But, dear, dear! what is the matter? Why do they all jump down in a hurry, and scream and shout, and run after Rover? What! Polly Cologne? Rover gone off with Polly Cologne in his mouth? Yes, Rover has. There he goes, scampering away, and all the children after him, calling, “Here, here, ere, ere, ere! Back, sir! back!” The Jimmyjohns slip with their smooth-bottomed boots, and down they go; and off go wigs, whiskers, and all! Now they’re up again, shouting to Rover, “Here, Rover!—here, Rover! Drop it, drop it! Rove, Rove! Come back!”
But Rove won’t hear, and won’t come back. He’s out of the orchard, across the meadow, over the brook; and now—and now he has gone into the woods! Oh, dear, dear!
Four days later. Orchard, wood, brook, and meadow have been searched; but the lost is not yet found. Annetta is quite sad. She has put away Polly Cologne’s every-day locket and every-day clothes, and blue silk sun-bonnet, because it made her feel badly to see them.
Dear little Polly Cologne, where are you now? Lost in the woods? And are the Robin Redbreasts covering you over with leaves? Perhaps naughty Rover buried you up like a meat-bone in the cold, damp ground, or dropped you in the brook,—and, alas! you could never swim ashore. Did those bright-spotted trout eat you? or did you float away to the sea? Perhaps you did float away to the sea. Perhaps you are now far out on the mighty ocean, where the wild winds blow, and there, all alone, toss up and down, up and down, on the rolling waves; or perhaps the waves and the winds are at rest, and the sea is smooth like a sea of glass, and you lie quietly there, with your pink cheeks turned up to the sky. Or the mermaids may take you down into their sea-caverns all lined with rose-colored shells, and sing you sweet songs till your hair turns green. Or who knows but you may float away to Northland, and be picked up on shore by the little funny, furry Esquimaux children? Oh, if you should be frozen solid in an iceberg there! But it may be you have drifted down to the sunny islands of the South, where the people have few clothes, no houses, no schools; and then some little, half-naked, dusky child may pick you up from among the coral and sea-shells, and show you to its mother, and say, “Mother, where do this kind of folks live?” And its mother, not having studied geography, may say, “Oh! in a wonderful country close by the moon.”
Yes, let us hope that Polly Cologne has been wafted to those sunny summer-lands of the South, where oranges grow, and prunes, and bananas; where the palm-tree waves, and geraniums grow wild; where the air is balmy; where snow never comes, nor ice, nor frost; where bright-winged birds warble in the groves; where trees are forever green, and flowers bloom through all the year.
CHAPTER III.
AN ACCOUNT OF THE JIMMYJOHNS’ LITTLE AFFAIR WITH THE GULLS.
In this story will be given a true and exact account of the Jimmyjohns’ affair with the gulls; also of the manner in which Jimmy was turned out of the little red house at the sea-shore. The account will begin at the time of their leaving home. It will explain the reason of their going, and will, in fact, tell every thing that happened to them just exactly as it happened.
Mr. Plummer, their father, had bought some salt hay at a place called Stony Point, near the sea-shore. One day he sent Ellis Payne with the ox-cart to finish making the hay and bring it home. Mr. Plummer told Ellis Payne that he himself should be riding that way about noontime, and would carry him a warm dinner. He started just after eating his own dinner. Ellis Payne’s was put up in a six-quart tin pail. It being Saturday, Mr. Plummer took the Jimmyjohns along. Their mother said they might play at Stony Point till Ellis Payne came home, and then ride back on the hay. Mr. Plummer was going to the mill.
Now, the road turned off to the mill a short distance before reaching Stony Point; and Mr. Plummer, to save time, told the Jimmyjohns they might jump out there, and carry the pail to Ellis Payne, and he would keep on to the mill, and then he could take in the funny man. The funny man was just turning up that same road. He stopped to have a little fun with the twins; jumped them out of the wagon; tried to guess which was which, and, when told, turned them round and round, to mix them up; then tried to guess again, and would have tossed up a cent, and said, “Heads, this is Jimmy,—tails, this is Johnny,” as he sometimes did, only that the horse seemed in somewhat of a hurry.