Uncle Jacob brought home an addition to his interesting collection was very striking. I remember particularly observing this at the coming into harbor of a rattling, shackly, green-bottomed carryall, which had a door at the back, and seats running lengthwise. It formerly belonged to some person who, having then a large family of small children to get to meeting, contrived a conveyance which would take in and discharge again the greatest number with the least trouble.
In this odd vehicle, which had been run under an overhanging apple-tree, I often sat through the summer afternoon, now reading my book, now watching the animal life about me, gaining useful knowledge from both. Sometimes, when feeling like a boy again,--as I often did and do feel,--I would amuse myself with playing _go to ride_ in a comical old chaise. It was set high, and pitched forward, the lining was ragged, the back “light” gone, the stuffing running out of the cushions; yet there I liked to sit, and “ride,” and joggle up and down, as in the happy days of boyhood. But not, as in those happy days, “hard as I could,” for reasons easy to guess.
I trust no one will imagine that spacious yard to have been merely a sort of safe anchorage, where all manner of disabled craft might run in for shelter! Lest any words of mine should imply this, or seem to cast blame on Uncle Jacob, let me hasten to say that he really required a variety of “wheel-ed things” to carry on his business.
Neither of the Mr. Carvers got their living wholly, or even chiefly, by farming. They drew wood from lots owned by themselves, or by others, and used their teams in any way, according as employment was offered them. Thus heavy carts were wanted for heavy work, and light carts for light work, besides carryalls for dry and for rainy weather, and riding wagons, because they were handy.
For all the Summer Sweeting folks were hard workers, they knew how to get up a good time, and enjoyed it too, as we shall see by the account of one which Dorry gives in the following letter:--
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_Dorry to his Sister._
DEAR SIS,--
O, we’ve hurrahed and hurrahed and hurrahed ourselves hoarse! Such a bully time! You’d better believe the old horses went some! And that hay-cart went rattle and bump, rattle and thump,--seemed as if we should jolt to pieces! But I’ve counted myself all over, and believe I’m all here! Bubby Short’s throat is so sore that all he can do is to lie flat on the floor and wink his eyes. You see we cheered at every house, and they came running to their windows, and some cheered back again, and some waved and some laughed, and all of them stared. But part of the way was through the woods.
This morning Billy and Bubby Short and I went over to Aunt Phebe’s of an errand, to borrow a cup of dough. I wish mother could see how her stove shines! And while we were sitting down there, having some fun with Aunt Phebe’s little Tommy, Uncle Jacob came in and said, “Mother, let’s go somewhere.”
She said, “Thank you! thank you! we shall be very happy to accept your invitation. Girls, your father has given us an invitation! Boys, he means you too!”
“But you can’t go,--can you?” Uncle Jacob cried out, and made believe he didn’t know what to make of it. O, he’s such a droll man! “I thought you couldn’t leave the ironing,” says he.
“O yes, we can!” Hannah Jane said; and “O yes, we can!” they all cried out.
Aunt Phebe said it would be entirely convenient, and told her girls to shake out the sprinkled clothes to dry.
“O, now,” said Uncle Jacob, “who’d have thought of your saying ‘yes.’ I expected you couldn’t leave.”
Then they kept on talking and laughing. O, they are all so funny here! Uncle Jacob tried to get off without going; but at last he said, “Well, boys, we must catch Old Major.”
That’s the old gray horse, you know. And we were long enough about it. For, just as we got him into a corner, he’d up heels, and away he’d go. And once he slapped his tail right in my face. But after a while we got him into the barn.
Then pretty soon Uncle Jacob put on a long face, and looked very sober, and put his head in at the back kitchen door, and said he guessed we should have to give up going, after all, for the mate to Old Major had got to be shod, and the blacksmith had gone away.
“Harness in the colt, then,” Aunt Phebe said. “No matter about their matching, if we only get there!”
That colt is about twenty years old. He’s black, and short, and takes little stubby steps; and he’s got a shaggy mane, that goes flop, flop, flop every step he takes. But Old Major is bony, and has a long neck, like the nose of a tunnel. Such a span as they made! What would my mother say to see that span!
They were harnessed in to the hay-cart. A hay-cart is a long cart that has stakes stuck in all round it. We put boards across for benches. Aunt Phebe brought out a whole armful of quite small flags, that they had Independent Day, and we tied one to the end of every stake.
Such a jolly time as we did have getting aboard! First all the baskets and pails full of cake and pies were stowed away under the benches, and jugs of water, and bottles of milk, and a hatchet, and some boiled eggs, and apples and pears. Then uncle called out, “Come! where is everybody? Tumble in! tumble in! Where’s little Tommy?”
Then we began to look about and to call “Tommy!” “Tommy!” “Tommy!” At last Bubby Short said, “There he is, up there!” We all looked up, and saw Tommy’s face part way through a broken square of glass--I mean where the glass was broken out. He said he couldn’t “tum down, betause the _roosted_ was on his feets.” You see, he’d got his feet tangled up in Lucy Maria’s worsteds.
“O dear!” Lucy Maria said; “all that shaded pink!”
When they brought him down, Uncle Jacob looked very sober, and said, “Why, Tommy! Did you get into all that shaded pink?”
“Didn’t get in _all_ of it,” said Tommy. Then he told us he was taking down the “gimmerlut to blower a hole with.” Next he began to cry for his new hat; and when he got his new hat, he began to cry for a posy to be stuck in it. That little fellow never will go anywhere without a flower stuck in his hat. Aunt Phebe says his grandmother began that notion when her damask rosebush was in bloom.
After we were all aboard, Uncle Jacob brought out the teakettle, and slung it on behind with a rope. He said maybe mother would want a cup of tea. Then they laughed at him, for he is the tea-drinker himself. Next he brought out a long pan.
“Now that’s my cookie-pan!” Aunt Phebe said. “You don’t cook clams in my cookie-pan!”
He made believe he was terribly afraid of Aunt Phebe, and trotted back with it just like a little boy, and then came bringing out an old sheet-iron fireboard.
“Is this anybody’s cookie-pan?” said he, then stowed it away in the bottom of the cart. Bubby Short wanted to know what that was for.
“That’s for the clams,” Uncle Jacob said.
But we couldn’t tell whether he meant so. We never can tell whether Uncle Jacob is funning or not. I haven’t told you yet where we were bound. We were bound to the shore. That’s about six miles off. The last thing that Uncle Jacob brought out was a stick that had strips of paper tied to the end of it.
“That’s my flyflapper!” Aunt Phebe said. “What are you going to do with my flyflapper?”
He said that was to brush the snarls off little Tommy’s face. Tommy is a tip-top little chap; but he’s apt to make a fuss. Sometimes he teased to drive, and then he teased for a drink, and then for a sugar-cracker, and then to sit with Matilda, and then with Hannah Jane. And, every time he fretted, Uncle Jacob would take out the flyflapper, and play brush the snarls off his face, and say, “There they go! Pick ’em up! pick ’em up!” And that would set Tommy a-laughing. Tommy tumbled out once, the back end of the cart. Billy was driving, and he whipped up quick, and they started ahead, and sent Tommy out the back end, all in a heap. But first he stood on his head, for ’t was quite a sandy place. I drove part of the way, and so did Bubby Short. We didn’t hurrah any going. Some men that we met would laugh and call out, “What’ll you take for your span?” And sometimes boys would turn round, and laugh, and holler out, “How are _you_, teakettle?” I think a hay-cart is the best thing to ride in that ever was. Just as we got through the woods, we looked round and saw Billy’s father coming, bringing Billy’s grandmother in a horse and chaise. Then we all clapped. For they said they guessed they couldn’t come.
When we got to the shore the horses had to be hitched to the cart, for there wasn’t a tree there, nor so much as a stump. Uncle Jacob called to us to come help him dig the clams. Billy carried the clam-digger, and I carried the bucket. Isn’t it funny that clams live in the mud? How do you suppose they move round? Do you suppose they know anything? Uncle Jacob struck his clam-digger in everywhere where he saw holes in the mud; and as fast as he uncovered the clams we picked them up, and soon got the bucket full.
Then he told us to run like lamplighters along the shore, and pick up sticks and bits of boards. “Bring them where you see a smoke rising,” says he.
O, such loads as we got, and split up the big pieces with the hatchet! Uncle Jacob had fixed some stones in a good way, and put his iron fireboard on top, and made a fire underneath. Then he spread his clams on the fireboard to roast. O, I tell you, sis, you never tasted of anything so good in your life as clams roasted on a fireboard!
And he put some stones together in another place, and set on the teakettle, and made a fire under it,--to make a cup of tea for mother, he said. Tommy kept helping making the fire, and once he joggled the teakettle over. Aunt Phebe and the girls sat on the rocks, the side where the wind wouldn’t blow the smoke in their eyes. But Billy’s grandmother had a soft seat made of sea-weed and the chaise cushions, and shawls all over her, and Billy’s father read things out of the newspaper to her. He said they two were the invited guests, and mustn’t work.
It took the girls ever so long to cut up the cakes and pies, and butter the biscuits. I know I never was so hungry before! The clams were passed round, piping hot, in box covers, and tin-pail covers, and some had to have shingles. You’d better believe those clams tasted good! Then all the other things were passed round. O, I don’t believe any other woman can make things as good as Aunt Phebe’s! Georgianna had a frosted plum-cake baked in a saucer; and, every time she moved her seat, Uncle Jacob would go too, and sit close up to her, and say how much he liked Georgie, she was the best little girl that ever was,--a great deal better than Aunt Phebe’s girls. Then Georgianna would say, “O, I know you! you want my frosted cake!” Then Uncle Jacob would pucker his lips together, and shut up his eyes, and shake his head so solemn! He keeps every body a-laughing, even Billy’s grandmother. He was just as clever to her! picked out the best mug there was to put her tea in,--Aunt Phebe don’t carry her good dishes, they get broken so,--and shocked out the clams for her in a saucer. When you get this letter, I guess you’ll get a good long one. After dinner we scattered about the shore. ’T was fun to see the crabs and frys and things the tide had left in the little pools of water. And I found lots of _blanc-mange_ moss. We boys ran ever so far along shore, and went in swimming. The water wasn’t very cold.
When it was time to go home, Uncle Jacob drummed loud on the six-quart pail, and waved his handkerchief. And the wind took it out of his hand, and blew it off on the water. Billy said, “Now the fishes can have a pocket-handkerchief.” And that made little Tommy laugh. Tommy had been in wading without his trousers being rolled up, and got ’em sopping wet. Just as we were going to leave, a sail-boat went past, quite near the shore, with a party on board. We gave them three cheers, and they gave us three cheers and a tiger; then they waved, and then we waved. Uncle Jacob hadn’t any pocket-handkerchief, so he caught Georgianna up in his arms, with her white sunbonnet on, and waved her; then the people in the boat clapped.
O, we had a jolly time coming home! In the woods we all got out and rested the horses, and I came pretty near catching a little striped squirrel. I should give it to you if I had. Did you ever see any live fences? Fences that branch out, and have leaves grow on them? Now I suppose you don’t believe that! But it’s true, for I’ve seen them. In the woods, if they want to fence off a piece, they don’t go to work and build a fence, but they bend down young trees, or the branches of trees, and fasten them to the next, and so on as far as they want the fence to go. And these trees and branches keep growing, and look so funny, something like giants with their legs and arms all twisted about. And every spring they leaf out the same as other trees, and that makes a real live fence. My squirrel was on that kind of fence. I wish it was my squirrel. He had a striped back. I got close up to him that is, I got quite close up,--near enough to see his eyes. What things they are to run!
Coming home we sang songs, and laughed; and every time we came to a house we cheered all together, and waved our flags. Everybody came to their windows to look, for there isn’t much travelling on that road. O, I’m so out of breath, and so hoarse! But I’m sorry we’ve got home, I wish it had been ten miles. Now I hear them laughing and clapping over at Aunt Phebe’s. What can they be doing? Now Uncle Jacob is calling us to come over. Bubby Short’s jumped up. He says his throat feels better now. I wonder what Uncle Jacob wants of us. We must go and see. Good by, sis. This letter is from your
BROTHER DORRY.
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I remember what they were clapping about. It happened that I came out from the city that day. The weather was so fine, I felt as if I must take one more look at the country, before winter came and spoiled every bright leaf and flower. I think the flowers and leaves seem very precious in the fall, when we know frost is waiting to kill them.
It was quite a disappointment to find the people all gone, and I was glad enough when at last the old hay-cart came rattling down the lane. Such a jolly set as they were! I jumped them out at the back of the cart.
That little Tommy was always such a funny chap. Just like his father for all the world. When the girls took their things off, he got himself into an old sack, and then tied on one of his mother’s checked aprons, and began to parade round. When Lucy Maria saw him she took him up stairs and put more things on him, and dressed him up for Mother Goose. I don’t know when I’ve seen anything so droll. They put skirts on him, till they made him look like a little fat old woman. He had a black silk handkerchief pinned over his shoulders, and a ruffle round his neck, and an old-fashioned, high-crowned nightcap on. Then spectacles. They put a peaked piece of dough on the end of his nose, to make it look like a hooked nose, and then set him down in the arm-chair. He kept sober as a judge. Bubby Short laughed till he tumbled down and rolled himself across the floor. Lucy Maria sent us out of the room to see something in the yard, and when we came back, there was a little old man with his hat on, and a cane, sitting opposite Mother Goose. He was made of a stuffed-out overcoat, trousers with sticks of wood in them, and boots. “That is Father Goose,” Lucy Maria said. Then Bubby Short had to tumble down again; and this time he rolled way through the entry, out on the doorstep!
Then came such a pleasant evening! Aunt Phebe said ’t was a pity for Grandmother to go to getting supper, they might as well all come over. Where anybody had to boil the teakettle and set the table, half a dozen more or less didn’t matter much.
So we all ate supper together, and it seemed to me I never did get into such a jolly set! Uncle Jacob and Aunt Phebe were so funny that we could hardly eat. And in the evening--But ’t is no use. If I begin to tell, and tell all I want to, there won’t be any room left for the letters.
Now comes quite a gap in the correspondence. There must have been many letters written about this time, which were, unfortunately not preserved. The next in order I find to be a short epistle from Bubby Short, written, it would seem, soon after the winter holidays.
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_A Letter from Bubby Short._
DEAR BILLY,--
My mother is all the one that I ever wrote a letter to before. So excuse poor writing, and this pen isn’t a very good pen to write with I bet. I am very sorry that you can’t come back quite yet. I hope that it won’t be a fever that you are going to have. Does your grandma think that ’t is going to be a fever? Do you take bitter medicine? I never had a fever. I take little pills every time I have anything. My mother likes little pills best now. But she used to make me take bitter stuff. Once she put it in my mouth and I wouldn’t swallow it down. Then she pinched my nose together and it made me swallow it down. Once I ate up all the little pills out of the bottle, and she was very scared about it. It wasn’t very full. But the doctor said that it wouldn’t hurt me any if I did eat them. How many presents did you have? I had five. Dorry he says he hopes that it won’t be a slow fever that you are going to have if you do have any fever, for he wants you to hurry and come back. Some new fellows have come. One is a tip-top one. And one good “pitcher.” I hope you will come back very soon, ’cause I like you very much.
Do you know who ’t is writing? I am that one all you fellers call
BUBBY SHORT.
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As may be gathered from the foregoing letter, William Henry did not go back to school with the rest. He was taken ill just at the close of vacation, and remained at home until spring. Grandmother said it was such a comfort that it didn’t happen away. And it seemed to me that this thought really made her enjoy his being sick at home.
Indeed, the people at Summer Sweeting place seemed ready to get enjoyment from everything, even from gruel, which is usually considered flat. I passed a day there at a time when William Henry was subsisting on this very simple but wholesome food. Aunt Phebe and Uncle Jacob came in to take tea at grandmother’s. The old lady was bringing out her nice things to set on the table, when Aunt Phebe said suddenly, I suppose seeing a hungry look in Billy’s eyes. She said,--
“Now, Grandmother, I wouldn’t bring those out. Let’s have a gruel supper, and all fare alike! We’ll make it in different ways,--milk porridge, oatmeal, corn-starch,--and I think ’t will be a pleasant change.”
“Gruel is very nourishing, well made,” said Grandmother; “but what will Mr. Fry say?”
“Mr. Fry will say,” I answered, “that milk porridge, with Boston crackers, is a dish fit for a king.”
“I’m afraid Jacob won’t think he’s been to supper,” said Grandmother.
“O yes,” said Uncle Jacob, “I’ll think I have at any rate. But I like mine the way the man in the moon did his, or part of the way.”
“Yes,” said Aunt Phebe, “I understand! The last part--the ‘plum’ part!”
“O, don’t all eat gruel for me,” said Billy. “Course I sha’ n’t be a baby, and cry for things!”
But Aunt Phebe seemed resolved to develop the gruel idea to its utmost. She made all kinds,--Indian meal, oatmeal, corn-starch, flour, mixed meals, wheat; made it sweetened, and spiced with plums, and plain. One kind, that she called “thickened milk,” was delicious. “Course” we had one cup of tea, and bread and butter, and I can truly say that I have eaten many a worse supper than a “gruel supper.”
Here is a letter from William Henry to Dorry, written when he began to get well:--
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_William Henry’s Letter to Dorry._
DEAR DORRY,--
I’m just as hungry as anything, now, about all the time. My grandmother says she’s so glad to see me eat again; and so am I glad to eat myself. Things taste better than they did before. Maybe I shall come back to school again pretty soon, my father says; but my grandmother guesses not very, because she thinks I should have a relapse if I did. A relapse is to get sick when you’re getting well; and, if I should get sick again, O what should I do! for I want to go out-doors. If they’d only let me go out, I’d saw wood all day, or anything. There isn’t much fun in being sick, I tell you, Dorry; but getting well, O, that’s the thing! I tell you getting well’s jolly! I have very good things sent to me about every day, and when I want to make molasses candy my grandmother says yes every time, if she isn’t frying anything in the spider herself; and then I wait and whistle to my sister’s canary-bird, or else look out the window. But she tells me to stand a yard back, because she says cold comes in the window-cracks: and my uncle Jacob he took the yardstick one day, and measured a yard, and put a chalk mark there, where my toes must come to, he said. If I hold the yardstick a foot and a half up from the floor, my sister’s kitty can jump over it tip-top. My sister has made a Red-Riding-Hood cloak for her kitty, and a muff to put her fore paws in, and takes her out.