第 二 章 · PARADISE

. PARADISE

The place to which the children were going was a sort of marshy thicket

at the bottom of a field near the house. It wasn't a big thicket, but it

looked big, because the trees and bushes grew so closely that you could

not see just where it ended. In winter the ground was damp and boggy, so

that nobody went there, excepting cows, who don't mind getting their

feet wet; but in summer the water dried away, and then it was all fresh

and green, and full of delightful things--wild roses, and sassafras, and

birds' nests. Narrow, winding paths ran here and there, made by the

cattle as they wandered to and fro. This place the children called

"Paradise," and to them it seemed as wide and endless and full of

adventure as any forest of fairy land.

The way to Paradise was through some wooden bars. Katy and Cecy climbed

these with a hop, skip and jump, while the smaller ones scrambled

underneath. Once past the bars they were fairly in the field, and, with

one consent, they all began to run till they reached the entrance of the

wood. Then they halted, with a queer look of hesitation on their faces.

It was always an exciting occasion to go to Paradise for the first time

after the long winter. Who knew what the fairies might not have done

since any of them had been there to see?

"Which path shall we go in by?" asked Clover, at last.

"Suppose we vote," said Katy. "I say by the Pilgrim's Path and the Hill

of Difficulty."

"So do I!" chimed in Clover, who always agreed with Katy.

"The Path of Peace is nice," suggested Cecy.

"No, no! We want to go by Sassafras Path!" cried John and Dorry.

However, Katy, as usual, had her way. It was agreed that they should

first try Pilgrim's Path, and afterward make a thorough exploration of

the whole of their little kingdom, and see all that had happened since

last they were there. So in they marched, Katy and Cecy heading the

procession, and Dorry, with his great trailing bunch of boughs, bringing

up the rear.

"Oh, there is the dear Rosary, all safe!" cried the children, as they

reached the top of the Hill of Difficulty, and came upon a tall stump,

out of the middle of which waved a wild rose-bush, budded over with

fresh green eaves. This "Rosary" was a fascinating thing to their minds.

They were always inventing stories about it, and were in constant terror

lest some hungry cow should take a fancy to the rose-bush and eat it up.

"Yes," said Katy, stroking a leaf with her finger, "it was in great

danger one night last winter, but it escaped."

"Oh, how? Tell us about it!" cried the others, for Katy's stories were

famous in the family.

"It was Christmas Eve," continued Katy, in a mysterious tone. "The fairy

of the Rosary was quite sick. She had taken a dreadful cold in her head,

and the poplar-tree fairy, just over there, told her that sassafras tea

is good for colds. So she made a large acorn-cup full, and then cuddled

herself in where the wood looks so black and soft, and fell asleep. In

the middle of the night, when she was snoring soundly, there was a noise

in the forest, and a dreadful black bull with fiery eyes galloped up. He

saw our poor Rosy Posy, and, opening his big mouth, he was just going to

bite her in two; but at that minute a little fat man, with a wand in his

hand, popped out from behind the stump. It was Santa Claus, of course.

He gave the bull such a rap with his wand that he moo-ed dreadfully, and

then put up his fore-paw, to see if his nose was on or not. He found it

was, but it hurt him so that he 'moo-ed' again, and galloped off as fast

as he could into the woods. Then Santa Claus waked up the fairy, and

told her that if she didn't take better care of Rosy Posy he should put

some other fairy into her place, and set her to keep guard over a

prickly, scratchy, blackberry-bush."

"Is there really any fairy?" asked Dorry, who had listened to this

narrative with open mouth.

"Of course," answered Katy. Then bending down toward Dorry, she added in

a voice intended to be of wonderful sweetness: "I am a fairy, Dorry!"

"Pshaw!" was Dorry's reply; "you're a giraffe--Pa said so!"

The Path of Peace got its name because of its darkness and coolness.

High bushes almost met over it, and trees kept it shady, even in the

middle of the day. A sort of white flower grew there, which the children

called Pollypods, because they didn't know the real name. They staid a

long while picking bunches of these flowers, and then John and Dorry had

to grub up an armful of sassafras roots; so that before they had fairly

gone through Toadstool Avenue, Rabbit Hollow, and the rest, the sun was

just over their heads, and it was noon.

"I'm getting hungry," said Dorry.

"Oh, no, Dorry, you mustn't be hungry till the bower is ready!" cried

the little girls, alarmed, for Dorry was apt to be disconsolate if he

was kept waiting for his meals. So they made haste to build the bower.

It did not take long, being composed of boughs hung over skipping-ropes,

which were tied to the very poplar-tree where the fairy lived who had

recommended sassafras tea to the Fairy of the Rose.

When it was done they all cuddled in underneath. It was a very small

bower--just big enough to hold them, and the baskets, and the kitten. I

don't think there would have been room for anybody else, not even

another kitten. Katy, who sat in the middle, untied and lifted the lid

of the largest basket, while all the rest peeped eagerly to see what

was inside.

First came a great many ginger cakes. These were carefully laid on the

grass to keep till wanted: buttered biscuit came next--three apiece,

with slices of cold lamb laid in between; and last of all were a dozen

hard-boiled eggs, and a layer of thick bread and butter sandwiched with

corn-beef. Aunt Izzie had put up lunches for Paradise before, you see,

and knew pretty well what to expect in the way of appetite.

Oh, how good everything tasted in that bower, with the fresh wind

rustling the poplar leaves, sunshine and sweet wood-smells about them,

and birds singing overhead! No grown-up dinner party ever had half so

much fun. Each mouthful was a pleasure; and when the last crumb had

vanished, Katy produced the second basket, and there, oh, delightful

surprise! were seven little pies--molasses pies, baked in saucers--each

with a brown top and crisp candified edge, which tasted like toffy and

lemon-peel, and all sorts of good things mixed up together.

There was a general shout. Even demure Cecy was pleased, and Dorry and

John kicked their heels on the ground in a tumult of joy. Seven pairs of

hands were held out at once toward the basket; seven sets of teeth went

to work without a moment's delay. In an incredibly short time every

vestige of the pie had disappeared, and a blissful stickiness pervaded

the party.

"What shall we do now?" asked Clover, while little Phil tipped the

baskets upside down, as if to make sure there was nothing left that

could possibly be eaten.

"I don't know," replied Katy, dreamily. She had left her seat, and was

half-sitting, half-lying on the low, crooked bough of a butternut tree,

which hung almost over the children's heads.

"Let's play we're grown up," said Cecy, "and tell what we mean to do."

"Well," said Clover, "you begin. What do you mean to do?"

"I mean to have a black silk dress, and pink roses in my bonnet, and a

white muslin long-shawl," said Cecy; "and I mean to look _exactly_ like

Minerva Clark! I shall be very good, too; as good as Mrs. Bedell, only a

great deal prettier. All the young gentlemen will want me to go and

ride, but I shan't notice them at all, because you know I shall always

be teaching in Sunday-school, and visiting the poor. And some day, when

I am bending over an old woman and feeding her with currant jelly, a

poet will come along and see me, and he'll go home and write a poem

about me," concluded Cecy, triumphantly.

"Pooh!" said Clover. "I don't think that would be nice at all. _I'm_

going to be a beautiful lady--the most beautiful lady in the world! And

I'm going to live in a yellow castle, with yellow pillars to the

portico, and a square thing on top, like Mr. Sawyer's. My children are

going to have a play-house up there. There's going to be a spy-glass in

the window, to look out of. I shall wear gold dresses and silver dresses

every day, and diamond rings, and have white satin aprons to tie on when

I'm dusting, or doing anything dirty. In the middle of my back-yard

there will be a pond-full of Lubin's Extracts, and whenever I want any I

shall go just out and dip a bottle in. And I shan't teach in Sunday

schools, like Cecy, because I don't want to; but every Sunday I'll go

and stand by the gate, and when her scholars go by on their way home,

I'll put Lubin's Extracts on their handkerchiefs."

"I mean to have just the same," cried Elsie, whose imagination was fired

by this gorgeous vision, "only my pond will be the biggest. I shall be a

great deal beautifuller, too," she added.

"You can't," said Katy from overhead. "Clover is going to be the most

beautiful lady in the world."

"But I'll be more beautiful than the most beautiful," persisted poor

little Elsie; "and I'll be big, too, and know everybody's secrets. And

everybody'll be kind, then, and never run away and hide; and there won't

be any post offices, or anything disagreeable."

"What'll you be, Johnnie?" asked Clover, anxious to change the subject,

for Elsie's voice was growing plaintive.

But Johnnie had no clear ideas as to her future. She laughed a great

deal, and squeezed Dorry's arm very tight, but that was all. Dorry was

more explicit.

"I mean to have turkey every day," he declared, "and batter-puddings;

not boiled ones, you know, but little baked ones, with brown shiny

tops, and a great deal of pudding sauce to eat on them. And I shall be

so big then that nobody will say, 'Three helps is quite enough for a

little boy.'"

"Oh, Dorry, you pig!" cried Katy, while the others screamed with

laughter. Dorry was much affronted.

"I shall just go and tell Aunt Izzie what you called me," he said,

getting up in a great pet.

But Clover, who was a born peacemaker, caught hold of his arm, and her

coaxings and entreaties consoled him so much that he finally said he

would stay; especially as the others were quite grave now, and promised

that they wouldn't laugh any more.

"And now, Katy, it's your turn," said Cecy; "tell us what you're going

to be when you grow up."

"I'm not sure about what I'll be," replied Katy, from overhead;

"beautiful, of course, and good if I can, only not so good as you, Cecy,

because it would be nice to go and ride with the young gentlemen

_sometimes_. And I'd like to have a large house and a splendiferous

garden, and then you could all come and live with me, and we would play

in the garden, and Dorry should have turkey five times a day if he

liked. And we'd have a machine to darn the stockings, and another

machine to put the bureau drawers in order, and we'd never sew or knit

garters, or do anything we didn't want to. That's what I'd like to _be_.

But now I'll tell you what I mean to _do_."

"Isn't it the same thing?" asked Cecy.

"Oh, no!" replied Katy, "quite different; for you see I mean to _do_

something grand. I don't know what, yet; but when I'm grown up I shall

find out." (Poor Katy always said "when I'm grown up," forgetting how

very much she had grown already.) "Perhaps," she went on, "it will be

rowing out in boats, and saving peoples' lives, like that girl in the

book. Or perhaps I shall go and nurse in the hospital, like Miss

Nightingale. Or else I'll head a crusade and ride on a white horse, with

armor and a helmet on my head, and carry a sacred flag. Or if I don't do

that, I'll paint pictures, or sing, or scalp--sculp,--what is it? you

know--make figures in marble. Anyhow it shall be _something_. And when

Aunt Izzie sees it, and reads about me in the newspapers she will say,

'The dear child! I always knew she would turn out an ornament to the

family,' People very often say, afterward, that they 'always knew,'"

concluded Katy sagaciously.

"Oh, Katy! how beautiful it will be!" said Clover, clasping her hands.

Clover believed in Katy as she did in the Bible.

"I don't believe the newspapers would be so silly as to print things

about _you_, Katy Carr," put in Elsie, vindictively.

"Yes they will!" said Clover; and gave Elsie a push.

By and by John and Dorry trotted away on mysterious errands of

their own.

"Wasn't Dorry funny with his turkey?" remarked Cecy; and they all

laughed again.

"If you won't tell," said Katy, "I'll let you see Dorry's journal. He

kept it once for almost two weeks, and then gave it up. I found the

book, this morning, in the nursery closet."

All of them promised, and Katy produced it from her pocket. It

began thus:

"March 12.--Have resolved to keep a jurnal.

March 13.--Had rost befe for diner, and cabage, and potato and appel

sawse, and rice puding. I do not like rice puding when it is like ours.

Charley Slack's kind is rele good. Mush and sirup for tea.

March 19.--Forgit what did. John and me saved our pie to take to schule.

March 21.--Forgit what did. Gridel cakes for brekfast. Debby didn't

fry enuff.

March 24.--This is Sunday. Corn befe for dinnir. Studdied my Bibel

leson. Aunt Issy said I was gredy. Have resollved not to think so much

about things to ete. Wish I was a beter boy. Nothing pertikeler for tea.

March 25.--Forgit what did.

March 27.--Forgit what did.

March 29.--Played.

March 31.--Forgit what did.

April 1.--Have dissided not to kepe a jurnal enny more."

Here ended the extracts; and it seemed as if only a minute had passed

since they stopped laughing over them, before the long shadows began to

fall, and Mary came to say that all of them must come in to get ready

for tea. It was dreadful to have to pick up the empty baskets and go

home, feeling that the long, delightful Saturday was over, and that

there wouldn't be another for a week. But it was comforting to remember

that Paradise was always there; and that at any moment when Kate and

Aunt Izzie were willing, they had only to climb a pair of bars--very

easy ones, and without any fear of an angel with flaming sword to stop

the way--enter in, and take possession of their Eden.