Spinning-Wheel Story by Louisa M. Alcott
The Little House In The Garden
"I think we little ones ought to have a story all to ourselves now,"said one of the smaller lads, as they gathered round the fire withunabated interest.
"So do I, and I've got a little tale that will just suit you, I fancy.The older boys and girls can go and play games if they don't care tohear," answered Aunt Elinor, producing the well-worn portfolio.
"Thanks, we will try a bit, and if it is very namby pamby we can run,"said Geoff, catching sight of the name of the first chapter. Aunt Elinorsmiled and began to read about
THE LITTLE HOUSE IN THE GARDEN.
I. BEARS.
A brown bear was the first tenant; in fact, it was built for him, andthis is the way it happened:--
A man and his wife were driving through the woods up among themountains, and hearing a queer sound looked about them till they spiedtwo baby bears in a tree.
"Those must be the cubs of the old bear that was killed last week," saidMr. Hitchcock, much interested all at once.
"Poor little things! how will they get on without their mother? Theylook half scared to death, and cry like real babies," said the kindwoman.
"They will starve if we don't take care of them. I'll shake them down;you catch them in your shawl and we'll see what we can do for them."
So Mr. Hitchcock climbed up the tree, to the great dismay of the twoorphans, who growled funny little growls and crept as far out on thebranch as they dared.
"Shake easy, John, or they will fall and be killed," cried the wife,holding out her shawl for this new kind of fruit to fall into.
Down they came, one after the other, and at first were too frightened tofight; so Mr. Hitchcock got them into the wagon safely bundled up, andMrs. Hitchcock soothed their alarm by gentle pattings and motherlywords, till they ceased to struggle, and cuddled down to sleep like twoconfiding puppies, for they were not much bigger.
Mr. Hitchcock kept the hotel that stood at the foot of the king of themountains, and in summer the house was full of people; so he was glad ofany new attraction, and the little bears were the delight of manychildren. At first, Tom and Jerry trotted and tumbled about likefrolicsome puppies, and led easy lives,--petted, fed and admired, tillthey grew so big and bold that, like other young creatures, their pranksmade mischief as well as fun.
Tom would steal all the good things he could lay his paws on in kitchenor dining-room, and cook declared she couldn't have the rascal loose;for whole pans of milk vanished, sheets of ginger-bread were found inhis den under the back steps, and nearly every day he was seenscrambling off with booty of some sort, while the fat cook waddledafter, scolding and shaking the poker at him, to the great amusement ofthe boarders on the piazza. People bore with him a long time; but whenhe took a lively trot down the middle of the long dinner-table one day,after eating all he liked, and smashing right and left as he scamperedoff, with a terrible clatter of silver, glass, and china, his angrymaster declared he wouldn't have such doings, and chained him to a poston the lawn. Here he tugged and growled dismally, while good littleJerry frisked gayly about, trying to understand what it all meant.
But presently _his_ besetting sin got _him_ into trouble likewise. Heloved to climb, and was never happier than when scrambling up the roughposts of the back piazza to bask in the sun on the roof above, peepingdown with his sharp little eyes at the children, who could not follow.He roosted in trees like a fat brown bird, and came tumbling downunexpectedly on lovers who sought quiet nooks to be romantic in. Heexplored the chimneys and threw into them any trifle he happened tofind,--being a rogue, and fond of stealing hats, balls, dolls, or anysmall article that came in his way. But the fun he liked best was toclimb in at the chamber windows and doze on the soft beds; for Jerrywas a luxurious fellow and scorned the straw of his own den. This habitannoyed people much, and the poor bear often came bundling out ofwindows, with old gentlemen whacking him with canes, or ladies throwingwater after him.
One evening, when there was a dance and every one was busy down stairs,Jerry took a walk on the roof, and being sleepy, looked about for acosey bed to take a nap in. Two brothers occupied one of these rooms,and both were Jerry's good friends, especially the younger. Georgie wasfast asleep, as his dancing days had not yet begun, and Charlie waswaltzing away down stairs; so Jerry crept into bed and nestled downbeside his playmate, who was too sleepy to do anything but roll over,thinking the big brother had come to bed.
By and by Charlie did come up, late and tired, and having forgotten alamp, undressed in the moonlight, observing nothing till about to stepinto bed; then, finding something rolled up in the clothes, thought it ajoke of the other boys, caught up a racket and began to bang away at thesuspicious bundle. A scene of wild confusion followed, for Jerry growledand clawed and couldn't get out; Georgie woke, and thinking hisbed-fellow was his brother being abused by some frolicsome mate, held onto Jerry, defending him bravely, till a rent in the sheet allowed ashaggy head to appear, so close to his own that the poor child waspainfully reminded of Red Riding Hood's false grandmother. Charlie wasspeechless with laughter at this discovery, and while Jerry bouncedabout the bed snarling and hugging pillows as he tried to get free,terrified Georgie rushed down the hall screaming, "The wolf! the wolf!"till he took refuge in his mother's room.
Out popped night-capped heads, anxious voices cried, "Is it fire?" andin a moment the house was astir. The panic might have been serious ifJerry had not come galloping down stairs, hotly pursued by Charlie inhis night-gown, still belaboring the poor beast, and howling, "He was inmy bed! He scared George! I'll thrash him!"
Then the alarmed ladies and gentlemen laughed and grew calm, while theboys all turned out and hunted Jerry up stairs and down, till he wascaptured and ignominiously lugged away to be tied in the barn.
That prank sealed his fate, and he went to join his brother incaptivity. Here they lived for a year, and went to housekeeping in a denin the bank, with a trough for their food, and a high, knotted pole toclimb on. They had many visitors, and learned a few tricks, but were nothappy bears; for they longed to be free, and the older they grew, themore they sighed for the great forest where they were born.
The second summer something happened that parted them forever. Among thechildren that year were Fred and Fan Howard, two jolly young persons oftwelve and fourteen. Of course the bears were very interesting, and Fredtried their tempers by tormenting them, while Fan won their hearts withcake and nuts, candy and caresses. Tom was Fred's favorite, and Jerrywas Fan's. Tom was very intelligent, and covered himself with glory byvarious exploits. One was taking off the boards which roofed the den, sothat the sun should dry the dampness after a rain; and he carefullyreplaced them at night. Any dog who approached the trough got his earssmartly boxed, and meddlesome boys were hugged till they howled formercy. He danced in a way to convulse the soberest, and Fred taught himto shoulder arms in such a funny imitation of a stout old soldier of thetown that the children rolled on the grass in fits of laughter when thecap was on, and the wooden gun flourished at word of command by theclumsy hero.
Jerry had no accomplishments, but his sweet temper made many friends. Helet the doves eat with him, the kittens frolic all over his broad back,and was never rough with the small people who timidly offered the bunshe took so gently from their little hands. But he pined in captivity,refused his food, and lay in his den all day, or climbed to the top ofthe pole and sat there looking off to the cool, dark forest, with such apensive air that Fan said it made her heart ache to see him. Just beforethe season ended, Jerry disappeared. No one could imagine how the chainbroke, but gone he was, and never came back, to Fan's satisfaction andTom's great sorrow. He mourned for his brother, and Mr. Hitchcock beganto talk of killing him; for it would not do to let two bears loose inthe neighborhood, as they sometimes killed sheep and did much harm.
"I wish my father would buy him," said Fred, "I've always wanted amenagerie, and a tame bear would be a capital beginning."
"I'll ask him, for I hate to have the poor old fellow killed," answeredFan. She not only begged papa to buy Tom, but confessed that she filedJerry's chain and helped him to escape.
"I know it was wrong, but I couldn't see him suffer," she said. "Now ifyou buy Tom I'll give you my five dollars to help, and Mr. Hitchcockwill forgive me and be glad to get rid of both the bears."
After some consultation Tom _was_ bought, and orders were sent to have ahouse built for him in a sunny corner of the garden, with strong ringsto chain him to, and a good lock on the door to keep him in. When he wassettled in these new quarters he held daily receptions for some weeks.Young and old came to see him, and Fred showed off his menagerie withthe pride of a budding Barnum. A bare spot was soon worn on the grasswhere Tom's parade ground was, and at all hours the poor fellow might beseen dancing and drilling, or sitting at his door, thoughtfullysurveying the curious crowd, and privately wishing he never had been born.
Here he lived for another year, getting so big that he could hardly turnround in his house, and so cross that Fred began to be a little afraidof him after several hugs much too close to be safe or agreeable. Onemorning the door of the house was found broken off, and Tom gone. Fredwas rather relieved; but his father was anxious, and ordered out theboys of the neighborhood to find the runaway, lest he should alarmpeople or do some harm. It was an easy matter to trace him, for morethan one terrified woman had seen the big, brown beast sniffing roundher back premises after food; a whole schoolful of children had beenstartled out of their wits by a bear's head at the window; and one oldfarmer was in a towering rage over the damage done to his bee-hives andgarden patch by "the pesky critter, afore he took to the woods."
After a long tramp poor Tom was found rolled up in a sunny nook, restingafter a glorious frolic. He went home without much reluctance, but fromthat time it was hard to keep him. Bolts and bars, chains and ropes wereof little use; for when the longing came, off he went, on one occasioncarrying the house on his back, like a snail, till he tipped it over andbroke loose. Fred was quite worn out with his pranks, and tried to sellor give him away; but nobody would buy or accept such a troublesome pet.Even tender hearted Fan gave him up, when he frightened a little childinto a fit and killed some sheep, in his last holiday.
It was decided that he must be killed, and a party of men, armed withguns, set out to carry the sentence into effect. Fred went also to seethat all was properly done, and Fanny called after him with tears in hereyes:--
"Say good by for me, and kill him as kindly as you can."
This time Tom had been gone a week and had evidently made up his mind tobe a free bear; for he had wandered far into the deepest wood and madea den for himself among the rocks. Here they found him, but could notpersuade him to come out, and no bold Putnam was in the troop, to creepin and conquer him there.
"Bullets will reach him if we can't, so blaze away, boys, and finish himoff. We have fooled away time enough, and I want to get home to supper,"said the leader of the hunt, after many attempts had been made to lureor drive Tom from his shelter.
So they "blazed away," and growls of pain proved that some of thebullets had hit. But Tom would not budge, and having used up theirammunition, the disappointed hunters went home resolving to bring dogsnext day and finish the job. They were spared the trouble, however, forwhen Fred looked from his window in the morning he saw that Tom hadreturned, and ran down to welcome the rebel back. But one look at thepoor beast showed him that he had only come home to die; for he wascovered with wounds and lay moaning on his bed of straw, looking aspathetic as a bear could, his shaggy coat full of burrs, his head andbreast full of shot, and one paw apparently broken.
Fanny cried over him, and Fred was quite bowed down with remorse; butnothing could be done, and soon, with a vain effort to lick the handsthat stroked him, poor Tom lifted his great paw for a farewell shake,and died, with his great head on his master's knee, in token offorgiveness. As if to atone for their seeming cruelty, Fanny hung thelittle house with black while Tom lay in state, and Fred, resisting alltemptations to keep his fine skin, buried him like a warrior "with hismartial cloak around him," in the green woods he loved so well.
II. BOYS.
The next tenants of the little house were three riotous lads,--forFred's family moved away,--and the new comers took possession one finespring day with great rejoicing over this ready-made plaything. Theywere queer fellows, of eleven, twelve, and fourteen; for, having readthe "Boys' Froissart" and other warlike works, they were quite carriedaway by these stirring tales, and each boy was a hero. Harry, theeldest, was Henry of Navarre, and wore a white plume on every occasion.Ned was the Black Prince, and clanked in tin armor, while little Billywas William Tell and William Wallace by turns.
Tom's deserted mansion underwent astonishing changes about this time.Bows and arrows hung on its walls; battle-axes, lances, and guns stoodin the corners; helmets, shields, and all manner of strange weaponsadorned the rafters; cannon peeped from its port-holes; a drawbridgeswung over the moat that soon surrounded it; the flags of all nationswaved from its roof, and the small house was by turns an armory, a fort,a castle, a robber's cave, a warrior's tomb, a wigwam, and the Bastile.
The neighbors were both amused and scandalized by the pranks of thesedramatic young persons; for they enacted with much spirit and skill allthe historical events which pleased their fancy, and speedily enlistedother boys to join in the new plays. At one time, painted andbe-feathered Indians whooped about the garden, tomahawking the unhappysettlers in the most dreadful manner. At another, Achilles, radiant in atin helmet and boiler-cover shield, dragged Hector at the tail of hischariot (the wheel-barrow), drawn by two antic and antique steeds, whoupset both victor and vanquished before the fun was over. Tell shotbushels of apples off the head of the stuffed suit of clothes that actedhis son, Coeur de Leon and Saladin hacked blocks and cut cushions _a la_Walter Scott, and tournaments of great splendor were held on the grass,in which knights from all ages, climes, and races, tilted gallantly,while fair dames of tender years sat upon the wood-pile to play Queensof Beauty and award the prize of valor.
Nor were more modern heroes forgotten. Napoleon crossed the Alps (a muckheap, high fence, and prickly hedge), with intrepid courage. Wellingtonwon many a Waterloo in the melon patch, and Washington glorified everycorner of the garden by his heroic exploits. Grant smoked sweet-ferncigars at the fall of Richmond; Sherman marched victoriously to Georgiathrough the corn and round the tomato bed, and Phil Sheridan electrifiedthe neighborhood by tearing down the road on a much-enduring donkey,stung to unusual agility by matches tied to his tail.
It grew to be an almost daily question among the young people, "What arethe Morton boys at now?" for these interesting youths were much admiredby their mates, who eagerly manned the fences to behold the revels, whenscouts brought word of a new play going on. Mrs. Morton believed inmaking boys happy at home, and so allowed them entire liberty in thegreat garden, as it was safer than river, streets, or ball-ground, wherea very mixed crowd was to be found. Here they were under her own eye,and the safe, sweet tie between them still held fast; for she was nevertoo busy to bind up their wounds after a fray, wave her handkerchiefwhen cheers told of victory, rummage her stores for costumes, or join intheir eager study of favorite heroes when rain put an end to theirout-of-door fun.
So the summer was a lively one, and though the vegetables suffered somedamage, a good crop of healthy, happy hours was harvested, and all weresatisfied. The little house looked much the worse for the raids madeupon it, but still stood firm with the stars and stripes waving over it,and peace seemed to reign one October afternoon as the boys lay underthe trees eating apples and planning what to play next.
"Bobby wants to be a knight of the Round Table. We might take him in andhave fun with the rites, and make him keep a vigil and all that,"proposed William Wallace, anxious to admit his chosen friend to theinner circle of the brotherhood.
"He's such a little chap he'd be scared and howl. I don't vote forthat," said the Black Prince, rather scornfully, as he lay with hiskingly legs in the air, and his royal mouth full of apple.
"I do!" declared Henry of Navarre, always generous, and amiable. "Bob isa plucky little chap, and will do anything we put him to. He's poor andthe other fellows look down on him, so that's another reason why weought to take him in and stand by him. Let's give him a good trial, andif he's brave, we'll have him."
"So we will! Let's do it now; he's over there waiting to be asked in._He_ doesn't go poking his nose where he isn't wanted, as some folksdo," cried Billy, who had often been snubbed by the big boys in hisefforts at knightly feats.
A whistle brought Bobby, with a beaming face, for he burned to join thefun, but held back because he was not a gentleman's son. A sturdy,honest little soul was Bobby, true as steel, brave as a lion, and loyalas an old-time vassal to his young lord, kind Billy, who always told himall the plans, explained the mysteries, and shared the goodies whenfeasts were spread.
Now he stood leaning against one of the posts of the little housewhither the boys had adjourned, and listened bashfully while Harry toldhim what he must do to join the heroes of the Round Table. He did notunderstand half of it, but was ready for any trial, and took the comicaloath administered to him with the utmost solemnity.
"You must stay here locked in for some hours, and watch your armor.That's the vigil young knights had to keep before they could fight. Youmustn't be scared at any noises you hear, or anything you see, or singout for help, even if you stay here till dark. You'll be a coward if youdo, and never have a sword."
"I promise truly; hope to die if I don't!" answered Bobby, fixing hisblue eyes on the speaker, and holding his curly head erect with the airof one ready to face any peril; for the desire of his soul was to own asword, like Billy, and clash it on warlike occasions.
Then a suit of armor was piled up on the red box, which was by turnsaltar, table, tomb, and executioner's block. Banners were hung over it,the place darkened, two candles lighted, and after certain rites whichcannot be divulged, the little knight was left to his vigil with thedoor locked.
The boys howled outside, smote on the roof, fired a cannon, and tauntedthe prisoner with derisive epithets to stir him to wrath. But no cryanswered them, no hint of weariness, fear, or anger betrayed him, andafter a half-hour of this sort of fun, they left him to the greatertrial of silence, solitude, and uncertainty.
The short afternoon was soon gone, and the tea bell rang before thevigil had lasted long enough.
"He won't know what time it is; let's leave him till after supper, andthen march out with torches and bring him in to a good feed. Motherwon't mind, and Hetty likes to stuff fellows," proposed Harry, and allbeing hungry, the first part of the plan was carried out at once.
But before tea was over, the unusual clang of the fire bells drove allthought of Bobby out of the boys' minds, as they raced away to theexciting scene, to take their share in the shouting, running, andtumbling about in every one's way.
The great hotel was burning, and till midnight the town was in anuproar. No lives were lost, but much property, and nothing else wasthought of till dawn. A heavy shower did good service, and about oneo'clock, people began to go home tired out. Mrs. Morton and other ladieswere too busy giving shelter to the people from the hotel, and makingcoffee for the firemen, to send their boys to bed. In fact, they couldnot catch them; for the youngsters were wild with excitement, andpervaded the place like will-o'-the-wisps, running errands, luggingfurniture, splashing about with water, and howling till they were ashoarse as crows.
"This is the battle of Beauvais, and we've set the city a-fire byflinging pitch-pots over the walls," croaked Harry to Ned as they bumpedagainst each other, one carrying a great coffee-pot and the other afeather-bed.
"No, it's the fall of Troy, and I'm AEneas lugging off the old man,"panted Ned, staggering away with the heavy load on his back.
At last the flurry was over, and our three lads, very dirty, wet, andtired, went to bed and to sleep, and never once thought of poor Bobby,till next morning. Then Harry suddenly rose up, with an exclamation thateffectually roused both his brothers.
"By St. Dennis, we've left that boy there all night!"
"He wouldn't be such a fool as to stay; that old lock's broken easyenough," said Ned, looking troubled, in spite of his words.
"Yes, he would! He promised, and he'll keep his word like a true knight.It rained and was cold, and no one knew where he was. Oh dear, I hope heisn't dead," cried Billy, tumbling out of bed and into his clothes asfast as he could.
The others laughed, but dressed with unusual speed, and flew to thegarden house, to find the lock unbroken, and all as still inside as whenthey left it. Looking very anxious, Harry opened the door and all peepedin. There, at his post before the altar, lay the little knight fastasleep. Rain had soaked his clothes, the chilly night air made his lipsand hands purple with cold, and the trials of those long hours left theround cheeks rather pale. But he still guarded his arms, and at thefirst sound was awake and ready to defend them, though somewhat shakywith sleep and stiffness.
The penitent boys poured forth apologies, in which fire, remorse, andbreakfast were oddly mixed. Bobby forgave them like a gentleman, onlysaying, with a laugh and a shiver, "Guess I'd better go home, ma'll beworried about me. If I'd known being out all night and getting wet waspart of the business, I'd 'a' left word and brought a blanket. Be I aRound Table now? Shall I have a sword, and train with the rest? I didn'tholler once, and wasn't much scared, for all the bells, and the dark,and the rain."
"You've won your spurs, and we'll knight you just as soon as we gettime. You're a brave fellow, and I'm proud to have you one of my men.Please don't say much about this; we'll make it all right, and we'reawfully sorry," answered Harry, while Ned put his own jacket over thewet shoulders, and Billy beamed at him, feeling that his friend'sexploit outdid any of his own.
Bobby marched away as proudly as if he already saw the banners wavingover him, and felt the accolade that made him a true knight. But thathappy moment was delayed for some time, because the cold caught in thatshower threatened a fit of sickness; and the boys' play looked as if itmight end in sad earnest.
Harry and his brothers confessed all to mamma, listened with humility toher lecture on true knighthood, and did penance by serving Bobby likereal brothers-in-arms, while he was ill. As soon as the hardy boy wasall right again, they took solemn counsel together how they shouldreward him, and atone for their carelessness. Many plans were discussed,but none seemed fine enough for this occasion till Billy had a brightidea.
"Let's buy Bob some hens. He wants some dreadfully, and we ought to dosomething grand after treating him so badly, and nearly killing him."
"Who's got any money? I haven't; but it's a good idea," responded Ned,vainly groping in all his pockets for a cent to head the subscription with.
"Mamma would lend us some, and we could work to pay for it," began Billy.
"No, I've a better plan," interrupted Harry with authority. "We ought tomake a sacrifice and suffer for our sins. We will have an auction andsell our arms. The boys want them, and will pay well. My lords andgentlemen, what say ye?"
"We will!" responded the loyal subjects of King Henry.
"Winter is coming, and we can't use them," said Billy, innocently.
"And by next spring we shall be too old for such games," added Ned.
"'Tis well! Ho! call hither my men. Bring out the suits of mail; soundthe trumpets, and set on!" thundered Harry, striking an attitude, andissuing his commands with royal brevity.
A funny scene ensued; for while Billy ran to collect the boys, Neddismantled the armory, and Hal disposed of the weapons in the mosteffective manner, on trees, fences, and grass, where the bidders couldexamine and choose at their ease. Their mates had always admired andcoveted these war-like treasures, for some were real, and othersingenious imitations; so they gladly came at sound of the hunter's hornw
hich was blown when Robin Hood wanted his merry men.
Harry was auctioneer, and rattled off the most amazing medley ofnonsense in praise of the articles, which he rapidly knocked down to thehighest bidder. The competition was lively, for the boys laughed so muchthey hardly knew what they were doing, and made the rashest offers; butthey all knew what the money was to be used for, so they paid theirbills handsomely, and marched off with cross-bows, old guns, rustyswords, and tin armor, quite contented with their bargains.
Seven dollars was realized by the sale, and a fine rooster and severalhens solemnly presented to Bobby, who was overwhelmed by this unexpectedatonement, and immediately established his fowls in the wood-shed, wherethey happily resided through the winter, and laid eggs with suchgratifying rapidity that he earned quite a little fortune, and insistedon saying that his vigil had not only made a knight of him, but amillionnaire.
III. BABIES.
The little house stood empty till spring; then a great stir went on inthe garden, getting it ready for a new occupant. It was mended, paintedred, fitted up with a small table and chairs, and a swing. Sunflowersstood sentinel at the door, vines ran over it, and little beds offlowers were planted on either side. Paths were dug all round the lawn,and a baby-carriage was rolled up and down to harden them. The neighborswondered what was coming next, and one June day they found out; for aprocession appeared, escorting the new tenant to the red mansion, withgreat rejoicing among the boys.
First came Billy blowing the horn, then Ned waving their best banner,then Hal drawing the baby wagon, in which, as on a throne, sat thelittle cousin who had come to spend the summer, and rule over them likea small, sweet tyrant. A very sprightly damsel was four-year-oldQueenie, blue-eyed, plump, and rosy, with a cloud of yellow curls,chubby arms that embraced every one, and a pair of stout legs thattrotted all day. She surveyed her kingdom with cries of delight, andtook possession of "mine tottage" at once, beginning housekeeping by atumble out of the swing, a header into the red chest, and a pinch in theleaf of the table. But she won great praise from the boys by makinglight of these mishaps, and came up smiling, with a bump on her brow, ascratch on her pug nose, and a bruise on one fat finger, and turned outtea for the gentlemen as if she had done it all her life; for the tablewas set, and all manner of tiny cakes and rolls stood ready to welcomeher.
This was only the beginning of tea parties; for very soon a flock oflovely little friends came to play with Queenie, and such pretty revelswent on it seemed as if fairies had taken possession of the small house.Dolls had picnics, kittens went a-visiting, tin carts rattled up anddown, gay balloons flew about, pigmy soldiers toddled round the paths inpaper caps, and best of all, rosy little girls danced on the grass,picked the flowers, chased butterflies, and sang as blithely as thebirds. Queenie took the lead in these frolics, and got into no end ofscrapes by her love of exploration,--often leading her small friendsinto the strawberry-bed, down the road, over the wall, or to someneighbor's house, coolly demanding "a dint a water and dingerbed for allus ones."
Guards were set, bars and locks put up, orders given, and punishmentsinflicted, but all in vain; the dauntless baby always managed to escape,and after anxious hunts and domestic flurries, would be found up atree, under the big rhubarb leaves, in a hen house, or calmly strollingto town without her hat. All sorts of people took her to drive at herrequest, and brought her back just as her agitated relatives were flyingto the river in despair. Once she departed with a flock of sheep, andwas returned so dirty no one knew her till she was scrubbed. Anothertime, she passed the morning in the pig-pen, having fallen over thefence; and finding pleasant society in a dozen young piggies, stayed toplay with them till discovered among the straw, surrounded by her newfriends, one of whom slept sweetly in her arms.
"We must tie her up," said Mrs. Morton, quite worn out with her pranks.
So a strong cord was put round Queenie's waist, and fastened to one ofthe rings in the little house where Tom used to be chained. At first sheraged and tugged, then submitted, and played about as if she didn'tcare; but she laid plans in her naughty little mind, and carried themout, to the great dismay of Bessie, the maid.
"I want to tut drass," she said in her most persuasive tones.
So Bessie gave her the rusty scissors she was allowed to use, and lether play make hay till her toy wagon was full.
"I want a dint a water, pease," was the next request, and Bessie went into get it. She was delayed a few moments, and when she came out no signof Queenie remained but a pile of yellow hair cut off in a hurry, andthe end of the cord. Slyboots was gone, scissors and all.
Then there was racing and calling, scolding and wailing, but no Queeniewas to be seen anywhere on the premises. Poor Bessie ran one way, AuntMorton another, and Billy, who happened to be at home, poked into allthe nooks and corners for the runaway.
An hour passed, and things began to look serious, when Harry came inmuch excited, and laughing so he could hardly speak.
"Where _do_ you think that dreadful baby has turned up? Over at Pat Floyd's. He found her in the water pipes. You know a lot of those bigones are lying in the back street ready to use as soon as the place isdug. Well, that little rascal crept in, and then couldn't turn round, soshe went on till she came out by Pat's house, and nearly scared him outof his wits. The pipes were not joined, so she had light and air, but Iguess she had a hard road to travel. Such a hot, dirty, tired baby younever saw. Mrs. Floyd is washing her up. You'd better go and get her,Bess."
Bess went and returned with naughty Queenie, looking as if rats hadgnawed her curls off, and the sand of the great desert had been groundinto her hands and knees,--not to mention the iron rust that ruined herpretty pink frock, or the crown of her hat rubbed to rags.
"I wasn't frighted. You said Dod be'd all wound, so I goed wite alon,and Mis Foyd gived me a nice cold tater, and a tootie, and the bid dordwashed my hands wif his wed tun."
That was Queenie's account of the matter, but she behaved so well afterit that her friends suspected the perilous prank had made a goodimpression upon her.
To keep her at home she was set to farming, and the little house was abarn. In it lived a rocking horse, several wooden cows, woolly sheep,cats and dogs, as well as a queer collection of carts and carriages,tools and baskets. Every day the busy little farmer dug and hoed,planted and watered her "dardin," made hay, harvested vegetables, pickedfruit, or took care of animals,--pausing now and then to ride her horse,drive out in her phaeton, or go to an imaginary fire with the engineBilly had made for her.
The little friends came to help her, and the flower-beds soon looked asif an earthquake had upheaved them; for things were planted upside down,holes dug, stones piled, and potatoes laid about as if expected to digthemselves. But cheeks bloomed like roses, small hands got brown, andbusy feet trotted firmly about the paths, while the red barn echoed withthe gayest laughter all day long.
On Queenie's fifth birthday, in September, she had a gipsy party, andall the small neighbors came to it. A tent was pitched, three tall polesheld up a kettle over a "truly fire" that made the water really boil,and supper was spread on the grass. The little girls wore red and bluepetticoats, gay shawls or cloaks, bright handkerchiefs on their heads,and as many beads and breastpins as they liked. Some had tamborines, andshook them as they danced; one carried a dolly in the hood of her cloaklike a true gypsy, and all sung, skipping hand in hand round the fire.
The mammas looked on and helped about supper, and Bess sat in the tentlike an old woman, and told pleasant fortunes, as she looked in thepalms of the soft little hands the children showed her.
They had a charming time, and all remembered it well; for that night,when the fun was over, every one in bed, and the world asleep, a greatstorm came on; the wind blew a gale and chimney tops flew off, blindsbanged, trees were broken, apples whisked from the boughs by the bushel,and much mischief was done. But worst of all, the dear little house blewaway! The roof went in one direction, the boards in another, the poorhorse lay heels up, and the rest of the animals were scattered far andwide over the garden.
Great was the lamentation next morning, when the children saw the ruin.The boys felt that it was past mending, and gave it up; while Queenie consoled herself for the devastation of her farm by the childish beliefthat a crop of new cats and dogs, cows and horses, would come up in thespring from the seed sowed broadcast by the storm.
So that was the sad end of the little house in the garden.