Then I did make begins to get ready for Aphrodite’s foot-bath. She has needs for one most every day. And most days she does get it. I do fill seven Castoria bottles full of water. Then I put their corks in, and all of them that will go into the lard-pail I do so put in. Too, I have a little brush to brush her feet with while I do give them splash-water baths out of the Castoria bottles. Aphrodite has likes for foot-baths, and some days she does have likes for the shower-baths I do give to her out of the little flower-sprinkler. I give her back brushes and then some more showers from the flower-sprinkler. That flower-sprinkler I did write to the fairies for. I put the letter in the moss-box by the old log where I do put other letters for the fairies. The time it was not long until the fairies did leave this flower-sprinkler for it. I water the wild flowers after warm days and I water the plants that do grow in the garden. I can almost hear the tomato-plants say, “We were waiting for you,” every time I do give them sprinkles. And the cabbage-plants have likes for them, too. To-day, after I did give shower-baths to Aphrodite and Solomon Grundy and his sister Anthonya Mundy that has not got as much curl in her tail as has Solomon Grundy, then I did give shower-baths to some more folks.
Afterwards I went to the cathedral to have service there, for this is the going-away day of Good King Edward I in 1307. Brave Horatius went with me and so did Minerva. She wore her cap with ruffles on it like the morning-cap of Jenny Strong. Menander Euripides Theocritus Thucydides walked by my side. And too Sir Francis Bacon went with us. His leg has well feels a long time now, but he walks not as other chickens walk. He has likes to go to cathedral service, and so has Thomas Chatterton Jupiter Zeus.
To-day after I did sing, “Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus, Dominus Deus,” then we all did go goes to the house of Sadie McKibben. When we was come near unto it, there was Sadie McKibben on the big gray rock under the old fir tree. Her hands made quick moves with needles—the kind that knit. She was knitting socks for the man that is her husband and does live at her house. I sat down on the ground beside her. She had on her blue gingham apron with the cross stitches on it. I did make counts of thirty cross stitches on that apron to-day. Some day I will count them all. There were some grasses growing close to the gray rock, and their little fingers did touch the cross stitches on the blue gingham apron of Sadie McKibben. I have thinks they too would like to cuddle up to Sadie McKibben.
[CHAPTER XXXIV
Of the Fall of the Great Tree, and the Funeral of Aristotle.]
To-day was a long work-day. When afternoon-time was come, the mamma was worried because the cream was n’t sour enough to churn, and she wanted to get it churned before supper-time. I wanted to help her. I feel so sorry for her when the worry lines come on her face. They make her look tired. While she was taking a nap by the baby on the bed, I tried to think how I could help her. By-and-by, after a time not very long, I thought of a way. I got a lemon and cut it in two with the butcher-knife. Then I took the lid off the big churn. I squeezed those lemons lots of times into the cream. Then, when they would n’t leak any more juice out, I put the rinds in for a finishing touch, just like the mamma puts them into the lemonade after she has squeezed all the squeeze out. I feel better now. I know when the mamma awakes, joy will be hers when she sees the cream is sour enough to churn.
But the feels the mamma did have when she had wake-ups—they was not joy feels; and the feels I now have are sore feels on the back part of me.
While I did mind the baby, there was an odd sound like someone crying a great way off. The mamma says, “I wonder what it is.” I know it is the death-song of that gray fir tree they are falling this afternoon. Sleeps is come upon the baby. The mamma says for me to get out of her way. I go now goes to the woods.
I did. I went on to where its growing was. It reaches up and up—most away to the clouds. Days have been when I did sit by it to have thinks. And Thomas Chatterton Jupiter Zeus has gone goes there with me, and Brave Horatius has waited waits while I did say prayers by that great tree. And I have told it all the things I am going to do when I grow up. I have told it about the books I am going to write about wood-folks and them of the field, and about the twins I want when I grow up, and the eight other children. And always I have read to this great fir tree the letters I have wrote and put in the big log for the fairies to take to grandmère and grandpère. And night-times I have heard the little wind-song among its arms most near to the sky, and I have almost touched the big gray shadow with velvet fingers that stays close by it at night-time.
And to-day there I did watch and I did hear its moans as the saw went through it. And I sat down on the ground. There was a queer feel in my throat and I could n’t stand up. All the woods seemed a still sound except the pain-sound of the saw. It seemed like a little voice was calling from the cliffs. And then it was many voices. They were all little voices calling as one silver voice come together. The saw—it did n’t stop—it went on sawing. Then I did have thinks the silver voice was calling to the soul of the big fir tree. The saw did stop. There was a stillness. There was a queer sad sound. The big tree did quiver. It did sway. It crashed to the earth.