Little Grandmother Part 16

"Yes; and you know, when I was a little speck of a girl, I spilled some hot tallow over, and burnt his hand; and he says that is the reason he is going to marry Dorcas."

"What! because you burnt his hand?"

"Yes. I don't see why that made him like Dorcas," said Patty, reflectively; "but that's what he said. And then I shall have eight brothers; won't it be nice?"

"Does Betsey Potter know?"

"Yes. I told her."

"Well, I should have thought you might have told me first," said Linda, pouting. "I don't like it very well to have you tell me last."

"O, I told Betsey first because she came first. I never heard of it myself till this morning," said Patty, innocently.

She was never known to keep a secret twenty-four hours.

The idea of a wedding in the family was perfectly delightful to the little girl, and after this she used to watch for Mr. Starbird every third week, just as regularly as Dorcas did, and was almost as much pleased when she saw him coming on his white-faced horse.

It was so nice to think of having more brothers; for as yet poor Patty had only seven!

CHAPTER XV.

THE BRa.s.s KETTLE.

There was a great time that year preparing for Thanksgiving. It seemed as if the tall clock had never ticked so fast before, nor the full moon smiled down from the top of it with such a jolly face.

"It's going to be what you may call a sort of a double Thanksgiving,"

said Moses.

"Why?" asked Patty. "Because there'll be double turkeys and double puddings?"

"No, Patty Lyman! Don't you remember what's going to happen before dinner?"

"O, you mean the wedding! I knew that ever so long ago."

Patty had heard of it the day before.

"Equal to Fourth of July and training-day put together," remarked Moses, s.n.a.t.c.hing a handful of raisins out of the bowl Mary held in her lap.

"Yes," said Patty, leaving off her spice-pounding long enough to clap her hands; "it's splendid!"

"I don't see how you can say so," said the thoughtful Mary, "when our dear sister Dorcas is going 'way off, and never'll live at home any more!"

"Yes, I know it," responded Patty, looking as serious as she could, for Mary was wiping her eyes on her ap.r.o.n. "It's dreadful! O, how bad I feel!"

The kitchen was so full you could hardly turn around. Everybody was there but Dorcas, and she was finishing off her wedding-dress. Mrs.

Lyman was stuffing two large turkeys; Betsey was making brown bread; Moses chopping mince-meat; and those who had nothing else to do were talking. Aunt Hannah was there, helping Rachel make the wedding-cake; but the trouble was with aunt Hannah that she couldn't come without bringing her baby; and there he was, rolling about the floor like a soft bundle of yellow flannel--a nice, fat baby, with a ruffled cap on his head. He was named Job, after his father, who had borne that name through a long life, and been very patient about it.

"Now, Patty," said Rachel, "I see you've stopped pounding cloves, and I wish you'd take care of this baby; he is rolling up towards the mola.s.ses jug, and will tip it over next thing he does."

Patty had only stopped pounding for half a minute. It seemed to her that her right hand always had a mortar-pestle in it. She ran now to get some playthings for Job--a string of earthen-ware beads, and a pewter plate to hold them when he should break the string; and a squash-sh.e.l.l, filled with peas,--just as good as a rattle, let me tell you. Then she sat on the floor, making baby-talk with the little creature, who has since that been somebody's grandfather.

Patty always meant well, and now she was really able to help a great deal. At ten years old she was quite a tall girl, though what the country-folks called rather "slim." Her dress was made of thick cotton and woollen goods, all rough with little k.n.o.bs,--the same Rachel had woven in "blue and copperas checks."

Patty soon tired of amusing Job. She wanted to do something of more importance.

"I should think I might chop mince-meat instead of you, Moses. There, now, you're getting it so fine 'twill be poison."

Aunt Hannah heard that and laughed.

"That child takes everything in earnest," said she. "I told Moses if he got the mince-meat _too_ fine, 'twould be poisonous; but I never saw any mince-meat that _was_ too fine--did you, Rachel?"

"Mary," said Mrs. Lyman, "if you please, you may poke up the coals now.

George, you'll have to move round, and let her get to the oven."

"I'll attend to it myself," said George, rising from his chair, at one end of the big fireplace, and stirring the glowing coals in the brick oven with the hard-wood "poking-stick."

"Now, if you'll all keep still," said James, "I'll read you something from the newspaper."

Moses dropped his chopping-knife, Mary looked frightened, and Patty stopped shaking the squash-sh.e.l.l. They knew it would never do to make a noise while James was reading.

"My son, my son," pleaded Mrs. Lyman, turning round from her turkey, and shaking her darning-needle at him, "you wouldn't try to read in all this confusion? Wait till we get a little over our hurry. Go to the end-cupboard, and fetch me a couple of good, stout strings; I want these turkeys all ready to tie on the nails."

She was going to roast them before the fire. That was the way they cooked turkeys in old times.

"And, Betsey," said Mrs. Lyman, "you may as well go to work on the doughnuts. Make half a bushel or more."

"What about the _riz_ bread?" said Betsey.

"I should think a dozen loaves would be enough," replied Mrs. Lyman, who was now beginning to make a suet pudding.

You see they meant to have plenty of food, for beside their own large family, they expected twenty or thirty guests to dinner day after to-morrow.

"O, mother!" exclaimed Mary, "I'm afraid you're not making that pudding thick enough. Siller Noonin says the pudding-stick ought to stand alone."

"Priscilla is thinking of the old Connecticut Blue Laws about mush,"

replied Mrs. Lyman, smiling; "we don't mind the blue laws up here in Maine. And this isn't mush, either; it's suet pudding.--Solomon, my son, you may go into the shed-chamber, and bring me a bag of hops; we must have some beer starting."

Betsey swung the frying-kettle on the crane, and had just turned away, when the baby crept up, and tipped over sick George's basin of p.u.s.s.y-willow and cider, which was steeping in one corner of the fireplace. There was no harm done, only Job lost his patience, and cried, and for five minutes there was a perfect Bedlam of baby-screams, chopping-knives, and mortar-pestles, and in the midst of it, the sound of the hired men winnowing grain in the barn.

But there could hardly be too much noise for Patty. I presume she was never happier in her life than on the Monday and Tuesday before Thanksgiving; but Wednesday came, and it rained in torrents.

"Will they be married if it doesn't clear off?" said she.

"You do ask the funniest questions," replied Rachel. "Just as if Mr.