CORINNE'S MUSICALE.
By Margaret Sidney.
Inside of me says I am naughty,
But truly, I know I am not;
For if Brother Joe could see me
Right in this very spot,
He'd let me do just as I'm doing,
I'm very sure; that is, perhaps—
Oh, dear! however, do big folks
Hold this thing straight in their laps?
It slips, an' it slips an it slips,
You naughty old Banjo, oh, dear!
Is he coming? then what will he do
To find me sitting up here!
Ho, ho, 'twas a mouse—how silly
And frightened I've actually been;
For he'd say: "If you hold it quite still
You may take it, I'm willing, Corinne!"
I know, so now I'll begin it;
How does he go "tumty tum ting,"
And make such beautiful tunes,
Too lovely for anything?
I ain't a bit afraid they may hear,
The house people 'way off below—
Me playing in Brother Joe's room.
Still I'd better be careful, you know.
If they didn't say 'twas amusing.
I sh'd think 'twas stupid to play,
To tug at such tiresome strings
An' make them come over this way;
But it must be delightful, I'll pull
A very fine tune at first;
Now, "tumty-tum twang!"
It sounds as if something had burst!
That string must a truly been cracked.
Don't you s'pose? or moth-eaten p'raps;
Tisn't pleasant to practice I'm sure,
But forlorn, when anything flaps
So I guess I've finished; hark! hark!
He really is coming—oh, my!
Now, Banjo, I know Mamma wants me,
An' so I must bid you good-bye.
"Wasn't she a naughty girl," said Bo, "I wouldn't do that. I never touch Aunt Lucy's banjo—only sometimes—but I don't break it."
[CHAPTER III.]
The Party.
Great preparations were made for Amy's seventh birthday. Uncle Dick, who was an electrician, sent a number of portable electric lamps to help in the decorations.
Aunt Lucy proposed having tableaux and pieces for the evening entertainment, as a welcome home to Papa Allen, who was expected soon to return from his Western trip.
Amy wanted everything arranged in "sevens," as she expressed it. So she invited seven girls and seven boys and seven grown up people. There were to be seven kinds of candy and cakes, etc., and Mamma and Aunt Lucy worked with all their hearts to make Amy's seventh birthday a never-to-be-forgotten pleasure.
It was agreed that every eatable which was set on the table for the children, should be made at home, so Miss Sweetwood, who was an expert in candy making, came to spend a week, and devoted her time to the manufacture of all manner of dainty bonbons.
Aunt Lucy and Hetty took charge of the cooking, and the birthday cake came from their hands a most beautiful, as well as delicious, confection. There were seven sugar ornaments made like sconces to hold the candles, the one in the centre resembling a white lily, was for a blessed candle; Mrs. Allen always managed to smuggle a pious thought into every act connected with the children.
Two days before the party, Papa Allen arrived, bringing a present for Amy, which was received with wildest shouts of delight from both children, but was not so welcome to the grown-up members of the family, viz.—A goat.
Hetty came to bid a "welcome home" with the rest of the family, but held up her hands when she saw the new arrival and exclaimed. "Fo' de land's sake! Massa Allen, you done brought a match for Bolax now, for sure."
Early on the morning of the twenty-first, before anyone else in the house thought of stirring, Bo's eyes were wide open.
A robin perched on a bough of an apple tree just outside the window, was singing his merriest, the sun was shining straight into the room and upon Bo's crib. "Guess that sun woke me up," said he, watching with delight the bright beams as they glanced and shimmered about the walls and over the carpet. "When it gets to Mamma's bed it will wake her up too." "Oh! I'm so tired waiting." Then jumping out of his crib, he ran over to Amy's bed, and sang out. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Hurrah! for your birthday, sister." Amy rubbed her eyes, and having made the sign of the cross, for she never forgot to give her first thought to God, was ready to join Bolax in hurrahing for the anticipated pleasures of the day.
First of all, the goat was remembered, and scarcely waiting to dress, both children ran to play with the new pet.
For a short time Bo allowed Amy to enjoy her present, but soon he began to tease, and would not let her lead the goat where she pleased.
"It's my own pet!" cried she, "Papa brought it to me." "Well," said Bo, "you might let me have a lend of it." "Yes, but you take such a long lend, and you are so cruel," and Amy tried to pull the goat away, but Bo held on, screaming and getting into a temper.
Papa heard the noise and called out to know the cause of the disturbance. "Papa," said the gentle little girl, "I am willing to let Bo have Nanny for a long time, but he won't give me a chance to play with her at all, and he's tormenting the poor thing, making Don bark at her, just to see her try to butt."
Aunt Lucy ran out to settle the dispute. Just then the breakfast bell rang and Nanny was left in peace. After breakfast Mamma recommended the children not to tire themselves, as the party would begin at four o'clock in the afternoon, and they must be ready to receive their little friends and help to amuse them. But nothing would induce Bo to give up playing with the goat, at dinner time he was still taking "one more lend of her."
Gentle Amy, who generally gave up to her little brother, could not help feeling sorry for the unfortunate animal, and begged to have it sent to the stable.
"Bo, dear," said Aunt Lucy, "do let poor Nanny rest a while, you have not given her time to eat today." "Why Auntie she's had lots to eat. I gave her two of my handkerchiefs, and one of Amy's, and she ate them up, but she seems not to like colored handkerchiefs, for I gave her one of Hetty's, and she just took a bite, then spit it out."
Hetty happened to come to the pump just as Bo was showing the handkerchief, and she fairly screamed when she saw it.
"For de land's sake! you Bolax. Look what you been a doin'. Here's my best Bandanna half chewed up by dat goat." "Well, Hetty, you told me goats like to eat clothes, and I thought your bandanna would taste good to Nanny, because it is so pretty, but she didn't like it."
"Oh, you just shut up, you bad boy: you is made up of mischief; you' bones is full of it. Clar to goodness, I never was so put upon, no time, no whars."
Bo was very much surprised at Hetty's outburst of anger and looked quite frightened, he offered to give her all the pennies in his bank to buy a new bandanna, but she would not be pacified, and still continued to scold.
"Hetty, dear," said the little culprit, "please don't speak so hard, it hurts my heart." But angry Hetty continued with: "You certainly is one of dem. Massa Bo, you'se done so much mischief dis here day, and it's Miss Amy's birthday too; if I was you I'd go to de Oritey and pray de good Lord to hold you in, if He kin, just for de rest of dis day. I'se afraid you g'wine to spile all de fun dis arternoon by some of your fool tricks."
Bo seeing Hetty was determined to remain angry, ran off to escape further scolding. When he was gone Aunt Lucy told Hetty she must blame herself for the loss of her handkerchief, as she had told the child about the calves and goats feeding on such things. "You see, Hetty, as yet Bo does not know what an untruth means, and cannot distinguish between joke and earnest, he firmly believes all that grown up people tell him, and I have no doubt, thought that he was giving a dainty morsel to the goat, when he offered her your best bandanna."
"Oh you! Miss Lucy, you always takes up for dat boy."
"Yes, and there's some one else, 'takes up' for him, sometimes, and her name is Hetty."
At three o'clock Mamma and Aunt Lucy dressed the children. Amy was as usual in blue and white, for she had been consecrated to the Blessed Virgin, from the time she was a baby. Her dress for the occasion was very beautiful, trimmed with soft laces, a present from her Godmother, and she looked like a little princess, with her long golden curls and dark eyes.
Bo wore his black velvet kilt, with a large lace collar, and the sweet little face, peeping out from beneath his crown of curls, might have been taken for something angelic, if one did not get a glimpse of his mischievous gray eye.
Promptly at four, the children trooped in; Amy did the honors in a most charming manner, and Bo amused the boys by showing them his numerous pets. Games of all kinds were played, and judging from the laughter and noise, Amy's guests were having what is called "a good time."
Never was there a more glorious twenty-first of June; the sky was so blue and bright, not the least bit of a cloud was to be seen, the air was balmy and entirely free from dampness, so the table for the children was set under the trees on the lawn. A snowy white cloth was spread and places arranged for fourteen. Before each cover was a pretty box containing candied fruit, to each box was attached a card with these words in gilt letters: From Amy to her friends; this was to be carried home as a souvenir. In the centre of the table the birthday cake stood on a bank of red and white roses. These bouquets of flowers were placed between pyramids of ice cream and mounds of toothsome dainties. Delicious white and red and pink raspberries were served on plates resembling green leaves.
As the clock struck six, the children were called to take their places at the table, but just as they were seated, who should walk up the garden path, but Father Leonard, the dearest friend of the family. Mr. and Mrs. Allen hastened to greet him: "Well, well," said he, "what is all this?" Amy ran to welcome her favorite and told him it was her birthday party. "Now my little daughter," said the good father. "I feel very much slighted at not receiving an invitation." "Oh!" replied the little lady, "please do not be offended, but come sit at the head of the table and ask blessing on my feast." This the good father did most joyfully, and when the youngsters were seated, every one showed his appreciation of the good things by the dispatch with which the platters were cleared. Aunt Lucy's famous drop cakes disappeared in such numbers, that some of the Mammas began to fear they would have to nurse cases of indigestion.
At length the time came to cut the birthday cake. The seven candles upon it had remained lighted during the repast and Mr. Allen put them out before dividing it; he was just going to extinguish the last one, when Master Bo jumped on the table, regardless of all propriety, and cried out, "Oh, Papa, let me blow out the middle candle, that is a blessed one and I want to breathe the holy smoke."
There was a hearty laugh at this and Father Leonard enjoyed the joke more than any one. When he could manage to speak after the hilarity had subsided he asked: "Bo, why did you want to breathe the holy smoke?" "Because," answered the boy, "Hetty says the mischief spirit is in me, and I wanted to smoke it out." Again there was an outburst of laughter, although only the older folks understood the wit of Bo's remark.
After supper the children prepared for the entertainment. Those who were to speak or sing went with Aunty Lucy and Miss May to have some last finishing touches put to their toilet, and make sure they remembered their pieces.
The end of the piazza had been arranged as a stage. Three large Japanese screens formed a back ground and an arch of white climbing roses and honey suckles served instead of a drop curtain. Groups of electric lamps had been placed so as to have the light fall directly on the little actors. Chairs and benches for the audience were arranged on the lawn just opposite the arch. At half past eight o'clock, it was sufficiently dark to bring out the illumination on the piazza, so the show began.
The first scene represented Amy seated on a chair, which was draped with gilt paper, festooned with flowers and resembled a veritable golden throne. From behind the scene came seven children carrying flowers and singing:
We come, we come from hill and dell
To welcome her we love so well.
We come on wings of silver light,
For 'tis our Amy's festal night.
We bring her from our fairy bowers
Tiny buds and opening flowers,
In mystic language they all shall tell
We love our darling Amy well.
Then one of the little girls placed a crown of Lilies of the Valley on the little queen's head, and the other children laid their flowers at her feet.
This was a total surprise to Amy, for the children had been told not to let her know they were learning the song; her sweet face was a study while she received the homage of her little friends, but she was equal to the occasion, and rising from her seat made a profound bow and said, "Thank you! Oh! I thank you so much." After this came a violin solo by Adolph Lane, which was extremely well rendered. Edith Scot and her brother danced the "Sailors' Hornpipe" dressed in fancy costume.
Bolax and his chum, Robbie Thornton, spoke Whitcomb Riley's "When the World Busts Through." Suggested by an earthquake.
Where's a boy a-goin';
An' what's he goin' to do,
And how's he goin' to do it
When the world busts through?
Ma says "she can't tell
What we're comin' to!"
An' Pop says, "He's jest skeered
Clean-plum through."
Second Boy.
Suppose we'd be a playin'
Out in the street,
An' the ground 'nd split up
'Bout forty feet!
Ma says, "She jest knows
We 'ud tumble in;"
An' Pop's says, "Bet you,
Den you wouldn't grin."
First Boy.
S'pose we'd jest be pretendin'
Like we had a show,
Down in the stable
Where we mustn't go—
Ma says, "the earthquake
Might make it fall;"
An' Pop says, "more'n like
Swaller barn an' all."
Landy! ef we wuz
Runin' away from school,
Down in the shady woods
Where it's all so cool!
Ma says "a big tree
Might squash our head;"
An' Pop says, "chop 'em out
Both killed-dead."
Both Boys.
But where is a boy a-goin',
An' what's he goin' to do,
An' how's he going' to do it,
Er the world bust through.
The little fellows recited this with scared faces and such comical gravity as to keep every one laughing. Amy came next with "Songs of Seven," by Jean Ingelow.
There's no dew left on the daisies and clover,
There's no rain left in Heaven,
I've said my Seven times over and over,
Seven times one are seven.
I am old, so old, I can write a letter,
My birthday lessons are done;
The lambs play always, they know no better;
They are only one times one.
Oh, moon! in the night I've seen you sailing
And shining so round and low,
You were bright; ah, bright! but your light is
Failing, you are nothing now but a bow.
You moon, have you done something wrong in Heaven
That God has hidden your face?
I hope if you have, you will soon be forgiven,
And shine again in your place.
Oh, velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow;
You've powdered your wings with gold;
Oh, brave Marsh—marigold rich and yellow
Give me your money to hold.
And show me your nest with the young ones in it;
I will not steal them away!
I am old, you may trust me, Linnet, Linnet,
I am seven years old today.
This was beautifully rendered and such a very appropriate selection for a seventh birthday. The entertainment ended, every one prepared to go home, one and all expressing their delight and declaring it was the most enjoyable birthday party they had ever witnessed.
[CHAPTER IV.]
Pleasant Controversy.
Mr. Allen sat on the porch smoking, when Mr. Steck, the Lutheran minister, opened the gate and walked in. Mr. Allen greeted him cordially and invited him to be seated.
The day was warm, but there was always a breeze on the corner of that porch, where the odor of the honeysuckle and climbing roses, which gave shade, made it a most inviting spot to rest.
"Have a segar, Mr. Steck." "Thank you, Mr. Allen, I am glad to see you at home on a week day, it is so seldom you take a holiday." "Holidays are not for men with a family to support; you may thank your stars, you are a bachelor." "That sounds as though you think I have a great share of leisure time. Well, I acknowledge my duties in this village are not very onerous, still I find enough to do. By the way, I have just been to see Miss Ogden. It is wonderful how the poor girl clings to life. As I left her house, I met Amy and Bolax, the dear children asked so kindly after the dying girl, but Bo—now don't be offended Mr. Allen, I have always taken a great interest in that boy having known him from a baby; he is wonderfully bright, makes such witty remarks," "and does such tormenting mischief at times," interrupted Mr. Allen. "Well," continued Mr. Steck, "When I told the children how ill Miss Ogden was, Bo gave me this medal of St. Benedict, telling me to put it on the poor girl's neck, and she would be sure to get well. I asked who told him that? Then Amy looked at me so earnestly and said: 'Oh, Saint Benedict can cure anybody. You know he was a great doctor when he was on earth, and he was so good our Lord gave him power to cure people who wear his medal.' 'Yes, and he cured Nannie,' said Bo, 'see I have the medal on her yet;' and lifting a daisy chain he showed me the medal on the goat's neck." "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Mr. Allen, "that's so like Bolax, he is a mixture of imp and angel."
"Now my friend," continued Mr. Steck, "allow me to ask you, who have been brought up an Episcopalian, if you approve of such superstitions? I did not suppose that educated Romanists entered into ridiculous practices of this sort; putting faith in—well, I might as well say it: Idols!" "—Hold on, Mr. Steck, I am not versed in the theology of the Catholic Church, and do not try to account for a great many little customs such as my little ones spoke about, but I'll venture to assert they do not injure the souls or bodies of those who believe in them. My wife never bothers me about her religion, never enters into controversy, although I have a notion, that on the sly, she is praying me into it."
"And from what you say," remarked Mr. Steck, "I think her prayers are being heard. I don't object to the Catholic religion; I think many of its doctrines are good and sound, but it would be more edifying to the general run of Christians, if there were not so many superstitious practices allowed." "Come, now Mr. Steck do not condemn what you do not understand. I travel a great deal as you know, and often attend churches of different denominations; but whenever I try to get an explanation of their various beliefs, one and all answer me somewhat in this manner: 'Well, I don't believe thus and so;' 'I don't approve of this or that doctrine,' etc. I never can get any of them to say right out what they do believe. One point only do they all agree upon and that is, condemnation of the Roman Catholic Church." Opening a memorandum book, Mr. Allen took out a paper saying, "here is a hymn which I heard sung in a Campbellite Sunday School:
"Come to me my little Children,
Sing and raise your voices high;
Sing of Jesus, not of Mary,
Nor other popish patron saints;
They can neither save nor help us,
Nor attend to our Complaints;
Tell your little popish neighbors
How to Jesus they may go
If they wish to get to Heaven,
They must worship Him alone."
"Very poor verse, but I copied it from one of the Hymn Books. Now, what can be gained by teaching children such absurdities? If you were intimately acquainted with Catholic little ones, you would find they bring Jesus into their daily lives more than do those who are taught to ridicule them."
"Oh," said Mr. Steck, "I admit there are many ignorant preachers out West, who think they honor God by abusing the Catholic religion, but you never hear me or Mr. Patton make use of an uncharitable word in connection with any one religion."
"Mr. Steck let me tell you that even the children of illiterate parents, who are practical Catholics, you will find able to answer questions about their religion, and keep Jesus in their thoughts. Just to give you an example: yesterday my wife went over to Miss Scrips and found her tying up a rosebush in the garden, the cook's little boy, about seven years old, held the branch for her, while doing this, he uttered a cry of pain, tears came into his eyes, but checking himself, he said: "Oh, if one thorn hurts so much how dreadful He must have suffered with His head all covered with thorns. Poor Jesus!"
"Indeed," said Mr. Steck, "that was extraordinary. He must be an exceptional boy. Such a child will die young, or be a great preacher some day." "Well, I just tell this one instance," replied Mr. Allen, "to let you see the impression made on the heart of Catholic children by constantly keeping before them incidents in the life of Christ.
"Papa! Papa!" was heard in the distance. Mr. Allen got up saying: "That sounds like Bolax." Going to the gate he saw a crowd of youngsters following Bo, who was vainly trying to catch the goat. Nan was tearing down the road with Roy, Buz and Don his pet dogs, in full chase after her. It was too funny to see Nan turn on the dogs, stand on hind legs and with a loud Ma-a-a! start off again.
"I wish I were a few years younger," said Mr. Steck, "I'd join in the chase." Mr. Allen tried to head Nan off, Bo kept yelling—"Papa make the dogs stop barking, it frightens poor Nan." In going to the rescue, Mr. Allen left the garden gate open, Nannie rushed in tearing over the flower beds, to the great dismay of the onlookers, especially Hetty who had come out to see what the row was about, grumbling to herself: "If yo' flower beds is spiled, youse got yu' own self to blame, Mr. Allen, it ain't no sense in havin' so many live creters round de place no how."
Pat came on the scene laughing in his good-natured way and catching the goat led her off to the stable.
"Don't whip poor Nannie," cried Bolax, "it wasn't her fault, it was the dogs that made her run through the flowers, but, oh—Pat don't whip them neither; it was the boys who sicked them on Nan." "I'll not bate any of them shure," said Pat, "Master Bo, it's yourself is the tender-hearted spalpeen after all." Mr. Steck patted the boy, who looked ready to cry and consoled him by promising him a ride on horse-back. "Good-bye, my little man. Good-bye Mr. Steck," said Mr. Allen, "come again whenever you want to see a circus."
Papa did not say much about the wreck of his flower beds, seeing the distress of his little boy. Hetty took him into the kitchen to comfort him and put on a clean blouse. Mamma, Aunt Lucy and Amy had been out all the afternoon, so Bolax tried to amuse himself. Looking out of the window, he saw Buz, Roy and Don hunting something in the strawberry patch. Off he started to see what they were after. To his surprise, all three dogs were eating the nice big strawberries; he chased them out, and going through the fence went into the woods followed by the three rascals. Bo gathered all sorts of "plunder," as Hetty called his treasures.
When Aunt Lucy came home, he called to her saying he had such a beautiful horrible bug to show her. "I know you'll like him, he's a tremendous big fellow, I put him in your soap dish to save him for you." On opening the soap dish, however, the "beautiful horrible bug" was nowhere to be seen, although Aunt Lucy looked carefully in every corner and crevice for she did not fancy sleeping in a room with such company.
To pacify Bolax for the loss of his treasure Aunt Lucy told him about a stag-beetle her uncle had as a pet. "Uncle would put a drop of brandy and water in a spoon, and Mr. Beetle would sip a little, and then dance about, sometimes he would get quite frolicsome, and behave in such a funny way, staggering round, going one-sided, try to fly and at last give it up and go into a sound sleep. When he awoke he would make a buzzing noise, stretch out a leg or two, then fly as well as ever. Uncle kept him six months; I don't know how he happened to die, but one morning he was stiff—we were all so sorry."
Bolax listened, seeming quite interested, but when his aunt stopped speaking he began to whine: "But I want my beautiful horrible bug, I just do want him. Papa go upstairs and look for him, I had such trouble catching him in the woods. He has a red saddle under his black wings, and big horns, and stiff legs and red eyes. Please find him, Papa; I want to make a pet of him."
Here Mamma came up on the porch, and hearing about her boy going into the woods alone, was inclined to scold, as she had strictly forbidden the children to venture into lonely places without some one to watch over them. Bolax, then said, Adolph Layne had been with him. "Well," said Mamma, "I'm glad to know that—no doubt, we will find your 'beautiful horrible bug' in the morning. It cannot get away as the windows are all screened. He may have the room to himself and Aunt Lucy can sleep in the spare room."
Amy spied a Lady bug on the climbing rosebush, she caught it and gave it to her little brother to comfort him for his loss. Papa told the children never to harm a Lady bug because they are very useful insects. "In fact," said he, "I would like to have them on all my vines and bushes, for they always feed on the plant lice, which infest our choicest flowers. Indeed, I never could think of a Lady bug as a mere insect." "Oh!" said Amy, "why can't we call her Lady bird. She has strong little wings, and really seems like a tiny bird." "Well," continued Papa, "when I was very small, I often caught the dear little things, and firmly believed they understood when I said: 'Lady bug fly away home.' When one flew from my hand, I followed, watched her going home and found where she laid her eggs. She always selects a rosebush or honeysuckle or a hop vine, because they are more likely than others to have plant lice upon them. Lady bug's eggs are a bright yellow, small, flat and oval; when they are hatched out, the babies find their food all ready for them.
"At first, when just out of the egg, is the time the young ones eat millions of plant lice; after a few weeks good feeding, they get fat, and round, and casting off their first skin appear in their shining beauty coats." "Thank you, Papa, dear," said Amy, I always did love 'Lady birds,' but now I shall love them more than ever." "Papa, may I ask you, do you know anything about snakes?"
"Snakes!" cried Mamma and Aunt Lucy. "Yes, Mamma dear, the poor things everybody hates them, and no one says a good word about them."
"Ow! ow! help! for de Lord's sake!" It was Hetty's voice coming from the cellar. All rushed to the rescue, thinking the poor soul might have fallen. On opening the cellar door, Hetty was seen tumbling up the stairs, her eyes starting out of her head, scarcely able to articulate. "Oh, Miss Allen, de debble is arter me. He down dere, I done seed him plain. Oh! Oh! I'm done frustrated to death!" All tried to pacify the frightened creature, but it was no use. "I'se done gone dis time. My heart's pumpin' out of me!" Mr. Allen went to see what could have given Hetty such a shock, when he too, gave a very undignified yell, as he caught sight of a big black snake. Bolax ran to him, calling out, "Why Papa, what is the matter, what made you screech?" "Don't come down here," called Mr. Allen, "Lucy bring the poker." "Oh, what on earth is it, brother? A snake! I don't wonder Hetty is scared to death."
"Oh, Papa, dear," called Bolax. "Don't kill him. Tommy Hoden gave him to me to put in the cellar to catch mice. I thought Hetty would be glad, but she is such a scare cat."
Mrs. Allen told her sister to give Hetty some valerniate of ammonia to quiet her nerves, and let her rest for the evening; we will attend to dinner; stay with her until she is soothed.
"Bolax, come upstairs. What are we to do with you? Positively you must stop handling reptiles and insects; you will be poisoned some day."
The little fellow listened to all his mother had to say, but seemed surprised that every one found fault when he expected to be praised. "Ma, dear," said he, "I didn't mean to frighten anyone. I'm not afraid of snakes, and Tommy Hoden is a good boy now, since you have him in Catechism class, and he wanted that snake for himself, but he spared it just to please Hetty."
"Well, dear, I believe you would not willingly give pain to Hetty, but you are nearly six years old and it is time you should have some thought about you, say your prayers and go to bed." Bo's prayer:
Dear Jesus, Bless Hetty and don't let her be such a scare cat. Holy Mother of Jesus, bless me and don't let me be doing wrong things when I mean to do right things; help all the poor and the sick, and all the people in the world and don't let anyone be cruel to animals. Bless every one in the whole world, Amen. Oh, I forgot, bless Mamma and Papa and Sister and Auntie, but you know I always have them in my heart. Amen.
[CHAPTER V.]
The Picnic.
The feast of the Assumption. What a glorious day! Clear and bright, more like June than August.
Mrs. Allen and Amy went to early Mass. After breakfast Aunt Lucy proposed taking Bolax to high Mass, as the music was to be unusually fine. St. James' choir from the city volunteered their services. Mr. Van Horn sent out a fine organ to replace the squeaky, little melodeon, for it was the first anniversary of the dedication of the little country church, and all wanted to have an especially fine service.
Bo promised to be "better than good" while in Church. There was a very large congregation, the country people coming for miles around to hear the music and assist at the grand high Mass.
When Aunt Lucy and her charge entered the Church every seat seemed to be taken. Mrs. Allen's pew was filled with strangers, so dear old Madame Harte beckoned her to come into her pew.
From the beginning of the service, Bo was in an ecstasy of delight, except for an occasional tapping of his feet when the music was very inspiriting, he sat motionless.
Not to impose on the child's patience too long, Madame Harte offered to take him out during the sermon. "Oh, dear Hartie, is it all over?" said Bo. "No pet, but the priest is going to give a sermon, and you would be so tired." "No, I wouldn't, what is a sermon?" said Bo. "Oh, a very long talk, dear; come out with me," whispered Madame, "and I will bring you back when the music begins again."
"Will the priest tell stories?" asked Bo, when he got outside. "I like long talks when the talk is stories."
"Come dear, let us sit under that tree over there and I will tell you a true story." "Oh, thank you, Hartie dear."
"Once long ago, our dear Lord died and—" "Rose again and went up into Heaven," said Bo all in one breath. "Mamma tells me that every day at my prayers."
"Well," continued Mrs. Harte, "after Jesus went up to Heaven His holy Mother was very lonely, so she prayed and prayed to Jesus to take her up to Heaven, that she might be with Him forever. Well, one beautiful day, just like this, Jesus called a company of angels and sent them down to the earth to bring His blessed Mother up to Him."
"Did the Angels march out of Heaven like soldiers?" asked Bo.
"Yes, dear; they put on their brightest robes, and beautiful clouds of crimson and gold surrounded them, and then they carried the holy Mother up, up, until they came to the golden throne where Jesus sat, ready to welcome her; He placed her beside Him and there she remains happy forever."
When the organ began the grand music of the Credo, Bo made a dash for the door, and could scarcely be persuaded to enter the Church quietly. After he was seated, he listened intently and was apparently very much interested in the Altar boys.
At length came the "Agnus Dei," which ends, as all have heard, with "Dona nobis pacem." The music score called for a repetition of the word "Pacem," somewhat in this manner, "Dona Pacem, Pacem," the basso calling out "Pacem! Pacem!"
With startling suddenness, Bo exclaimed: "Why are they singing about a Possum?"
Aunt Lucy caught him by the hand and hurried him to the side door, which was fortunately near; those who were within hearing, with difficulty controlled their laughter. "Are you crying, Aunty?" said the funny youngster, as he saw the flushed face of his aunt. "No, Bo, dear; I came out because you spoke so loud." "Oh, I forgot; please forgive me; let me go in again; I'll be so good, but Aunty dear, I didn't know they ever let possums into Church." Mass was not over, and as it was a holy day of obligation, Aunt Lucy felt unwilling to leave until the last Gospel. On reflection, however, she thought it best not to give further distraction by returning to her seat.
On her way home, she stopped to see a child, who belonged to the Catechism class, hoping to find him able to join the rest of the children, who were going to have their annual picnic. The little fellow had hurt his foot, but his mother said he was now able to walk nicely.
After Mass, Miss Devine and Madame Harte drove over to Allen's to see about the proposed outing. There they met the ladies Keating, all discussed Bo's latest exploit and laughed heartily about the Possum.
"Our class has increased so largely this year, I fear we cannot have room for all the children on my grounds," observed Mrs. Allen. "Suppose we make it a straw ride," said Miss Keating. "We can give a substantial lunch, with ice cream and cake for dessert, and a bag of candy to take home." "Oh, grand! grand!" said Amy, clapping her hands, "and Ma, dear, I have two children I want to invite; they don't come to the class because they live so far away; I mean little Johnny Burke, who is lame, and Dotty, the blind child. I love them because they are afflicted."
"My darling, you shall invite the poor little ones, and I am glad to see you have such a compassionate heart." "Suppose we hire Johnson's big hay wagon," said Miss Keating, "it will hold all the children and two grown folks to look after them."
"That will be just the thing," said Miss Devine, "my contribution shall be the ice cream and cake." "and mine," said Madame Harte, "the candy." "I will help with the substantials and let the little things have more than enough for once in their lives," this from Miss Keating, whose whole time seemed to be taken up with helping the poor. "We can drive to Silver Lake woods," she proposed, "that is just six miles away and will not be too long a ride." After making all arrangements, the ladies took leave of Mrs. Allen, promising to be on hand on Thursday, August 20th.
The next day was Sunday. At Catechism class Mrs. Allen told the children of the proposed ride and picnic, which should take place on the next Thursday; all expressed their delight and you may be sure, thought of nothing else during the intervening days.
The next morning Bolax was playing with his dogs on the lawn when Tom Hoden made his appearance; he stood outside the gate, looking wistfully at Bo. Mrs. Allen called him in and gave him some breakfast. "Did your father tell you of my visit?" said the lady. Tom answered in his surly manner: "Yes, the old man said you was to the house, but I don't want to go to Sunday School, the fellows would call me 'rags,' and I ain't got no shoes." "That can be easily remedied," said Mrs. Allen, "come here tomorrow and see what I will have for you."
The poor boy's face brightened up, and making an awkward attempt to thank the lady, he ran out of the gate.
When Tom presented himself next day, Pat was called upon to give him a bath and dress him in a good suit of clothes. "Here he is, ma'am," said Pat, "and ye'd hardly believe it's the same boy."
Tom held up his head and seemed quite happy; so true it is, that be one ever so poor, a clean, respectable appearance makes one feel at ease with himself and on better terms with his fellows. "Now Tom, I expect you to be here on next Thursday morning at nine o'clock." Tom promised to come and thanked Mrs. Allen.
The appointed day arrived. Long before the wagon came, the children flocked into the garden. Pat was on the alert lest his flower beds should suffer.
Miss Keating and Mrs. Allen made all be seated, and to while away the time sang:
"Wait for the wagon, wait for the wagon,
Wait for the wagon and we'll all take a ride.
We are all good children; our teachers say with pride.
So now to reward us, they give us all a ride."
The children clapped for this; then Aunt Lucy played on the piano which could be heard distinctly out on the lawn.
Amy and Aunt Lucy sang:
"Come where flowers are flinging
Beauty o'er the meadows gay,
Where glad birds are singing,
Free from care the live long day.
Come where skies are smiling,
Where the merry fountains play,
Come, all care beguiling,
Keep with Nature Holiday.
Then away to the woods,
Where wild flowers bloom,
Where the breezes are laden
With sweetest perfume.
With our feet light as fairies,
And hearts full of glee,
We will sing with the wild bird
And roam with the bee,
Oh, come away, away!"
Mary Dowry called Amy's attention to a charming little girl about six years old, who smiled through the railing and looked wistfully at the children. She was dressed in a pink frock, which set off her soft dark eyes.
Amy went towards her and she said, "Good morning," so sweetly. "I believe she wants to come with us," said Amy. "Oh, don't let her," cried Nellie Day, "she's only a Dago."
"Well, I'll give her some candy," said Bolax, "I like nice Dagos," and going to his mother, he told about the strange child. Mrs. Allen gave him a large bag of candy which he handed to the little girl.
On receiving it she said, "gracias, gracias." What is she saying "grassy ice for?" said Nellie Day, "perhaps she wants ice cream." "No" said Aunt Lucy "she is saying 'Thank you' in Italian. What pretty manners she has. I think some of our American children might profit by her sweet ways."
"I'm sure she has a nice mother," said Amy. "Let us take her with us." "I would, willingly dear," said Aunt Lucy, "but her people would think her lost, and we do not know where to send them word."
Great was the jubilation of the children, and not a little surprise among the ladies when the wagon appeared festooned with bunting, the driver carrying a flag, and the horses' heads decked in like manner. It was so kind of Mr. Johnson to give the decorations. Miss Keating and Aunt Lucy seated themselves and the children in the straw; then as the old song says:
"Snap went the whip, 'round went the wheels,
Were ever folks more glad."
Old and young joined in the fun and made the welkin ring with their mirth. Hetty and Pat put the lunch baskets and ice cream into the dayton, and with Miss Devine, Madame Harte and Mrs. Allen in the large carry-all followed the procession to Silver Lake woods.
The road strolled leisurely out of the village and then, abruptly left it behind, and curved about a hillside. Silver Lake woods sat on a hill slope studded with pine trees; at the foot of the hill could be seen a most beautiful piece of water glistening in the sunshine. This was the lake. Life of the forest seemed to enter into the veins of the children and they ran and capered like wild deer. The horses were unharnessed so that they might rest.
Pat and Mr. Johnson's man put up swings and hammocks. The Misses Keating and Aunt Lucy set the children to play games; Hare and Hounds suited the boys and they raced to hearts' content. The Lake was guarded by Miss Devine's coachman, John, so that no venturesome lad would put himself in danger. The girls were easily made happy with quiet games, swings and hammocks.
To the children, of course, the lunch was the principal feature, so the ladies spread an immense white cloth on the grass, around which all sat, and were served to as many chicken and ham sandwiches as they could eat. Tin cups of delicious milk and lots of sweet buns followed. Then came the ice cream and cake; by the time this was disposed of, it became evident the children could hold no more, so Madame Harte's candy was reserved for the homeward trip.
The men were not forgotten, and were well supplied with a substantial dinner of cold roast beef, pickles, bread and butter, a dozen of lemons and a pound of sugar to make lemonade. For, as Hetty, said, "dem dere fellows ain't goin' to care for soft vittles; dey wants sumpin' dat will keep dem from gettin' hollow inside." After the feast Pat and the other men gathered everything up, and packed all into the dayton, then Pat started for home.
The ladies were rather fatigued after their exertions in amusing and waiting on the children, so they rested in the hammocks awhile. As for the little ones, nothing seemed to tire them, they tore around as fresh and lively as if the day were just beginning. At four o'clock Mrs. Allen rang a bell to summon all to prepare for home. When the wagon came all piled in, laughing and shouting in their glee. Amy was most attentive to her little proteges, waiting on them and attending to all their wants. Little Dotty kept saying: "Dear Miss Amy, I love you; I thank you, and I'll always pray for you for giving me such a happy, happy day."
Bolax took little lame Johnny under his care, when the children were being placed in the wagon, he called out to the driver, "be sure to seat Johnny on a soft bunch of hay, because his leg is not strong." "Why did you say that?" said Nellie Day. "You ought to have said, because his is lame." "No, I just wouldn't say that," said Bo, "it might hurt Johnny's heart; my Mamma says we must never let lame people know we see their lameness, and never look at crooked-backed children, because it makes then feel worse."
When the wagon was ready to start, the driver offered to see all the children safely to their homes; he said most of them lived near the quarry, and he would take the pike road, which passed within a few minutes' walk of it. Johnny and little Dotty he promised to deliver into the hands of their mothers.
The ladies Keating had ordered their carriage to call for them, and Miss Devine's "carry-all" held the rest of the party, including Bo and Amy.
This ended one happy day filled with love and kindness, and sweet charity towards God's poor little ones.