Ella, a little schoolgirl of the sixties

by Eva March Tappan

They made various games, but this was not without its difficulties. Cardboard was at least ten miles away; birch bark would curl up; but no lack of materials was ever allowed to interfere with their plans, there was always something else that would answer the purpose. In this case they pasted several thicknesses of newspaper together, deceived the world by adding a facing of light brown wrapping paper when the white gave out; put the cards under flatirons to make as sure as possible that they would dry without wrinkles; and when they were dry, painted them with whatever the games required of words or pictures. It must be admitted that when these cards were shuffled, they were a little like the croquet balls in that no one ever knew which way they would go, and Boy Cousin’s father suggested that they be dealt with a snowshovel; but the children looked upon them as a great success.

If there was ever a minute when they had nothing else to do, the yellow-covered Farmer’s Almanac was ready to keep them busy. Here were the riddles and conundrums and charades and enigmas of the preceding year, and a new collection for them to puzzle over, whose answers would not be revealed until the following year. There were bits of poetry and wise sayings of famous men. Here was occupation enough for many rainy days. Ella felt a little envy of Boy Cousin because he had the Almanac the first of January and she did not see it until July or August. Queerly enough, it was so associated in her mind with rainy days in the New Hampshire garret that she never thought of looking for a copy anywhere else.

Sometimes the rain fell heavily all day, and even more heavily up in the mountains at the source of the river. This meant that the water would roll down faster and faster. The big meadow was only a little above the river’s level, and before the afternoon was half gone, it would be a wide-spreading sea. Higher and higher the water rose under the bridge. Not a rock was to be seen. The whole meadow and the bed of the river was full of a torrent of black water, foaming and bubbling.

After one of these rainy days, the children went out to see what harm had been done, and they found that Beauty Bay was gone, that even the water had been washed away, and the Bay had become a part of the river. The fish that had dwelt in such comfort in the Bay would now have to make their own living as best they could, for they had been swept into the river, into the pond, perhaps all the way to the briny ocean, and what would a fresh-water fish do then, poor thing?

In the midst of all the happy occupations of weekdays came Sunday with a dull thud. Everything stopped, everything was different. No more tramping shoes and runabout dresses; people must wear their best clothes to meeting. The little white meetinghouse was several miles away, and the two extra passengers made extra weight; they must drive slowly. No one could count upon the exact minute of arrival, and sometimes there were what seemed to Ella whole hours of waiting before they went into the church.

The Sunday after the flood they started earlier than usual, for the roads might have been washed by the rain. They proved to be in good condition, and the time of waiting was longer than ever. This was very pleasant for the older folk. They met their friends and had nice little chats with them; but it happened that most of the children lived quite a long distance from Ella’s grandfather’s, and she did not know them. There was an attractive little road that rambled away from one side of the church, and she wished that she might ramble with it. Over the hill there would surely be a brook. Cardinal flowers grew beside brooks. It was not their season, but there might be just one. Any way, there would certainly be some kind of wild flowers. But the minister was coming and they must go into church.

After the service came the Sunday school, and then people went out into the little graveyard and ate the lunch that they had brought with them. When Ella first saw this, she was a little surprised to see people treat a graveyard in so familiar and friendly a fashion. Then she remembered a strange story that she had once read about a little girl who had been carried to fairyland. She was allowed to see her old friends once every year, provided not one of them forgot to come to the place of meeting.

Ella wondered if the people who lay in this graveyard were pleased to have them come and eat lunch there. If they were, she was very glad to help make them happy. The afternoon sermon did not seem nearly so long as that of the morning, and she went home thinking that if the people under the stones really liked to see her, she should like to come again. She even hoped it would not be so rainy the next Sunday that she would have to disappoint them.

Sunday was divided into three parts. It was very much Sunday until they were at home from meeting. Then it was allowable to put on a dress that was not a really best one, but was a little better than one for everyday. Dinner was at about four o’clock. After this came the third part of the day. It was not proper to play games, but one might pop corn. One might go to walk, not on a real tramp through the woods, but quietly up or down the road.

Ella was never quite sure that she understood all the Sunday distinctions. For instance, one might pick berries in the garden, but it would never have done to take a pail and go to pick them in the fields. If you were walking on the road and came to a bush full of them, you might fold up a big leaf or make a birch-bark basket—a very simple one, of course—and fill it to carry home. Even then, however, it was better to explain that the sky looked like rain and the berries would have been spoiled and so wasted before morning if left on the bush.