CHAPTER XVI.
“The world of waters is our home,
And merry boys are we.”
At breakfast the next morning, Mr. Havens said, “Children, I have still another pleasure to announce to you!”
“Oh, what can it be! What can come next?” cried they.
“You are to have a couple of hours more for your country frolics, and then, just think of it, this kind Uncle Fred proposes to take us all, on our homeward journey, in his yacht, as far as Rocky Point.”
“Oh, isn’t that beautiful, elegant, splendid, delicious?” chimed in many voices; and May slipped her hand into her father’s as she whispered—
“Oh, Papa, if we only but just could, too!”
“Well, little daughter,” he replied, “you only just are to, all of you, with Mamma to keep you steady. No, boys, no clapping,—you must quietly enjoy the fact.”
The boys obeyed their father’s words, but somehow the soft eggs in their glasses needed an unusual amount of violent spoon-stirring, and Mr. Havens heard little Alice, his next neighbor, repeating to herself, over and over again, one of Kit’s favorite couplets—
“Says Aaron to Moses, let’s cut off our noses,
Says Moses to Aaron, it’s the fashion to wear ’em.”
in order to restrain her impatience, for the child’s appetite had quite left her, when she heard of the good time that was coming, and breakfast seemed like such a long meal.
“Those boys never know when to stop,” she said to herself, more than once.
The boys did “stop,” however, and directly after were seen trooping down the lawn to the shore, for a boat launch. May, Gracie, and Daisy were soon busy at work, making wreaths with Harry’s help, to deck the pretty lamb, whilst Alice, with Mamma’s permission, carried Rosie off to Farmer Shedd’s, to see the Donkeys in the old stable, first stopping to fill their aprons with fresh clover and buttercups. Rosie had never seen donkeys, and when, through the half-opened stable door, the pair thrust out their shaggy necks, and pricked up their long ears, Rosie was tempted to retreat; but when she heard Alice’s petting words, as she stroked the peaceable animals, and saw how daintily they ate all the nice grass she had brought, without once offering to bite the white apron she held out, Rosie grew bolder, and emptied many times the little cart of its load of grass, which shy Tommy Shedd brought to them, and fed the good donkeys, even venturing to pat their shaggy manes and tell the homely animals what “regular beauties” they were.
Alice and Rosie visit Farmer Shedd’s Donkeys. Page 253.
The walk home didn’t prove a pleasant one, for, in an unlucky moment, Charlotte had dressed Rosie in a scarlet flannel sack, because the morning air was fresh and chill, and this very gay sack attracted a Turkey Gobbler’s eye, as he strutted through Farmer Shedd’s yard, and immediately he gobbled out a warning to Rosie to leave the premises, and then started off in hot pursuit. Alice saw his Lordship’s meaning, and began to run, pulling Rosie so hard to get her off the Gobbler’s grounds, that roly-poly Rosie tripped her foot over a pan of chicken’s food and fell upon the ground, screaming with terror.
Then shy Tommy Shedd showed what stuff he was made of, for, catching up an old broom, he gave the wrathful turkey such a chase, that he flew on the high branch of a cherry tree, and there gobbled out to his children’s children the tale of his rights and wrongs, whilst Alice picked Rosie up and ran with her to the shelter of the home nest for comfort and cleansing.
Two hours later, the Psyche gracefully glides out of its little harbor at the foot of the lawn, and spreads her trim sails to coax the strong breeze to help her bear her merry party fairly out to the beautiful Narragansett Bay.
Yacht decks do not afford much space for young people to run about; but the boys found a great deal to interest them in watching the steersman managing the sails and rudder, as a rider his gay steed’s motions, whilst the good-natured sailor spun many a yarn to while away the time. Artie thought it great fun to hail the passing boats and receive salutes in return; but the crowning bliss was when, gliding along in a steamer’s wake, the spray showered them well, and drove them, screaming with laughter, to the little cabin, whence they were driven out again by their sisters, who were dressing their dolls for a wedding at sea; for Daisy and May had agreed that, as they were so soon to be parted, “it would be a comfort to know their dolls were relations to one another, and even if the bride left for New York the next day, letters could be written, and perhaps an occasional visit made, if either pined for the other.”
Jem was presently “whispered” down to perform the ceremony, for the girls all were agreed if Kit, Ned, or Artie got an inkling of what was going on, they were sure to turn everything into fun, and Gracie and May had an instinctive idea that, somehow, getting married was not a joke, but a very, very serious thing. Daisy had herself been with Mamma at a church-wedding in New York, where some of the bridal guests shed tears, so she thought that was the proper thing, and instructed the girls to do the same, taking upon herself the duty of wiping Jack’s and Charlie Leonard’s eyes, who, as privileged guests, were allowed to be present, but were sure Daisy said, “to have no pocket-handkerchiefs.”
Whilst the wedding was taking place, the boys, on deck, attempted a game of Jackstraws, but in the midst of it, whilst Kit was excitedly declaring that “Artie’s hand shook the least bit in the world,” and Artie as warmly contending—
“It was only the tilting of the yacht,” a fresh breeze coolly settled the hot little dispute by whisking away the straws, and provoking a merry laugh.
The gay party was just in the midst of their luncheon when the tower of Rocky Point appeared, and very soon the Psyche lay beside the long wharf, the steersman its only occupant, whilst its chattering passengers were climbing in advance of their elders up the steep hill path, at the side of the hotel, in search of that greatest of diversions, the “Monkey’s Cage.” An excursion boat had just landed hundreds of pleasure-seekers, and they, too, with few exceptions, crowded about the huge wire house. Red-faced Germans with wives, children of all sizes and ages, and huge baskets of provisions, Irish military men, with shamrock on their caps, and sweetheart or wife on one arm, and the always present basket on the other, Frenchmen, Englishmen, Portuguese, all crowding around, chattering their various languages—made this inclosure a very Tower of Babel. It seemed queer enough that the objects of so much attention should seem so utterly unconscious of it all. There sat those little specimens of mock humanity, nibbling the nuts thrown at them, combing their short hair before their looking-glasses, or climbing up huge poles to tumble down again, making grimaces at the lookers on, or slyly jumping up to bite the tip of a fellow monkey’s tail, hanging invitingly from the perch above. Week after week, month after month, year after year, crowds gather about the monkey play-ground,—rich and poor, old and young, grave and gay. The middle-aged college professor, wending his way to the cool groves, where he may sit to read or think, fanned by soft sea breezes, and refreshed by odors of fresh foliage and sweet wild flowers,—halts here, and then goes smiling on his way to wonder “whether monkeys are not, perhaps, his cousins after all.”
Gay city damsels gather up their flounces, as they pass the dusty throng, but are seen to cast a stealthy look, exclaiming as they do so—
“What can people see so fascinating in monkeys!” and yet these same monkeys daily attract to their performances, crowds of spectators, and win shouts of applause on every side.
We have only two hours to stay at Rocky Point, so we take off our hats and wave our adieu to the chattering Jackos, and wend our way to peep in the cave so gloomy, and thence to the inclined railway for a ride in the little passenger car; now we stop for a moment to see the dancing Bear uncork and drink his bottle of soda water; thence a hurried look at the cage of birds, with their glorious plumage,—but we cannot stop, for the younger children are clamoring loudly for a “ride on the steam-horses,” so we hasten through the field to the inclosed yard, where a dozen pairs of ponies, large and small, stand ready harnessed for action. Hurrying through the little gate we lay down our pile of clean ten-cent pieces,—seize our riding-whips, mount the gay ponies, then a bell rings, the engine puffs, and away gallop the pairs of ponies with their shouting riders. Papa and his companions, sitting on a rustic bench near, find even the beautiful water-view has less attraction for them than the bright faces of the ten young riders, waving their whips, as they catch sight of the Papas and Mammas. Nan and Charlotte press close to the scene of action, resting their chins on the pickets which guard the enclosure, looking as if they, too, would fain be young again. Soon Papa gives the signal that it is nearly boat hour, and very reluctantly ponies and steam engine are left behind, and all wend their way to the great piazza to watch the steamboat’s approach, and as it comes puffing to the wharf, the young faces lengthen as they bid “good-by,” and utter hopes of another speedy meeting; then some climb down the little ladder to the yacht’s deck, and the rest of the party press with the multitude through the gate, and thence to the saloon of the Morning Star, on their return voyage to Providence.
It was a pretty well-fagged and drowsy party that tumbled into the old family carriage that waited on the dock, and tumbled out again as the horses stopped at the door of the Funny old house in Funny street, and soon after, too tired to enjoy the nursery tea, tumbled into their little beds to dream of bright green meadows, sandy parlors, clam-bakes, and chattering monkeys.
CHAPTER XVII.
CONCLUSION.
“It was nine years back, or more—if I don’t forget;
But as to the children, Fannie, they’re all about me yet.
Often they come to the door, in a pleasant kind of dream,
They come and sit by my chair, they hover about my bed,—
I am not always certain if they be alive or dead.”
Aunt Emma came into the garden on the last morning of the children’s visit, and calling them into the little arbor, said,
“I feel sorry, dears, to interrupt your merry games, but I think, as you are to travel all the afternoon, it is best you should rest now, so I propose sitting with you for a quiet talk, and that you may remain in the garden till the last moment, Celia will have lunch for us under the trees.”
“Oh! isn’t that nice, Auntie? We don’t mind one bit giving up, I Spy, and Lady Queen Annie she sits in the Sun, she sends you three letters and prays you read one,” cried Artie; and little Bear looking up eagerly said,
“Would it be too much trouble, Auntie, for you to tell us a good-bye story?”
“Certainly not, darling, but what shall it be about? You shall choose, Harry.”
“Well, I think I’d a little rather hear a story about animals than most anything I can think of.”
“Have I ever told you about Old Whitey?”
“No, indeed,” cry all, “will you do it now?”
“Some years ago, I went to board for a few weeks in a quiet mountain village in Connecticut. The Farmer’s wife, with whom I stayed, was a simple body who loved her cows, pigs and chickens next to her boys; but above all of their out-of-door pets Old Whitey Cow reigned chief. One day, I went into the barnyard, with Mrs. May, to watch the milking. Whitey’s turn always came first, but for some wise reason of her own, that morning, Madam Whitey kept out of the way, till her patient Mistress could wait no longer, so called Speckled Sides to come to her. Just as the white stream began to flow into the shining pail, Old Whitey appeared, looking very much excited. Trotting briskly up to Speckled Sides, she pushed her away with her horns, kicked over the pail of milk, and then stood demurely before her Mistress, as if she had only done the most proper thing in the world.
“One rainy morning, as I pushed my window-curtain aside, I saw Tom May and his Brother coming up the lane, with a large umbrella over their heads, from under which Whitey’s broad flanks and bushy tail appeared. Mrs. May told me whenever the boys came into the pasture with an umbrella, Whitey would come trotting up and put her head under its shelter, and walk along as the village people used to say, ‘just like folks.’
“One day the good old creature strayed away from home and visited the village, where she surprised a fine city lady who was boarding there for the Summer, by suddenly thrusting her head under her silk sun-umbrella and showing her intention to join in the promenade. When the lady indignantly stamped her foot and scolded, Old Whitey retreated as if subdued, but, a moment after, ran up behind her, thrust her horns under the umbrella, and, to the great amusement of the lookers on, and greatly to the indignation of the umbrella’s owner, bore it triumphantly off through the principal street of the village.
“Fancy the surprise of the May family, when they saw Old Whitey coming up the lane, with her head sheltered by a silk umbrella through which her horns were sticking.
“Mrs. May tells another story about her favorite’s intelligence. She had an Irish girl living with her, who had a lover, a stable boy, living near. One day Mike visited his Biddie as she was preparing to milk Whitey, and Biddie became so engaged in her talk that she forgot her business.
“In vain Whitey whisked her bushy tail in the milk-maid’s face; Biddie had eyes and ears for no one but Mike. At last the impatient animal turned slowly around to see what was the trouble, and immediately rushed up to poor Mike, and fairly drove him from the barn yard, then took her place before the astonished Biddie, who did not need to be again reminded of her duty.”
That is the end of the Whitey story, and there is Papa coming to join us, and Hugh follows with the table.
“Oh, isn’t this a regular Pic-Nic,” said the children, as they gathered around the little table which Celia had taken pains should be covered with her daintiest dishes.
“And Auntie dear,” said thoughtful Daisy, “I don’t think we can ever thank you enough for giving us such a lovely time. I don’t think any children ever had so much pleasure.”
“I wish,” said little Jack, with mouth full, as usual, “I wish there was out of doors in New York ’cept the Park.”
In spite of the parting so near, that was a pleasant meal. The old apple tree spread its branches protectingly over the young heads, choice flowers perfumed the air about them, and Robins, Locusts and Crickets formed an Orchestra to supply sweet music.
Papa’s watch at last told the parting near, and very sad were the little faces that Aunt Emma saw looking back from the open carriage, at the Funny House on Funny Street.
“God bless and keep my darlings,” the old Auntie murmured, “and bring us all to meet one day in that bright land where partings are unknown.”
Then the kind old Aunt, taking Charlie Leonard with her, went to see a poor sick girl, and whilst she spoke words of comfort to the sufferer, the ache left her own heart, and all was peace and joy within.
Thrusting aside the Library curtains at 310 Madison Avenue, for we fain would have another glance at the Little Menagerie, we see them all gathered about Mamma, all so eager to tell of the rare pleasures they have enjoyed, and all so happy to be at home again, that there is no room in their young hearts for regrets for past pleasures.
Farewell, little folk! The Funny Old House on Funny Street no longer reëchoes with your merry voices and frolicsome steps, but the sunshine you brought there still seems to linger in its every apartment, but most of all in the loving hearts you have left behind.