The twelfth of October was Rose’s birthday, but no one seemed to remember that interesting fact, and she felt delicate about mentioning it, so fell asleep the night before wondering if she would have any presents. That question was settled early the next morning, for she was awakened by a soft tap on her face, and opening her eyes she beheld a little black and white figure sitting on her pillow, staring at her with a pair of round eyes very like blueberries, while one downy paw patted her nose to attract her notice. It was Kitty Comet, the prettiest of all the pussies, and Comet evidently had a mission to perform, for a pink bow adorned her neck, and a bit of paper was pinned to it bearing the words, “For Miss Rose, from Frank.”
That pleased her extremely, and that was only the beginning of the fun, for surprises and presents kept popping out in the most delightful manner all through the day, the Atkinson girls being famous jokers and Rose a favourite. But the best gift of all came on the way to Mount Windy-Top, where it was decided to picnic in honour of the great occasion. Three jolly loads set off soon after breakfast, for everybody went, and everybody seemed bound to have an extra good time, especially Mother Atkinson, who wore a hat as broad-brimmed as an umbrella, and took the dinner-horn to keep her flock from straying away.
“I’m going to drive auntie and a lot of the babies, so you must ride the pony. And please stay behind us a good bit when we go to the station, for a parcel is coming, and you are not to see it till dinner-time. You won’t mind, will you?” said Mac, in a confidential aside during the wild flurry of the start.
“Not a bit,” answered Rose. “It hurts my feelings very much to be told to keep out of the way at any other time, but birthdays and Christmas it is part of the fun to be blind and stupid, and poked into corners. I’ll be ready as soon as you are, Giglamps.”
“Stop under the big maple till I call then you can’t possibly see anything,” added Mac, as he mounted her on the pony his father had sent up for his use. “Barkis” was so gentle and so “willin’,” however, that Rose was ashamed to be afraid to ride him; so she had learned, that she might surprise Dr. Alec when she got home; meantime she had many a fine canter “over the hills and far away” with Mac, who preferred Mr. Atkinson’s old Sorrel.
Away they went, and, coming to the red maple, Rose obediently paused; but could not help stealing a glance in the forbidden direction before the call came. Yes, there was a hamper going under the seat, and then she caught sight of a tall man whom Mac seemed to be hustling into the carriage in a great hurry. One look was enough, and with a cry of delight, Rose was off down the road as fast as Barkis could go.
“Now I’ll astonish uncle,” she thought. “I’ll dash up in grand style, and show him that I am not a coward, after all.”
Fired by this ambition, she startled Barkis by a sharp cut, and still more bewildered him by leaving him to his own guidance down the steep, stony road. The approach would have been a fine success if, just as Rose was about to pull up and salute, two or three distracted hens had not scuttled across the road with a great squawking, which caused Barkis to shy and stop so suddenly that his careless rider landed in an ignominious heap just under old Sorrel’s astonished nose.
Rose was up again before Dr. Alec was out of the carryall, and threw two dusty arms about his neck crying with a breathless voice
“O uncle, I’m so glad to see you! It is better than a cart-load of goodies, and so dear of you to come!”
“But aren’t you hurt, child! That was a rough tumble, and I’m afraid you must be damaged somewhere,” answered the Doctor, full of fond anxiety, as he surveyed his girl with pride.
“My feelings are hurt, but my bones are all safe. It’s too bad! I was going to do it so nicely, and those stupid hens spoilt it all,” said Rose, quite crestfallen, as well as much shaken.
“I couldn’t believe my eyes when I asked ‘Where is Rose?’ and Mac pointed to the little Amazon pelting down the hill at such a rate. You couldn’t have done anything that would please me more, and I’m delighted to see how well you ride. Now, will you mount again, or shall we turn Mac out and take you in?” asked Dr. Alec, as Aunt Jessie proposed a start, for the others were beckoning them to follow.
“Pride goeth before a fall better not try to show off again, ma’am,” said Mac, who would have been more than mortal if he had refrained from teasing when so good a chance offered.
“Pride does go before a fall, but I wonder if a sprained ankle always comes after it?” thought Rose, bravely concealing her pain, as she answered, with great dignity
“I prefer to ride. Come on, and see who will catch up first.”
She was up and away as she spoke, doing her best to efface the memory of her downfall by sitting very erect, elbows down, head well up, and taking the motion of the pony as Barkis cantered along as easily as a rocking-chair.
“You ought to see her go over a fence and race when we ride together. She can scud, too, like a deer when we play ‘Follow the leader,’ and skip stones and bat balls almost as well as I can,” said Mac, in reply to his uncle’s praise of his pupil.
“I’m afraid you will think her a sad tomboy, Alec; but really she seems so well and happy, I have not the heart to check her. She has broken out in the most unexpected way, and frisks like a colt; for she says she feels so full of spirits she must run and shout whether it is proper or not,” added Mrs. Jessie, who had been a pretty hoyden years ago herself.
“Good good! that’s the best news you could tell me,” and Dr. Alec rubbed his hands heartily. “Let the girl run and shout as much as she will it is a sure sign of health, and as natural to a happy child as frisking is to any young animal full of life. Tomboys make strong women usually, and I had far rather find Rose playing football with Mac than puttering over bead-work like that affected midget, Ariadne Blish.”
“But she cannot go on playing football very long, and we must not forget that she has a woman’s work to do by and by,” began Mrs. Jessie.
“Neither will Mac play football much longer, but he will be all the better fitted for business, because of the health it gives him. Polish is easily added, if the foundations are strong; but no amount of gilding will be of use if your timber is not sound. I’m sure I’m right, Jessie; and if I can do as well by my girl during the next six months as I have the last, my experiment will succeed.”
“It certainly will; for when I contrast that bright, blooming face with the pale, listless one that made my heart ache a while ago, I can believe in almost any miracle,” said Mrs. Jessie, as Rose looked round to point out a lovely view, with cheeks like the ruddy apples in the orchard near by, eyes clear as the autumn sky overhead, and vigour in every line of her girlish figure.
A general scramble among the rocks was followed by a regular gypsy lunch, which the young folks had the rapture of helping to prepare. Mother Atkinson put on her apron, turned up her sleeves, and fell to work as gaily as if in her own kitchen, boiling the kettle slung on three sticks, over a fire of cones and fir boughs; while the girls spread the mossy table with a feast of country goodies, and the children tumbled about in everyone’s way till the toot of the horn made them settle down like a flock of hungry birds.
As soon as the merry meal and a brief interval of repose were over, it was unanimously voted to have some charades. A smooth, green spot between two stately pines was chosen for the stage; shawls hung up, properties collected, audience and actors separated, and a word quickly chosen.
The first scene discovered Mac in a despondent attitude and shabby dress, evidently much troubled in mind. To him entered a remarkable creature with a brown paper bag over its head. A little pink nose peeped through one hole in the middle, white teeth through another, and above two eyes glared fiercely. Spires of grass stuck in each side of the mouth seemed meant to represent whiskers; the upper corners of the bag were twisted like ears, and no one could doubt for a moment that the black scarf pinned on behind was a tail.
This singular animal seemed in pantomime to be comforting his master and offering advice, which was finally acted upon, for Mac pulled off his boots, helped the little beast into them, and gave him a bag; then, kissing his paw, with a hopeful gesture, the creature retired, purring so successfully that there was a general cry of “Cat, puss, boots!”
“Cat is the word,” replied a voice, and the curtain fell.
The next scene was a puzzler, for in came another animal, on all-fours this time, with a new sort of tail and long ears. A gray shawl concealed its face, but an inquisitive sunbeam betrayed the glitter as of goggles under the fringe. On its back rode a small gentleman in Eastern costume, who appeared to find some difficulty in keeping his seat as his steed jogged along. Suddenly a spirit appeared, all in white, with long newspaper wings upon its back and golden locks about its face. Singularly enough, the beast beheld this apparition and backed instantly, but the rider evidently saw nothing and whipped up unmercifully, also unsuccessfully, for the spirit stood directly in the path, and the amiable beast would not budge a foot. A lively skirmish followed, which ended in the Eastern gentleman being upset into a sweet-fern bush, while the better bred animal abased itself before the shining one.
The children were all in the dark till Mother Atkinson said, in an inquiring tone
“If that isn’t Balaam and the ass, I’d like to know what it is. Rose makes a sweet angel, doesn’t she?”
“Ass” was evidently the word, and the angel retired, smiling with mundane satisfaction over the compliment that reached her ears.
The next was a pretty little scene from the immortal story of “Babes in the Wood.” Jamie and Pokey came trotting in, hand in hand, and, having been through the parts many times before, acted with great ease and much fluency, audibly directing each other from time to time as they went along. The berries were picked, the way lost, tears shed, baby consolation administered, and then the little pair lay down among the brakes and died with their eyes wide open and the toes of their four little boots turned up to the daisies in the most pathetic manner.
“Now the wobins tum. You be twite dead, Dimmy, and I’ll peep in and see ’em,” one defunct innocent was heard to say.
“I hope they’ll be quick, for I’m lying on a stone, and ants are walking up my leg like fury,” murmured the other.
Here the robins came flapping in with red scarves over their breasts and leaves in their mouths, which they carefully laid upon the babes wherever they would show best. A prickly blackberry leaf placed directly over Pokey’s nose caused her to sneeze so violently that her little legs flew into the air; Jamie gave a startled “Ow!” and the pitying fowls fled giggling.
After some discussion it was decided that the syllable must be “strew or strow” and then they waited to see if it was a good guess.
This scene discovered Annette Snow in bed, evidently very ill; Miss Jenny was her anxious mamma, and her merry conversation amused the audience till Mac came in as a physician, and made great fun with his big watch, pompous manner, and absurd questions. He prescribed one pellet with an unpronounceable name, and left after demanding twenty dollars for his brief visit.
The pellet was administered, and such awful agonies immediately set in that the distracted mamma bade a sympathetic neighbour run for Mother Know-all. The neighbour ran, and in came a brisk little old lady in cap and specs, with a bundle of herbs under her arm, which she at once applied in all sorts of funny ways, explaining their virtues as she clapped a plantain poultice here, put a pounded catnip plaster there, or tied a couple of mullein leaves round the sufferer’s throat. Instant relief ensued, the dying child sat up and demanded baked beans. The grateful parent offered fifty dollars; but Mother Know-all indignantly refused it and went smiling away, declaring that a neighbourly turn needed no reward, and a doctor’s fee was all a humbug.
The audience were in fits of laughter over this scene, for Rose imitated Mrs. Atkinson capitally, and the herb cure was a good hit at the excellent lady’s belief that “yarbs” would save mankind if properly applied. No one enjoyed it more than herself, and the saucy children prepared for the grand finale in high feather.
This closing scene was brief but striking, for two trains of cars whizzed in from opposite sides, met with a terrible collision in the middle of the stage, and a general smash-up completed the word catastrophe.
“Now let us act a proverb. I’ve got one all ready,” said Rose, who was dying to distinguish herself in some way before Uncle Alec.
So everyone but Mac, the gay Westerner, and Rose, took their places on the rocky seats and discussed the late beautiful and varied charade, in which Pokey frankly pronounced her own scene the “bestest of all.”
In five minutes the curtain was lifted; nothing appeared but a very large sheet of brown paper pinned to a tree, and on it was drawn a clock-face, the hands pointing to four. A small note below informed the public that 4 A.M. was the time. Hardly had the audience grasped this important fact when a long waterproof serpent was seen uncoiling itself from behind a stump. An inch-worm, perhaps, would be a better description, for it travelled in the same humpy way as that pleasing reptile. Suddenly a very wide-awake and active fowl advanced, pecking, chirping, and scratching vigorously. A tuft of green leaves waved upon his crest, a larger tuft of brakes made an umbrageous tail, and a shawl of many colours formed his flapping wings. A truly noble bird, whose legs had the genuine strut, whose eyes shone watchfully, and whose voice had a ring that evidently struck terror into the catterpillar’s soul, if it was a catterpillar. He squirmed, he wriggled, he humped as fast as he could, trying to escape; but all in vain. The tufted bird espied him, gave one warbling sort of crow, pounced upon him, and flapped triumphantly away.
“That early bird got such a big worm he could hardly carry him off,” laughed Aunt Jessie, as the children shouted over the joke suggested by Mac’s nickname.
“That is one of uncle’s favourite proverbs, so I got it up for his especial benefit,” said Rose, coming up with the two-legged worm beside her.
“Very clever; what next?” asked Dr. Alec as she sat down beside him.
“The Dove boys are going to give us an ‘Incident in the Life of Napoleon,’ as they call it; the children think it very splendid, and the little fellows do it rather nicely,” answered Mac with condescension.
A tent appeared, and pacing to and fro before it was a little sentinel, who, in a brief soliloquy, informed the observers that the elements were in a great state of confusion, that he had marched some hundred miles or so that day, and that he was dying for want of sleep. Then he paused, leaned upon his gun, and seemed to doze; dropped slowly down, overpowered with slumber, and finally lay flat, with his gun beside him, a faithless little sentinel. Enter Napoleon, cocked hat, gray coat, high boots, folded arms, grim mouth, and a melodramatic stride. Freddy Dove always covered himself with glory in this part, and “took the stage” with a Napoleonic attitude that brought down the house; for the big-headed boy, with solemn, dark eyes and square brow, was “the very moral of that rascal, Boneyparty,” Mother Atkinson said.
Some great scheme was evidently brewing in his mighty mind a trip across the Alps, a bonfire at Moscow, or a little skirmish at Waterloo perhaps, for he marched in silent majesty till suddenly a gentle snore disturbed the imperial reverie. He saw the sleeping soldier and glared upon him, saying in an awful tone
“Ha! asleep at his post! Death is the penalty he must die!”
Picking up the musket, he is about to execute summary justice, as emperors are in the habit of doing, when something in the face of the weary sentinel appears to touch him. And well it might, for a most engaging little warrior was Jack as he lay with his shako half off, his childish face trying to keep sober, and a great black moustache over his rosy mouth. It would have softened the heart of any Napoleon, and the Little Corporal proved himself a man by relenting, and saying, with a lofty gesture of forgiveness
“Brave fellow, he is worn out; I will let him sleep, and mount guard in his place.”
Then, shouldering the gun, this noble being strode to and fro with a dignity which thrilled the younger spectators. The sentinel awakes, sees what has happened, and gives himself up for lost. But the Emperor restores his weapon, and, with that smile which won all hearts, says, pointing to a high rock whereon a crow happens to be sitting, “Be brave, be vigilant, and remember that from yonder Pyramid generations are beholding you,” and with these memorable words he vanishes, leaving the grateful soldier bolt upright, with his hand at his temple and deathless devotion stamped upon his youthful countenance.
The applause which followed this superb piece had hardly subsided, when a sudden splash and a shrill cry caused a general rush toward the waterfall that went gambolling down the rocks, singing sweetly as it ran. Pokey had tried to gambol also, and had tumbled into a shallow pool, whither Jamie had gallantly followed, in a vain attempt to fish her out, and both were paddling about half frightened, half pleased with the unexpected bath.
This mishap made it necessary to get the dripping infants home as soon as possible; so the wagons were loaded up, and away they went, as merry as if the mountain air had really been “Oxygenated Sweets not Bitters,” as Dr. Alec suggested when Mac said he felt as jolly as if he had been drinking champagne instead of the current wine that came with a great frosted cake wreathed with sugar roses in Aunt Plenty’s hamper of goodies.
Rose took part in all the fun, and never betrayed by look or word the twinges of pain she suffered in her ankle. She excused herself from the games in the evening, however, and sat talking to Uncle Alec in a lively way, that both amazed and delighted him; for she confided to him that she played horse with the children, drilled with the light infantry, climbed trees, and did other dreadful things that would have caused the aunts to cry aloud if they knew of them.
“I don’t care a pin what they say if you don’t mind, uncle,” she answered, when he pictured the dismay of the good ladies.
“Ah, it’s all very well to defy them, but you are getting so rampant, I’m afraid you will defy me next, and then where are we?”
“No, I won’t! I shouldn’t dare; because you are my guardian, and can put me in a strait-jacket if you like;” and Rose laughed in his face, even while she nestled closer with a confiding gesture pleasant to see.
“Upon my word, Rosy, I begin to feel like the man who bought an elephant, and then didn’t know what to do with him. I thought I had got a pet and plaything for years to come; but here you are growing up like a bean-stalk, and I shall find I’ve got a strong-minded little woman on my hands before I can turn round. There’s predicament for a man and an uncle!”
Dr. Alec’s comic distress was mercifully relieved for the time being by a dance of goblins on the lawn, where the children, with pumpkin lanterns on their heads, frisked about like will-o’-the-wisps, as a parting surprise.
When Rose went to bed, she found that Uncle Alec had not forgotten her; for on the table stood a delicate little easel, holding two miniatures set in velvet. She knew them both, and stood looking at them till her eyes brimmed over with tears that were both sweet and sad; for they were the faces of her father and mother, beautifully copied from portraits fast fading away.
Presently, she knelt down, and, putting her arms round the little shrine, kissed one after the other, saying with an earnest voice, “I’ll truly try to make them glad to see me by and by.”
And that was Rose’s little prayer on the night of her fourteenth birthday.
Two days later the Campbells went home, a larger party than when they came; for Dr. Alec was escort and Kitty Comet was borne in state in a basket, with a bottle of milk, some tiny sandwiches, and a doll’s dish to drink out of, as well as a bit of carpet to lie on in her palace car, out of which she kept popping her head in the most fascinating manner.
There was a great kissing and cuddling, waving of handkerchiefs, and last good-byes, as they went; and when they had started, Mother Atkinson came running after them, to tuck in some little pies, hot from the oven, “for the dears, who might get tired of bread and butter during that long day’s travel.”
Another start, and another halt; for the Snow children came shrieking up to demand the three kittens that Pokey was cooly carrying off in a travelling bag. The unhappy kits were rescued, half smothered, and restored to their lawful owners, amid dire lamentation from the little kidnapper, who declared that she only “tooked um ’cause they’d want to go wid their sister Tomit.”
Start number three and stoppage number three, as Frank hailed them with the luncheon basket, which had been forgotten, after everyone had protested that it was safely in.
All went well after that, and the long journey was pleasantly beguiled by Pokey and Pussy, who played together so prettily that they were considered public benefactors.
“Rose doesn’t want to go home, for she knows the aunts won’t let her rampage as she did up at Cosey Corner,” said Mac, as they approached the old house.
“I can’t rampage if I want to for a time, at least; and I’ll tell you why. I sprained my ankle when I tumbled off of Barkis, and it gets worse and worse; though I’ve done all I know to cure it and hide it, so it shouldn’t trouble anyone,” whispered Rose, knitting her brows with pain, as she prepared to descend, wishing her uncle would take her instead of her bundles.
How he did it, she never knew; but Mac had her up the steps and on the parlour sofa before she could put her foot to the ground.
“There you are right side up with care; and mind, now, if your ankle bothers you, and you are laid up with it, I am to be your footman. It’s only fair, you know; for I don’t forget how good you have been to me.” And Mac went to call Phebe, so full of gratitude and good-will that his very goggles shone.