Kabanata Kabanata 17 · COMPOSITION DAY

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Chapter 17. COMPOSITION DAY

“Hurry up, boys, it's three o'clock, and Uncle Fritz likes us to be

punctual, you know,” said Franz one Wednesday afternoon as a bell rang,

and a stream of literary-looking young gentlemen with books and paper in

their hands were seen going toward the museum.

Tommy was in the school-room, bending over his desk, much bedaubed with

ink, flushed with the ardor of inspiration, and in a great hurry as

usual, for easy-going Bangs never was ready till the very last minute.

As Franz passed the door looking up laggards, Tommy gave one last blot

and flourish, and departed out the window, waving his paper to dry as

he went. Nan followed, looking very important, with a large roll in her

hand, and Demi escorted Daisy, both evidently brimful of some delightful

secret.

The museum was all in order, and the sunshine among the hop-vines made

pretty shadows on the floor as it peeped through the great window. On

one side sat Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer, on the other was a little table

on which the compositions were laid as soon as read, and in a large

semicircle sat the children on camp-stools which occasionally shut up

and let the sitter down, thus preventing any stiffness in the assembly.

As it took too much time to have all read, they took turns, and on this

Wednesday the younger pupils were the chief performers, while the elder

ones listened with condescension and criticised freely.

“Ladies first; so Nan may begin,” said Mr. Bhaer, when the settling of

stools and rustling of papers had subsided.

Nan took her place beside the little table, and, with a preliminary

giggle, read the following interesting essay on,

“THE SPONGE

“The sponge, my friends, is a most useful and interesting plant. It

grows on rocks under the water, and is a kind of sea-weed, I believe.

People go and pick it and dry it and wash it, because little fish and

insects live in the holes of the sponge; I found shells in my new one,

and sand. Some are very fine and soft; babies are washed with them. The

sponge has many uses. I will relate some of them, and I hope my friends

will remember what I say. One use is to wash the face; I don't like it

myself, but I do it because I wish to be clean. Some people don't, and

they are dirty.” Here the eye of the reader rested sternly upon Dick and

Dolly, who quailed under it, and instantly resolved to scrub themselves

virtuously on all occasions. “Another use is to wake people up; I allude

to boys par-tic-u-lar-ly.” Another pause after the long word to enjoy

the smothered laugh that went round the room. “Some boys do not get

up when called, and Mary Ann squeezes the water out of a wet sponge

on their faces, and it makes them so mad they wake up.” Here the laugh

broke out, and Emil said, as if he had been hit,

“Seems to me you are wandering from the subject.”

“No, I ain't; we are to write about vegetables or animals, and I'm doing

both: for boys are animals, aren't they?” cried Nan; and, undaunted by

the indignant “No!” shouted at her, she calmly proceeded,

“One more interesting thing is done with sponges, and this is when

doctors put ether on it, and hold it to people's noses when they have

teeth out. I shall do this when I am bigger, and give ether to the sick,

so they will go to sleep and not feel me cut off their legs and arms.”

“I know somebody who killed cats with it,” called out Demi, but was

promptly crushed by Dan, who upset his camp-stool and put a hat over his

face.

“I will not be interruckted,” said Nan, frowning upon the unseemly

scrimmagers. Order was instantly restored, and the young lady closed her

remarks as follows:

“My composition has three morals, my friends.” Somebody groaned, but no

notice was taken of the insult. “First, is keep your faces clean second,

get up early third, when the ether sponge is put over your nose, breathe

hard and don't kick, and your teeth will come out easy. I have no more

to say.” And Miss Nan sat down amid tumultuous applause.

“That is a very remarkable composition; its tone is high, and there is

a good deal of humor in it. Very well done, Nan. Now, Daisy,” and Mr.

Bhaer smiled at one young lady as he beckoned the other.

Daisy colored prettily as she took her place, and said, in her modest

little voice,

“I'm afraid you won't like mine; it isn't nice and funny like Nan's. But

I couldn't do any better.”

“We always like yours, Posy,” said Uncle Fritz, and a gentle murmur from

the boys seemed to confirm the remark. Thus encouraged, Daisy read her

little paper, which was listened to with respectful attention.

“THE CAT

“The cat is a sweet animal. I love them very much. They are clean and

pretty, and catch rats and mice, and let you pet them, and are fond

of you if you are kind. They are very wise, and can find their way

anywhere. Little cats are called kittens, and are dear things. I have

two, named Huz and Buz, and their mother is Topaz, because she has

yellow eyes. Uncle told me a pretty story about a man named Ma-ho-met.

He had a nice cat, and when she was asleep on his sleeve, and he wanted

to go away, he cut off the sleeve so as not to wake her up. I think he

was a kind man. Some cats catch fish.”

“So do I!” cried Teddy, jumping up eager to tell about his trout.

“Hush!” said his mother, setting him down again as quickly as possible,

for orderly Daisy hated to be “interruckted,” as Nan expressed it.

“I read about one who used to do it very slyly. I tried to make Topaz,

but she did not like the water, and scratched me. She does like tea, and

when I play in my kitchen she pats the teapot with her paw, till I give

her some. She is a fine cat, she eats apple-pudding and molasses. Most

cats do not.”

“That's a first-rater,” called out Nat, and Daisy retired, pleased with

the praise of her friend.

“Demi looks so impatient we must have him up at once or he won't hold

out,” said Uncle Fritz, and Demi skipped up with alacrity.

“Mine is a poem!” he announced in a tone of triumph, and read his first

effort in a loud and solemn voice:

“I write about the butterfly,

It is a pretty thing;

And flies about like the birds,

But it does not sing.

“First it is a little grub,

And then it is a nice yellow cocoon,

And then the butterfly

Eats its way out soon.

“They live on dew and honey,

They do not have any hive,

They do not sting like wasps, and bees, and hornets,

And to be as good as they are we should strive.

“I should like to be a beautiful butterfly,

All yellow, and blue, and green, and red;

But I should not like

To have Dan put camphor on my poor little head.”

This unusual burst of genius brought down the house, and Demi was

obliged to read it again, a somewhat difficult task, as there was no

punctuation whatever, and the little poet's breath gave out before he

got to the end of some of the long lines.

“He will be a Shakespeare yet,” said Aunt Jo, laughing as if she would

die, for this poetic gem reminded her of one of her own, written at the

age of ten, and beginning gloomily,

“I wish I had a quiet tomb,

Beside a little rill;

Where birds, and bees, and butterflies,

Would sing upon the hill.”

“Come on, Tommy. If there is as much ink inside your paper as there is

outside, it will be a long composition,” said Mr. Bhaer, when Demi had

been induced to tear himself from his poem and sit down.

“It isn't a composition, it's a letter. You see, I forgot all about its

being my turn till after school, and then I didn't know what to have,

and there wasn't time to read up; so I thought you wouldn't mind my

taking a letter that I wrote to my Grandma. It's got something about

birds in it, so I thought it would do.”

With this long excuse, Tommy plunged into a sea of ink and floundered

through, pausing now and then to decipher one of his own flourishes.

“MY DEAR GRANDMA, I hope you are well. Uncle James sent me a pocket

rifle. It is a beautiful little instrument of killing, shaped like

this [Here Tommy displayed a remarkable sketch of what looked like

an intricate pump, or the inside of a small steam-engine] 44 are the

sights; 6 is a false stock that fits in at A; 3 is the trigger, and 2

is the cock. It loads at the breech, and fires with great force and

straightness. I am going out shooting squirrels soon. I shot several

fine birds for the museum. They had speckled breasts, and Dan liked

them very much. He stuffed them tip-top, and they sit on the tree quite

natural, only one looks a little tipsy. We had a Frenchman working here

the other day, and Asia called his name so funnily that I will tell

you about it. His name was Germain: first she called him Jerry, but we

laughed at her, and she changed it to Jeremiah; but ridicule was

the result, so it became Mr. Germany; but ridicule having been again

resumed, it became Garrymon, which it has remained ever since. I do not

write often, I am so busy; but I think of you often, and sympathize with

you, and sincerely hope you get on as well as can be expected without

me. Your affectionate grandson,

“THOMAS BUCKMINSTER BANGS.

“P.S.? If you come across any postage-stamps, remember me.

“N.B. Love to all, and a great deal to Aunt Almira. Does she make any

nice plum-cakes now?

“P.S.? Mrs. Bhaer sends her respects.

“P.S.? And so would Mr. B, if he knew I was in act to write.

“N.B. Father is going to give me a watch on my birthday. I am glad as at

present I have no means of telling time, and am often late at school.

“P.S.? I hope to see you soon. Don't you wish to send for me?

“T. B. B.”

As each postscript was received with a fresh laugh from the boys, by the

time he came to the sixth and last, Tommy was so exhausted that he was

glad to sit down and wipe his ruddy face.

“I hope the dear old lady will live through it,” said Mr. Bhaer, under

cover of the noise.

“We won't take any notice of the broad hint given in that last P.S.

The letter will be quite as much as she can bear without a visit from

Tommy,” answered Mrs. Jo, remembering that the old lady usually took to

her bed after a visitation from her irrepressible grandson.

“Now, me,” said Teddy, who had learned a bit of poetry, and was so eager

to say it that he had been bobbing up and down during the reading, and

could no longer be restrained.

“I'm afraid he will forget it if he waits; and I have had a deal of

trouble teaching him,” said his mother.

Teddy trotted to the rostrum, dropped a curtsey and nodded his head at

the same time, as if anxious to suit every one; then, in his baby voice,

and putting the emphasis on the wrong words, he said his verse all in

one breath:—

“Little drops of water,

Little drains of sand,

Mate a mighty okum (ocean),

And a peasant land.

“Little worts of kindness,

Pokin evvy day,

Make a home a hebbin,

And hep us on a way.”

Clapping his hands at the end, he made another double salutation, and

then ran to hide his head in his mother's lap, quite overcome by the

success of his “piece,” for the applause was tremendous.

Dick and Dolly did not write, but were encouraged to observe the habits

of animals and insects, and report what they saw. Dick liked this, and

always had a great deal to say; so, when his name was called, he marched

up, and, looking at the audience with his bright confiding eyes, told

his little story so earnestly that no one smiled at his crooked body,

because the “straight soul” shone through it beautifully.

“I've been watching dragonflies, and I read about them in Dan's book,

and I'll try and tell you what I remember. There's lots of them flying

round on the pond, all blue, with big eyes, and sort of lace wings,

very pretty. I caught one, and looked at him, and I think he was the

handsomest insect I ever saw. They catch littler creatures than they

are to eat, and have a queer kind of hook thing that folds up when they

ain't hunting. It likes the sunshine, and dances round all day. Let me

see! what else was there to tell about? Oh, I know! The eggs are laid in

the water, and go down to the bottom, and are hatched in the mud. Little

ugly things come out of 'em; I can't say the name, but they are brown,

and keep having new skins, and getting bigger and bigger. Only think! it

takes them two years to be a dragonfly! Now this is the curiousest part

of it, so you listen tight, for I don't believe you know it. When it is

ready it knows somehow, and the ugly, grubby thing climbs up out of the

water on a flag or a bulrush, and bursts open its back.”

“Come, I don't believe that,” said Tommy, who was not an observant boy,

and really thought Dick was “making up.”

“It does burst open its back, don't it?” and Dick appealed to Mr. Bhaer,

who nodded a very decided affirmative, to the little speaker's great

satisfaction.

“Well, out comes the dragonfly, all whole, and he sits in the sun sort

of coming alive, you know; and he gets strong, and then he spreads his

pretty wings, and flies away up in the air, and never is a grub any

more. That's all I know; but I shall watch and try to see him do it, for

I think it's splendid to turn into a beautiful dragonfly, don't you?”

Dick had told his story well, and, when he described the flight of the

new-born insect, had waved his hands, and looked up as if he saw, and

wanted to follow it. Something in his face suggested to the minds of

the elder listeners the thought that some day little Dick would have his

wish, and after years of helplessness and pain would climb up into the

sun some happy day, and, leaving his poor little body behind him, find

a new lovely shape in a fairer world than this. Mrs. Jo drew him to her

side, and said, with a kiss on his thin cheek,

“That is a sweet little story, dear, and you remembered it wonderfully

well. I shall write and tell your mother all about it;” and Dick sat

on her knee, contentedly smiling at the praise, and resolving to watch

well, and catch the dragonfly in the act of leaving its old body for

the new, and see how he did it. Dolly had a few remarks to make upon

the “Duck,” and made them in a sing-song tone, for he had learned it by

heart, and thought it a great plague to do it at all.

“Wild ducks are hard to kill; men hide and shoot at them, and have tame

ducks to quack and make the wild ones come where the men can fire at

them. They have wooden ducks made too, and they sail round, and the

wild ones come to see them; they are stupid, I think. Our ducks are very

tame. They eat a great deal, and go poking round in the mud and water.

They don't take good care of their eggs, but let them spoil, and—”

“Mine don't!” cried Tommy.

“Well, some people's do; Silas said so. Hens take good care of little

ducks, only they don't like to have them go in the water, and make a

great fuss. But the little ones don't care a bit. I like to eat ducks

with stuffing in them and lots of apple-sauce.”

“I have something to say about owls,” began Nat, who had carefully

prepared a paper upon this subject with some help from Dan.

“Owls have big heads, round eyes, hooked bills, and strong claws. Some

are gray, some white, some black and yellowish. Their feathers are very

soft, and stick out a great deal. They fly very quietly, and hunt bats,

mice, little birds, and such things. They build nests in barns, hollow

trees, and some take the nests of other birds. The great horned owl has

two eggs bigger than a hen's and reddish brown. The tawny owl has

five eggs, white and smooth; and this is the kind that hoots at night.

Another kind sounds like a child crying. They eat mice and bats whole,

and the parts that they cannot digest they make into little balls and

spit out.”

“My gracious! how funny!” Nan was heard to observe.

“They cannot see by day; and if they get out into the light, they go

flapping round half blind, and the other birds chase and peck at them,

as if they were making fun. The horned owl is very big, 'most as big as

the eagle. It eats rabbits, rats, snakes, and birds; and lives in rocks

and old tumble-down houses. They have a good many cries, and scream like

a person being choked, and say, 'Waugh O! waugh O!' and it scares people

at night in the woods. The white owl lives by the sea, and in cold

places, and looks something like a hawk. There is a kind of owl that

makes holes to live in like moles. It is called the burrowing owl, and

is very small. The barn-owl is the commonest kind; and I have watched

one sitting in a hole in a tree, looking like a little gray cat, with

one eye shut and the other open. He comes out at dusk, and sits round

waiting for the bats. I caught one, and here he is.”

With that Nat suddenly produced from inside his jacket a little downy

bird, who blinked and ruffled his feathers, looking very plump and

sleepy and scared.

“Don't touch him! He is going to show off,” said Nat, displaying his new

pet with great pride. First he put a cocked hat on the bird's head,

and the boys laughed at the funny effect; then he added a pair of paper

spectacles, and that gave the owl such a wise look that they shouted

with merriment. The performance closed with making the bird angry, and

seeing him cling to a handkerchief upside down, pecking and “clucking,”

as Rob called it. He was allowed to fly after that, and settled himself

on the bunch of pine-cones over the door, where he sat staring down at

the company with an air of sleepy dignity that amused them very much.

“Have you anything for us, George?” asked Mr. Bhaer, when the room was

still again.

“Well, I read and learned ever so much about moles, but I declare I've

forgotten every bit of it, except that they dig holes to live in, that

you catch them by pouring water down, and that they can't possibly live

without eating very often;” and Stuffy sat down, wishing he had not been

too lazy to write out his valuable observations, for a general smile

went round when he mentioned the last of the three facts which lingered

in his memory.

“Then we are done for to-day,” began Mr. Bhaer, but Tommy called out in

a great hurry,

“No we ain't. Don't you know? We must give the thing;” and he winked

violently as he made an eye-glass of his fingers.

“Bless my heart, I forgot! Now is your time, Tom;” and Mr. Bhaer dropped

into his seat again, while all the boys but Dan looked mightily tickled

at something.

Nat, Tommy, and Demi left the room, and speedily returned with a little

red morocco box set forth in state on Mrs. Jo's best silver salver.

Tommy bore it, and, still escorted by Nat and Demi, marched up to

unsuspecting Dan, who stared at them as if he thought they were going to

make fun of him. Tommy had prepared an elegant and impressive speech for

the occasion, but when the minute came, it all went out of his head, and

he just said, straight from his kindly boyish heart,

“Here, old fellow, we all wanted to give you something to kind of pay

for what happened awhile ago, and to show how much we liked you for

being such a trump. Please take it, and have a jolly good time with it.”

Dan was so surprised he could only get as red as the little box, and

mutter, “Thanky, boys!” as he fumbled to open it. But when he saw

what was inside, his face lighted up, and he seized the long desired

treasure, saying so enthusiastically that every one was satisfied,

though his language was anything but polished,

“What a stunner! I say, you fellows are regular bricks to give me this;

it's just what I wanted. Give us your paw, Tommy.”

Many paws were given, and heartily shaken, for the boys were charmed

with Dan's pleasure, and crowded round him to shake hands and expatiate

on the beauties of their gift. In the midst of this pleasant chatter,

Dan's eye went to Mrs. Jo, who stood outside the group enjoying the

scene with all her heart.

“No, I had nothing to do with it. The boys got it up all themselves,”

she said, answering the grateful look that seemed to thank her for

that happy moment. Dan smiled, and said, in a tone that only she could

understand,

“It's you all the same;” and making his way through the boys, he held

out his hand first to her and then to the good Professor, who was

beaming benevolently on his flock.

He thanked them both with the silent, hearty squeeze he gave the kind

hands that had held him up, and led him into the safe refuge of a happy

home. Not a word was spoken, but they felt all he would say, and little

Teddy expressed his pleasure for them as he leaned from his father's arm

to hug the boy, and say, in his baby way,

“My dood Danny! everybody loves him now.”

“Come here, show off your spy-glass, Dan, and let us see some of your

magnified pollywogs and annymalcumisms as you call 'em,” said Jack, who

felt so uncomfortable during this scene that he would have slipped away

if Emil had not kept him.

“So I will, take a squint at that and see what you think of it,” said

Dan, glad to show off his precious microscope.

He held it over a beetle that happened to be lying on the table, and

Jack bent down to take his squint, but looked up with an amazed face,

saying,

“My eye! what nippers the old thing has got! I see now why it hurts so

confoundedly when you grab a dorbug and he grabs back again.”

“He winked at me,” cried Nan, who had poked her head under Jack's elbow

and got the second peep.

Every one took a look, and then Dan showed them the lovely plumage on a

moth's wing, the four feathery corners to a hair, the veins on a leaf,

hardly visible to the naked eye, but like a thick net through the

wonderful little glass; the skin on their own fingers, looking like

queer hills and valleys; a cobweb like a bit of coarse sewing silk, and

the sting of a bee.

“It's like the fairy spectacles in my story-book, only more curious,”

said Demi, enchanted with the wonders he saw.

“Dan is a magician now, and he can show you many miracles going on all

round you; for he has two things needful patience and a love of nature.

We live in a beautiful and wonderful world, Demi, and the more you know

about it the wiser and the better you will be. This little glass will

give you a new set of teachers, and you may learn fine lessons from them

if you will,” said Mr. Bhaer, glad to see how interested the boys were

in the matter.

“Could I see anybody's soul with this microscope if I looked hard?”

asked Demi, who was much impressed with the power of the bit of glass.

“No, dear; it's not powerful enough for that, and never can be made so.

You must wait a long while before your eyes are clear enough to see the

most invisible of God's wonders. But looking at the lovely things you

can see will help you to understand the lovelier things you can not

see,” answered Uncle Fritz, with his hand on the boy's head.

“Well, Daisy and I both think that if there are any angels, their wings

look like that butterfly's as we see it through the glass, only more

soft and gold.”

“Believe it if you like, and keep your own little wings as bright and

beautiful, only don't fly away for a long time yet.”

“No, I won't,” and Demi kept his word.

“Good-by, my boys; I must go now, but I leave you with our new Professor

of Natural History;” and Mrs. Jo went away well pleased with that

composition day.