บทที่ บทที่ 8 · PRANKS AND PLAYS

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Chapter 8. PRANKS AND PLAYS

As there is no particular plan to this story, except to describe a few

scenes in the life at Plumfield for the amusement of certain little

persons, we will gently ramble along in this chapter and tell some of

the pastimes of Mrs. Jo's boys. I beg leave to assure my honored readers

that most of the incidents are taken from real life, and that the oddest

are the truest; for no person, no matter how vivid an imagination he may

have, can invent anything half so droll as the freaks and fancies that

originate in the lively brains of little people.

Daisy and Demi were full of these whims, and lived in a world of their

own, peopled with lovely or grotesque creatures, to whom they gave the

queerest names, and with whom they played the queerest games. One of

these nursery inventions was an invisible sprite called “The Naughty

Kitty-mouse,” whom the children had believed in, feared, and served for

a long time. They seldom spoke of it to any one else, kept their rites

as private as possible; and, as they never tried to describe it even to

themselves, this being had a vague mysterious charm very agreeable

to Demi, who delighted in elves and goblins. A most whimsical and

tyrannical imp was the Naughty Kitty-mouse, and Daisy found a fearful

pleasure in its service, blindly obeying its most absurd demands, which

were usually proclaimed from the lips of Demi, whose powers of invention

were great. Rob and Teddy sometimes joined in these ceremonies, and

considered them excellent fun, although they did not understand half

that went on.

One day after school Demi whispered to his sister, with an ominous wag

of the head,

“The Kitty-mouse wants us this afternoon.”

“What for?” asked Daisy, anxiously.

“A sackerryfice,” answered Demi, solemnly. “There must be a fire behind

the big rock at two o'clock, and we must all bring the things we like

best, and burn them!” he added, with an awful emphasis on the last

words.

“Oh, dear! I love the new paper dollies Aunt Amy painted for me best

of any thing; must I burn them up?” cried Daisy, who never thought of

denying the unseen tyrant any thing it demanded.

“Every one. I shall burn my boat, my best scrapbook, and all my

soldiers,” said Demi firmly.

“Well, I will; but it's too bad of Kitty-mouse to want our very nicest

things,” sighed Daisy.

“A sackerryfice means to give up what you are fond of, so we must,”

explained Demi, to whom the new idea had been suggested by hearing

Uncle Fritz describe the customs of the Greeks to the big boys who were

reading about them in school.

“Is Rob coming too,” asked Daisy.

“Yes, and he is going to bring his toy village; it is all made of wood,

you know, and will burn nicely. We'll have a grand bonfire, and see them

blaze up, won't we?”

This brilliant prospect consoled Daisy, and she ate her dinner with a

row of paper dolls before her, as a sort of farewell banquet.

At the appointed hour the sacrificial train set forth, each child

bearing the treasures demanded by the insatiable Kitty-mouse. Teddy

insisted on going also, and seeing that all the others had toys, he

tucked a squeaking lamb under one arm, and old Annabella under the

other, little dreaming what anguish the latter idol was to give him.

“Where are you going, my chickens?” asked Mrs. Jo, as the flock passed

her door.

“To play by the big rock; can't we?”

“Yes, only don't do near the pond, and take good care of baby.”

“I always do,” said Daisy, leading forth her charge with a capable air.

“Now, you must all sit round, and not move till I tell you. This flat

stone is an altar, and I am going to make a fire on it.”

Demi then proceeded to kindle up a small blaze, as he had seen the boys

do at picnics. When the flame burned well, he ordered the company to

march round it three times and then stand in a circle.

“I shall begin, and as fast as my things are burnt, you must bring

yours.”

With that he solemnly laid on a little paper book full of pictures,

pasted in by himself; this was followed by a dilapidated boat, and

then one by one the unhappy leaden soldiers marched to death. Not one

faltered or hung back, from the splendid red and yellow captain to the

small drummer who had lost his legs; all vanished in the flames and

mingled in one common pool of melted lead.

“Now, Daisy!” called the high priest of Kitty-mouse, when his rich

offerings had been consumed, to the great satisfaction of the children.

“My dear dollies, how can I let them go?” moaned Daisy, hugging the

entire dozen with a face full of maternal woe.

“You must,” commanded Demi; and with a farewell kiss to each, Daisy laid

her blooming dolls upon the coals.

“Let me keep one, the dear blue thing, she is so sweet,” besought the

poor little mamma, clutching her last in despair.

“More! more!” growled an awful voice, and Demi cried, “that's the

Kitty-mouse! she must have every one, quick, or she will scratch us.”

In went the precious blue belle, flounces, rosy hat, and all, and

nothing but a few black flakes remained of that bright band.

“Stand the houses and trees round, and let them catch themselves; it

will be like a real fire then,” said Demi, who liked variety even in his

“sackerryfices.”

Charmed by this suggestion, the children arranged the doomed village,

laid a line of coals along the main street, and then sat down to watch

the conflagration. It was somewhat slow to kindle owing to the paint,

but at last one ambitious little cottage blazed up, fired a tree of the

palm species, which fell on to the roof of a large family mansion,

and in a few minutes the whole town was burning merrily. The wooden

population stood and stared at the destruction like blockheads, as they

were, till they also caught and blazed away without a cry. It took

some time to reduce the town to ashes, and the lookers-on enjoyed the

spectacle immensely, cheering as each house fell, dancing like wild

Indians when the steeple flamed aloft, and actually casting one wretched

little churn-shaped lady, who had escaped to the suburbs, into the very

heart of the fire.

The superb success of this last offering excited Teddy to such a degree,

that he first threw his lamb into the conflagration, and before it had

time even to roast, he planted poor Annabella on the funeral pyre. Of

course she did not like it, and expressed her anguish and resentment in

a way that terrified her infant destroyer. Being covered with kid,

she did not blaze, but did what was worse, she squirmed. First one leg

curled up, then the other, in a very awful and lifelike manner; next

she flung her arms over her head as if in great agony; her head itself

turned on her shoulders, her glass eyes fell out, and with one final

writhe of her whole body, she sank down a blackened mass on the ruins

of the town. This unexpected demonstration startled every one and

frightened Teddy half out of his little wits. He looked, then screamed

and fled toward the house, roaring “Marmar” at the top of his voice.

Mrs. Bhaer heard the outcry and ran to the rescue, but Teddy could only

cling to her and pour out in his broken way something about “poor Bella

hurted,” “a dreat fire,” and “all the dollies dorn.” Fearing some dire

mishap, his mother caught him up and hurried to the scene of action,

where she found the blind worshippers of Kitty-mouse mourning over the

charred remains of the lost darling.

“What have you been at? Tell me all about it,” said Mrs. Jo, composing

herself to listen patiently, for the culprits looked so penitent, she

forgave them beforehand.

With some reluctance Demi explained their play, and Aunt Jo laughed till

the tears ran down her cheeks, the children were so solemn, and the play

was so absurd.

“I thought you were too sensible to play such a silly game as this. If

I had any Kitty-mouse I'd have a good one who liked you to play in safe

pleasant ways, and not destroy and frighten. Just see what a ruin you

have made; all Daisy's pretty dolls, Demi's soldiers, and Rob's new

village beside poor Teddy's pet lamb, and dear old Annabella. I shall

have to write up in the nursery the verse that used to come in the boxes

of toys,

“The children of Holland take pleasure in making,

What the children of Boston take pleasure in breaking.”

“Only I shall put Plumfield instead of Boston.”

“We never will again, truly, truly!” cried the repentant little sinners,

much abashed at this reproof.

“Demi told us to,” said Rob.

“Well, I heard Uncle tell about the Greece people, who had altars

and things, and so I wanted to be like them, only I hadn't any live

creatures to sackerryfice, so we burnt up our toys.”

“Dear me, that is something like the bean story,” said Aunt Jo, laughing

again.

“Tell about it,” suggested Daisy, to change the subject.

“Once there was a poor woman who had three or four little children, and

she used to lock them up in her room when she went out to work, to keep

them safe. On day when she was going away she said, 'Now, my dears,

don't let baby fall out of window, don't play with the matches, and

don't put beans up your noses.' Now the children had never dreamed of

doing that last thing, but she put it into their heads, and the minute

she was gone, they ran and stuffed their naughty little noses full of

beans, just to see how it felt, and she found them all crying when she

came home.”

“Did it hurt?” asked Rob, with such intense interest that his mother

hastily added a warning sequel, lest a new edition of the bean story

should appear in her own family.

“Very much, as I know, for when my mother told me this story, I was so

silly that I went and tried it myself. I had no beans, so I took some

little pebbles, and poked several into my nose. I did not like it at

all, and wanted to take them out again very soon, but one would not

come, and I was so ashamed to tell what a goose I been that I went for

hours with the stone hurting me very much. At last the pain got so bad

I had to tell, and when my mother could not get it out the doctor came.

Then I was put in a chair and held tight, Rob, while he used his ugly

little pincers till the stone hopped out. Dear me! how my wretched

little nose did ache, and how people laughed at me!” and Mrs. Jo shook

her head in a dismal way, as if the memory of her sufferings was too

much for her.

Rob looked deeply impressed and I am glad to say took the warning to

heart. Demi proposed that they should bury poor Annabella, and in the

interest of the funeral Teddy forgot his fright. Daisy was soon consoled

by another batch of dolls from Aunt Amy, and the Naughty Kitty-mouse

seemed to be appeased by the last offerings, for she tormented them no

more.

“Brops” was the name of a new and absorbing play, invented by Bangs.

As this interesting animal is not to be found in any Zoological Garden,

unless Du Chaillu has recently brought one from the wilds of Africa, I

will mention a few of its peculiar habits and traits, for the benefit of

inquiring minds. The Brop is a winged quadruped, with a human face of

a youthful and merry aspect. When it walks the earth it grunts, when it

soars it gives a shrill hoot, occasionally it goes erect, and talks good

English. Its body is usually covered with a substance much resembling a

shawl, sometimes red, sometimes blue, often plaid, and, strange to say,

they frequently change skins with one another. On their heads they have

a horn very like a stiff brown paper lamp-lighter. Wings of the same

substance flap upon their shoulders when they fly; this is never very

far from the ground, as they usually fall with violence if they attempt

any lofty flights. They browse over the earth, but can sit up and eat

like the squirrel. Their favorite nourishment is the seed-cake; apples

also are freely taken, and sometimes raw carrots are nibbled when food

is scarce. They live in dens, where they have a sort of nest, much like

a clothes-basket, in which the little Brops play till their wings are

grown. These singular animals quarrel at times, and it is on these

occasions that they burst into human speech, call each other names, cry,

scold, and sometimes tear off horns and skin, declaring fiercely that

they “won't play.” The few privileged persons who have studied them are

inclined to think them a remarkable mixture of the monkey, the sphinx,

the roc, and the queer creatures seen by the famous Peter Wilkins.

This game was a great favorite, and the younger children beguiled many

a rainy afternoon flapping or creeping about the nursery, acting like

little bedlamites and being as merry as little grigs. To be sure, it was

rather hard upon clothes, particularly trouser-knees, and jacket-elbows;

but Mrs. Bhaer only said, as she patched and darned,

“We do things just as foolish, and not half so harmless. If I could

get as much happiness out of it as the little dears do, I'd be a Brop

myself.”

Nat's favorite amusements were working in his garden, and sitting in the

willow-tree with his violin, for that green nest was a fairy world to

him, and there he loved to perch, making music like a happy bird. The

lads called him “Old Chirper,” because he was always humming, whistling,

or fiddling, and they often stopped a minute in their work or play to

listen to the soft tones of the violin, which seemed to lead a little

orchestra of summer sounds. The birds appeared to regard him as one of

themselves, and fearlessly sat on the fence or lit among the boughs to

watch him with their quick bright eyes. The robins in the apple-tree

near by evidently considered him a friend, for the father bird hunted

insects close beside him, and the little mother brooded as confidingly

over her blue eggs as if the boy was only a new sort of blackbird who

cheered her patient watch with his song. The brown brook babbled and

sparkled below him, the bees haunted the clover fields on either side,

friendly faces peeped at him as they passed, the old house stretched its

wide wings hospitably toward him, and with a blessed sense of rest and

love and happiness, Nat dreamed for hours in this nook, unconscious what

healthful miracles were being wrought upon him.

One listener he had who never tired, and to whom he was more than a

mere schoolmate. Poor Billy's chief delight was to lie beside the brook,

watching leaves and bits of foam dance by, listening dreamily to the

music in the willow-tree. He seemed to think Nat a sort of angel who sat

aloft and sang, for a few baby memories still lingered in his mind and

seemed to grow brighter at these times. Seeing the interest he took in

Nat, Mr. Bhaer begged him to help them lift the cloud from the feeble

brain by this gentle spell. Glad to do any thing to show his gratitude,

Nat always smiled on Billy when he followed him about, and let him

listen undisturbed to the music which seemed to speak a language he

could understand. “Help one another,” was a favorite Plumfield motto,

and Nat learned how much sweetness is added to life by trying to live up

to it.

Jack Ford's peculiar pastime was buying and selling; and he bid fair

to follow in the footsteps of his uncle, a country merchant, who sold

a little of every thing and made money fast. Jack had seen the sugar

sanded, the molasses watered, the butter mixed with lard, and things of

that kind, and labored under the delusion that it was all a proper part

of the business. His stock in trade was of a different sort, but he made

as much as he could out of every worm he sold, and always got the

best of the bargain when he traded with the boys for string, knives,

fish-hooks, or whatever the article might be. The boys who all had

nicknames, called him “Skinflint,” but Jack did not care as long as the

old tobacco-pouch in which he kept his money grew heavier and heavier.

He established a sort of auction-room, and now and then sold off all the

odds and ends he had collected, or helped the lads exchange things with

one another. He got bats, balls, hockey-sticks, etc., cheap, from one

set of mates, furbished them up, and let them for a few cents a time to

another set, often extending his business beyond the gates of Plumfield

in spite of the rules. Mr. Bhaer put a stop to some of his speculations,

and tried to give him a better idea of business talent than mere

sharpness in overreaching his neighbors. Now and then Jack made a bad

bargain, and felt worse about it than about any failure in lessons or

conduct, and took his revenge on the next innocent customer who came

along. His account-book was a curiosity; and his quickness at figures

quite remarkable. Mr. Bhaer praised him for this, and tried to make his

sense of honesty and honor as quick; and, by and by, when Jack found

that he could not get on without these virtues, he owned that his

teacher was right.

Cricket and football the boys had of course; but, after the stirring

accounts of these games in the immortal “Tom Brown at Rugby,” no feeble

female pen may venture to do more than respectfully allude to them.

Emil spent his holidays on the river or the pond, and drilled the elder

lads for a race with certain town boys, who now and then invaded

their territory. The race duly came off, but as it ended in a general

shipwreck, it was not mentioned in public; and the Commodore had serious

thoughts of retiring to a desert island, so disgusted was he with his

kind for a time. No desert island being convenient, he was forced

to remain among his friends, and found consolation in building a

boat-house.

The little girls indulged in the usual plays of their age, improving

upon them somewhat as their lively fancies suggested. The chief and

most absorbing play was called “Mrs. Shakespeare Smith;” the name

was provided by Aunt Jo, but the trials of the poor lady were quite

original. Daisy was Mrs. S. S., and Nan by turns her daughter or a

neighbor, Mrs. Giddygaddy.

No pen can describe the adventures of these ladies, for in one short

afternoon their family was the scene of births, marriages, deaths,

floods, earthquakes, tea-parties, and balloon ascensions. Millions of

miles did these energetic women travel, dressed in hats and habits never

seen before by mortal eye, perched on the bed, driving the posts like

mettlesome steeds, and bouncing up and down till their heads spun. Fits

and fires were the pet afflictions, with a general massacre now and then

by way of change. Nan was never tired of inventing fresh combinations,

and Daisy followed her leader with blind admiration. Poor Teddy was a

frequent victim, and was often rescued from real danger, for the excited

ladies were apt to forget that he was not of the same stuff their

longsuffering dolls. Once he was shut into the closet for a dungeon, and

forgotten by the girls, who ran off to some out-of-door game. Another

time he was half drowned in the bath-tub, playing be a “cunning little

whale.” And, worst of all, he was cut down just in time after being hung

up for a robber.

But the institution most patronized by all was the Club. It had no other

name, and it needed none, being the only one in the neighborhood. The

elder lads got it up, and the younger were occasionally admitted if

they behaved well. Tommy and Demi were honorary members, but were always

obliged to retire unpleasantly early, owing to circumstances over

which they had no control. The proceedings of this club were somewhat

peculiar, for it met at all sorts of places and hours, had all manner

of queer ceremonies and amusements, and now and then was broken up

tempestuously, only to be re-established, however, on a firmer basis.

Rainy evenings the members met in the schoolroom, and passed the time in

games: chess, morris, backgammon, fencing matches, recitations, debates,

or dramatic performances of a darkly tragical nature. In summer the barn

was the rendezvous, and what went on there no uninitiated mortal

knows. On sultry evenings the Club adjourned to the brook for aquatic

exercises, and the members sat about in airy attire, frog-like and cool.

On such occasions the speeches were unusually eloquent, quite flowing,

as one might say; and if any orator's remarks displeased the audience,

cold water was thrown upon him till his ardor was effectually quenched.

Franz was president, and maintained order admirably, considering the

unruly nature of the members. Mr. Bhaer never interfered with their

affairs, and was rewarded for this wise forbearance by being invited now

and then to behold the mysteries unveiled, which he appeared to enjoy

much.

When Nan came she wished to join the Club, and caused great excitement

and division among the gentlemen by presenting endless petitions, both

written and spoken, disturbing their solemnities by insulting them

through the key-hole, performing vigorous solos on the door, and

writing up derisive remarks on walls and fences, for she belonged to

the “Irrepressibles.” Finding these appeals in vain, the girls, by the

advice of Mrs. Jo, got up an institution of their own, which they called

the Cosy Club. To this they magnanimously invited the gentlemen whose

youth excluded them from the other one, and entertained these favored

beings so well with little suppers, new games devised by Nan, and other

pleasing festivities, that, one by one, the elder boys confessed a

desire to partake of these more elegant enjoyments, and, after much

consultation, finally decided to propose an interchange of civilities.

The members of the Cosy Club were invited to adorn the rival

establishment on certain evenings, and to the surprise of the gentlemen

their presence was not found to be a restraint upon the conversation

or amusement of the regular frequenters; which could not be said of all

Clubs, I fancy. The ladies responded handsomely and hospitably to these

overtures of peace, and both institutions flourished long and happily.