HIGH times at Prairie-rose Cottage,—high times indeed! For there is cousin Floy Plummer on her tiptoes; and there is little Effie Plummer hurrying with might and main to climb to the top of the bureau; and there are the twins, the Jimmyjohn Plummers, scrambling both at once into the baby’s dining-chair, tumbling over the back like one boy, then dividing at the bottom and going up again like two boys: and all these trying to pinch Annetta Plummer’s ears, and to pinch them seven times too; for Annetta Plummer is seven years old this very day.
Ever since morning, a little girl may have been seen holding two hands to two ears, scampering up stairs and down stairs, dodging into dark corners, behind doors, behind curtains, behind people, racing through the garden, hiding among the currant-bushes, among the grass, among the waving corn, in the barn, in the hen-house, up the apple-tree, up the ladder; and always have gone some of the pinchers after her, with seven pinches apiece in their thumbs and fingers. And now, will climbing that table save Miss Seven-year-old?
Hark! Rover is barking outside! O Rover! don’t you know any better than to bark at the party,—Annetta’s birthday-party? Look at old Bose, and learn how to behave. Old Bose never barks at company; and he is six times bigger than you are, you little, noisy, capering, frisky, frolicsome Rover! Now the Jimmyjohns run to call off their dog. “Here, Rover! Here, ere, ere, ere! Rove, Rove, Rove!”
And now the company have come in, and have taken off their things, and have told Mrs. Plummer how their mothers do, and have sat down quietly in a row of chairs. Seven of them,—seven bright faces so rosy and sweet! seven heads of hair so smooth or so curly! seven pairs of tidy boots, best ones, perhaps,—who knows but brand-new? The Jimmyjohns, too, have on their new, slippery, smooth-bottomed button-boots; and that was the reason of their falling down while they stood almost still, or rather more than half still, watching the seven little girls sitting in a row.
Ten minutes later. All out on the green spot, where it is shady, playing “Little Sally Waters sitting in the sun.” Josephus the baby (called Josephus while waiting for his real name) stays in his baby-carriage, hearing them sing, watching the ring go round, laughing, crowing, patting cakes by the dozen. When the Jimmies choose the one that they love best before they close their eyes to rest, Rover rushes into the middle, barking, leaping high, as if he, too, were going to kiss the one that he loved best.
Fifteen minutes later. They are playing “Pretty fair maid.” Dear, dear! what a charming singsong goes with this play! What a lively, chirruping tune! “Pretty fair maid, will you come up, will you come up, will you come up, to join us in our dances.” “And now we’ve got the Queen of May, the Queen of May, the Queen of May, to join us in our dances.” And then the last part, “Green grow the rushes O! Never mind the blushes O!” Ah! who would not be a little girl at a party, singing “Pretty fair maid” on the green spot?
Half an hour later. All out in the orchard, playing “keep house.” They divide themselves into “families.” There is one very large flat rock in the orchard, also several hollow places where rocks have been dug out. Two of the “families” take each a hollow to live in; a third “keeps house” on the rock, a fourth under a haycock. Oh, what good times! Only two families can have “fathers,” because there are only two boys. The other “fathers,” cousin Floy says, have gone to Boston. Cousin Floy manages this play. She is ten years old, and knows how. Cousin Floy goes in to coax Mrs. Plummer for some things in which to dress up the “fathers” and “mothers.” She says it will do if the heads look like fathers’ and mothers’ heads, and no matter about the clothes. Mrs. Plummer lends two head-dresses, also ribbons and laces. Grandmother Plummer lends a cap and black ribbon. Who’ll be the “grandmother,” I wonder. Minnie Lowe, the little girl with the flossy curls. Oh, what a cunning grandmother!—Down, Rover, down! What! barking at your grandmother, you saucy little puppy?
“Ha, ha! He, he! Ha, ha! He, he! Ho, ho!” And who wouldn’t laugh at seeing Jimmy Plummer in a high dicky, black whiskers, and tall hat? The hat touches his shoulders behind. Ah! that is better. Cousin Floy has taken off the hat, and put on a great deal of black hair pulled from an old cushion; yes, a great deal,—as much as a quarter of a peck. It rises high on his head, and—What ails Rover? Ha, ha! Pretty good! Rover doesn’t know Jimmy!
Well, well, well! Grandfather forever! They are going to have Johnny a grandfather! Cousin Floy is covering his head with cotton-wool for white hair. Now she gives him a cane. Now go on the spectacles. Now she is—doing—something—I cannot—see—what. Oh, yes, yes, yes! putting a hump under his frock, between his shoulders, to give him a stoop. Bark away, Rover! Who wouldn’t bark at a cotton-wool grandfather?
