A Summer in a Canyon Part 10

I, your faithful Polly, am seated in the card-room, writing with a dreadful pen which Phil gave me yesterday. Its internal organs are filled with ink, which it disgorges when PRESSED to do so, but just now it is 'too full for utterance,' as you will see by the blots.

We have decided not to make this a real round-robin letter, like the last, because we want to write what we like, and not have it read by the person who comes next.

I have been badgered to death over my part of the communication sent to you last week, for the young persons connected with this camp have a faculty of making mountains out of mole-hills, as you know, and I have to suffer for every careless little speech. However, as we didn't wish to bore you with six duplicate letters, we invented a plan for keeping off each other's ground, and appointed Geoff a committee of one to settle our line of march. It is to be a collective letter, made up of individual notes; and these are Geoff's sealed orders, which must be obeyed, on pain of dismissal from the camp:

No. 1 (Polly) is to amuse!

No. 2 (Phil) ... inform!

No. 3 (Geoff) ... edify!!

No. 4 (Madge) ... gossip.

No. 5 (Bell) ... versify.

No. 6 (Jack) ... ill.u.s.trate

So, my dear, if you get any 'information' or happen to be 'edified'

by what I write, don't mention it for worlds! (I just screamed my fears about this matter to Jack, and he says 'I needn't fret.' I shall certainly slap that boy before the summer is over.)

I could just tell you a lovely story about d.i.c.ky's getting lost in the woods the day before yesterday, and our terrible fright about him, and how we all joined in the boy-hunt, until Geoff and Bell found him at the Lone Stump; but I suppose the chronicle belongs to Phil's province, so I desist. But what can I say? Suppose I tell you that Uncle Doc and the boys have been shooting innocent, TAME sheep, skinning and cutting them up on the way home, and making us believe for two days that we were eating venison; and we never should have discovered the imposition had not d.i.c.ky dragged home four sheep- skins from the upper pool, and told us that he saw the boys 'PEELING THEM OFF A VENISON.' Perhaps Phil may call this information, and Margery will vow that it is gossip and belongs to her; any way, they consider it a splendid joke, and chuckle themselves to sleep over it every night; but I think the whole affair is perfectly maddening, and it makes me boil with rage to be taken in so easily. Such a to-do as they make over the matter you never saw; you would think it was the first successful joke since the Deluge. (That wasn't a DRY joke, was it? Ha, ha!)

This is the way they tw.a.n.g on their harp of a thousand strings. At breakfast, this morning, when Jack pa.s.sed me the corn-bread, I said innocently, 'Why, what have we here?' 'It is manna that fell in the night,' answered Jack, with an exasperating snicker. 'You didn't know mutton, but I thought, being a Sunday-school teacher, you would know something about manna.' (N.B.--He alludes to that time I took the infant cla.s.s for Miss Jones, and they all ran out to see a military funeral procession.) 'I wish you knew something about manners,' snapped I; and then Aunt Truth had to warn us both, as usual. Oh dear! it's a weary world. I'd just like to get Jack at a disadvantage once!

[Next paragraph crossed out]

We climbed Pico Negro yesterday. Bell, Geoff, Phil, and I had quite an experience in losing the trail. I will tell you about it. Just as -

(Goodness me! what have I written? Oh, Elsie, pray excuse those HORIZONTAL EVIDENCES of my forgetfulness and disobedience. I have b.u.mped my head against the table three times, as penance, and will now try to turn my thoughts into right channels. This letter is a black-and-white evidence that _I_ have not a frivolous order of mind, and have always been misunderstood from my birth up to this date.)

We have had beautiful weather since--but no, of course Phil will tell you about the weather, for that is scarcely an amusing topic. I do want to be as prudent as possible, for Uncle Doc is going to read all the letters (not, of course, aloud) and see whether we have fulfilled our specific obligations.

(I just asked Bell whether 'specific' had a 'c' or an's in the middle, and she answered '"c," of course,' with such an air, you should have heard her! I had to remind her of the time she spelled 'Tophet' with an 'f' in the middle; then she subsided.)

(I just read this last paragraph to Madge, to see if she called it gossip, as I was going to take it out if it belonged to her topic, but she said No, she didn't call it gossip at all--that she should call it slander!)

You don't know how we all long to see you, dear darling that you are.

We live in the hope of having you with us very soon, and meanwhile the beautiful bedstead is almost finished, and a perfect success. (I wish to withdraw the last three quarters of that sentence, for obvious reasons!!)

Dear, dear! Geoffrey calls 'Time up,' and I've scarcely said anything I should. Never, never again will I submit to this method of correspondence; it is absolutely petrifying to one's genius. When I am once forced to walk in a path, nothing but the whole out-of- doors will satisfy me.

I'm very much afraid I haven't amused you, dear, -

But when I lie in the green kirkyard, With the mould upon my breast, Say not that 'She did well or ill,'

Only, 'She did her best.'

Now, do you think that will interfere with Bell, when it's only a quotation? Any way, it's so appropriate that Uncle Doc will never have the heart to strike it out. The trouble is that Geoff thinks all the poetry in the universe is locked up in Bell's head, and if she once allows it to escape, Felicia Hemans and the rest will be too discouraged ever to try again! (I can't remember whether F. H. is alive or not, and am afraid to ask, but you will know that I don't mean to be disrespectful.)

Laura, Anne, and Scott Burton were here for the play, and Laura is coming down again to spend the week. I can't abide her, and there will probably be trouble in the camp.

The flame of my genius blazes high just now, but Geoff has spoken, and it must be snuffed. So good-bye!

Sizz-z-z!! and I'm OUT!

POLLIOLIVER.

II. FROM PHILIP TO ELSIE.

CAMP CHAPARRAL, July 8, 188-.

My dear Elsie,--I believe I am to inform you concerning the daily doings of our party, not on any account, however, permitting myself to degenerate into 'gossip' or 'frivolous amus.e.m.e.nt.'

They evidently consider me a quiet, stupid fellow, who will fulfil such a task with no special feeling of repression, and I dare say they are quite right.

They call me the 'solid man' of the camp, which may not be very high praise, to be sure, as Geoffrey carries his head in the clouds, and Jack is--well, Jack is Jack! So, as the light of a tallow dip is valuable in the absence of sun and moon, I am raised to a fict.i.tious reputation.

We fellows have had very little play so far, for the furnishing of the camp has proved an immense undertaking, although we have plenty of the right sort of wood and excellent tools.

We think the work will pay, however, as Dr. Paul has about decided to stay until October, or until the first rain. He writes two or three hours a day, and thinks that he gets on with his book better here than at home. As for the rest of us, when we get fairly to rights we shall have regular study hours and lose no time in preparing for the examinations.

I suppose you know that you have a full bedroom set in process of construction. I say 'suppose you know,' because it is a profound secret, and the girls could never have kept it to themselves as long as this.

The lounging-chair is my allotted portion, and although it is a complicated bit of work, I accepted it gladly, feeling sure that you would use it oftener than any of the other pieces of furniture. I shall make it so deliciously easy that you will make me 'Knight of the Chair,' and perhaps permit me to play a sort of devoted John Brown to your Victoria. You will need one dull and prosy squire to arrange your pillows, so that you can laugh at Jack's jokes without weariness, and doze quietly while Geoff and Uncle Doc are talking medicine.

Of course the most exciting event of the week was the mysterious disappearance and subsequent restoration of the Heir-Apparent; but I feel sure somebody else will describe the event, because it is uppermost in all our minds.

Bell, for instance, would dress it up in fine style. She is no historian, but in poetry and fiction none of us can touch her; though, by the way, Polly's abilities in that direction are a good deal underrated. It's as good as a play to get her after Jack when he is in one of his teasing moods. They are like flint and steel, and if Aunt Truth didn't separate them the sparks would fly. With a girl like Polly, you have either to lie awake nights, thinking how you'll get the better of her, or else put on a demeanour of gentleness and patience, which serves as a sort of lightning-rod round which the fire of her fun will play all day and never strike.

Polly is a good deal of a girl. She seems at first to have a pretty sharp tongue, but I tell you she has a heart in which there is swimming-room for everybody. This may not be 'information' to you, whom we look upon as our clairvoyant, but it would be news to most people.

Uncle Doc, Bell, Geoff, Polly, Meg, and I started for the top of Pico Negro the other morning. Bell rode Villikins, and Polly took a mule, because she thought the animal would be especially sure-footed. He was; in fact, he was so sure-footed that he didn't care to move at all, and we had to take turns in beating him up to the top. We boys walked for exercise, which we got to our hearts' content.

It is only five or six miles from the old Mountain Mill (a picture of which Jack will send you), and the ascent is pretty stiff climbing, though nothing terrific. We lost the trail once, and floundered about in the chaparral for half an hour, till Bell began to make a poem on the occasion, when we became desperate, and dashed through a thicket of brush, tearing ourselves to bits, but stumbling on the trail at last. The view from the top is simply superb. The valleys below are all yellow with grain-fields and green with vineyards, with here and there the roofs of a straggling little settlement. The depression in the side of the mountain (you will observe it in the picture) Polly says has evidently been 'bitten out' by a prehistoric animal, and it turns out to be the loveliest little canyon imaginable.

We have had one novel experience--that of seeing a tarantula fight; and not between two, but five, tarantulas. We were about twenty miles from camp, loping along a stretch of hot, dusty road. Jack got off to cinch his saddle, and so we all stopped a moment to let our horses breathe. As I was looking about, at nothing in particular, I noticed a black ball in the deep dust at the side of the road. It suddenly rolled over on itself and I called to the boys to watch the fun. We got off, hitched our horses, and approached cautiously, for I had seen a battle of the same kind before. There they were--five huge, hairy, dirty, black creatures, as large as the palm of d.i.c.ky's hand, all locked in deadly combat. They writhed and struggled and embraced, their long, curling legs fastening on each other with a sound that was actually like the cracking of bones. It takes a little courage to stand and watch such a proceeding, for you feel as if the hideous fellows might turn and jump for you; but they were doubtless absorbed in their own battle, and we wanted to see the affair to the end, so we took the risk, if there was any. At last they showed signs of weariness, but we prodded them up with our riding-whips, preferring that they should kill each other, rather than do the thing ourselves. Finally, four of them lay in the dust, doubled up and harmless, slain, I suppose, by their own poison. One, the conquering hero, remained, and we dexterously scooped him into a tomato-can that Jack had tied to his saddle for a drinking-cup, covered him up with a handkerchief, and drew lots as to who should carry him home to Dr. Paul.

Knowing that the little beasts were gregarious, we hunted about for a nest, which we might send to you after ousting its disagreeable occupant. After much searching, we found a group of them--quite a tarantula village, in fact. Their wonderful little houses are closed on the outside by a circular, many-webbed mesh, two or three inches across, and this web betrays the spider's den to the person who knows the tricks of the trade. Directly underneath it you come upon the tiny circular trap-door, which you will notice in the nest we send with these letters. You will see how wonderfully it is made, with its silken weaving inside, and its bits of bark and leaves outside; and I know you will admire the hinge, which the tarantula must have invented, and which is as pretty a bit of workmanship as the most accomplished mechanic could turn out. We tore away the web and the door from one of the nests, and then poured water down the hole. The spider was at home, came out as fact as his clumsy legs would carry him, and clutched the end of the stick Jack held out to him. Then we tumbled him into the tomato-can just as he appeared to be making for us. The two didn't agree at all. One of them despatched the other on the way home--the same hero who had killed the other four; but, on hearing his b.l.o.o.d.y record, Aunt Truth refused to have him about the camp; so we gave him an alcohol bath, and you shall see his lordship when you come. As Dr. Paul says, they have been known to clear fourteen feet at a jump, perhaps you will feel happier to know that he is in alcohol, though their bite is not necessarily fatal if it is rightly cared for.

The girls have been patronising the landscape by naming every peak, valley, grove, and stream in the vicinity; and as there is n.o.body to object, the names may hold.

We carry about with us a collection of strong, flat stakes, which have various names painted on them in neat black letters. Jack likes that kind of work, and spends most of his time at it; for now that Dr. Paul has bought a hundred acres up here, we are all greatly interested in its improvement.

Geoff has named the mountain Pico Negro, as I told you, and the little canyon on its side is called the Giant's Yawn. Then we have -

Mirror Pool, The Lone Stump, Field of the Cloth-of-Gold, Cosy Nook, The Imp's Wash-Bowl, Dunce-Cap Hill, The Saint's Rest, and Il Penseroso Fall (in honour of d.i.c.ky, who was nearly drowned there).

If anybody fails to call these localities by their proper names he has to pay a fine of five cents, which goes towards beautifying the place. Dr. Paul has had to pay two fines for Bell, three for Aunt Truth, and seven for d.i.c.ky; so he considers it an ill-judged arrangement.

Our encampment is supposed to be in the Forest of Arden, and Jack has begun nailing verses of poetry on the trees, like a second Orlando, save that they are not love-poems at all, but appropriate quotations from Wordsworth or Bryant. And this brings me to our thrilling rendition of the play 'As You Like It,' last evening; but it is deserving of more than the pa.s.sing notice which I can give it here.

One thing, however, I must tell you, as the girls will not write it of themselves--that, although Bell carried off first honours and fairly captivated the actors as well as the audience, all three of them looked bewitching and acted with the greatest spirit, much better than we fellows did.