Nine Little Goslings Part 11

"You must all be good," she said, fussing about and tidying the room, "very good and very quiet, so as not to wake up Stella. Dear me, what a queer smell there is here! Let me think. What did Nursey do when I had measles? She burned some sort of paper and made it smell nice again. I must burn some paper too, else Stella'll suffocate, won't you, dear?"

No sooner thought than done. Jacob had left his coat hanging near the tool-house while he went to dinner, and he always carried matches in his pipe-pocket. Lady Bird knew that. She put her hand in and drew one out, feeling guilty, for one of Nursey's chief maxims was, "Never touch matches, Lady Bird; remember what I say, never!"

"If Nursey knew about Stella's having the measles she'd say different,"

she soliloquized.

There was a good-sized bit of brown paper in the garden-house. Lota rolled it up, laid it near the bedside, lit the edge, and carefully blew out the match. The paper did not flame, but smouldered slowly, sending up a curl of smoke. Lady Bird gazed at it with much satisfaction, then, with a last kiss to Stella, she went away to fetch the doctor, stopping at Lady Green's door as she pa.s.sed, to tell her that she had better not let any of her children come over, because they might catch the measles and be sick too.

It took some time to rummage out the m.u.f.f, for Nursey had tucked it far back on the shelf behind other things. There was n.o.body in the nursery.

Something unusual seemed to be going on downstairs, for doors were opening and shutting, and persons were talking and exclaiming. Lota paid no attention to this; her head was full of her own affairs, and she had no time to spend on other people's. m.u.f.f in hand, she hastened down the garden walk. As she drew near she smelt smoke, and smiled with satisfaction. But the smell grew stronger, and the air was blue and thick. She became alarmed, and began to run. Another moment, and the house was in sight. Smoke was pouring from the door, from the window, and--what was that red thing which darted out from the smoke like a long tongue? Oh, Lady Bird! Lady Bird! fly, hasten, your house is on fire, and there are the children inside with none but you to aid them!

Did ever mother hesitate when her little ones were in danger? Lady Bird did not. With a shriek of affright she plunged boldly into the midst of the smoke. An awful sight met her eyes through the open door. The wall-paper was on fire, the cotton rug, the table-cover! Little red flames were creeping up the valance of the crib in which poor sick Stella lay! The other children were sitting in a row opposite, very calm and still, but blisters had begun to form on Imogene's waxen cheeks, and a cinder, lodged on Ning-Po's flaxen wig, was scorching and singeing. What a spectacle to meet a mother's eyes! Oh, Lady Bird, haste to the rescue!

She did not falter. In the twinkling of an eye she had dashed into the burning room, had caught Stella from her bed, the others from their chairs, and with all four hugged tight to her heart was making for the door. Ah! a spark fell on the white ap.r.o.n, on the holland frock! Her rapid movement fanned it. It flickered, blazed, the red flame rushed upward. What would have happened I dare not think, if just at that moment a gentleman, who was hastening down the garden walk, had not caught sight of the little figure, and, with a horrified exclamation, seized, held it fast, wrapped round it a great woollen shawl from his own shoulders, and in one moment put out the deadly fire which was s.n.a.t.c.hing at the sweet young life. Who was this gentleman, do you think, thus arrived at the very nick of time? Why, no other than Lady Bird's own Papa, come home from China a few weeks before any one expected him!

I cannot pretend to describe all that followed on that bewildering day, the dismay of Grandmamma and Nursey, the wrath of Jennings over the match, the joy of everybody at Lady Bird's escape, or her own confusion of mind at the fire and the excitement and the new Papa, who was and was not the Papa of the letters. At first she hugged the rescued dolls and said nothing. But Papa gave her time to get used to him, and she soon did so. He was very kind and nice, and did not laugh at the children and call them names as Isabel had done, but felt Stella's pulse, recommended pomatum for the scorch on Imogene's forehead, and even produced a little out of his own dressing-case. Best of all, he led Lady Bird upstairs, unlocked a box and showed her a beautiful little Chinese lady in purple silk and lovely striped muslin trowsers, which he had brought for her.

"Another child for you to take care of," said Papa.

Pocahontas Maria wrote in her Diary the next day:--

"My Grandpapa has come home from China. He is _very_ nice. He brought me a little Chinese sister. Her name is Loo Choo, he says, but Mamma calls her Loo Loo, because it sounds prettier. Grandpapa treats us very kindly, and never says 'dolls,' as Isabel Berners did; and he went to call on Lady Green with Mamma. I'm so glad he is come."

When Lady Bird read this she kissed Pocahontas and said,--

"That's right, dear; so am I!"

[Ill.u.s.tration]

ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE.

THE old clock on the stairs was drowsy. Its ticks, now lower, now louder, sounded like the breathings of one asleep. Now and then came a distincter tick, which might pa.s.s for a little machine-made snore. As striking-time drew near, it roused itself with a quiver and shake. "One, two, three, four, five," it rang in noisy tones, as who should say, "Behold, I am wide awake, and have never closed an eye all night." The sounds sped far. Marianne the cook heard them, rubbed her eyes, and put one foot out of bed. The nurse, Louisa, turned over and began to dream that she was at a wedding. Perhaps the sun heard too, for he stood up on tip-toe on the edge of the horizon, looked about him, then launched a long yellow ray directly at the crack in the nursery shutter. The ray was sharp: it smote full on Archie's eyelids, as he lay asleep, surrounded by "Robinson Crusoe," two red apples, a piece of gingerbread, and a spade, all of which he had taken to bed with him. When he felt the p.r.i.c.k of the sun-ray he opened his eyes wide. "Why, morning's come!" he said, and without more ado raised himself and sat up.

"What'll I do to-day?" he thought. "I know. I'll go into the wood and build a house, a nice little house, just like Wobinson Cwusoe's, all made of sticks, n.o.body'll know where my house is; I'll not tell, not even Mamma, where it is. Then when I don't want to study or any thing, I can run away and hide, and they won't know where to find me. That'll be nice! I guess I'll go and begin it now, 'cause the days are getting short. Papa said so once. I wonder what makes 'em get short? Pr'aps sometime they'll be so short that there won't be any days at all, only nights. That wouldn't be pleasant, I think. Mamma'd have to buy lots of candles then, or else we couldn't see."

With this he jumped out of bed.

"I must be very quiet," he thought, "else Loo--isa'll hear, and then she won't let me go till I've had my bekfast. Loo--isa's real cross sometimes; only sometimes she's kind when she makes my kite fly."

His clothes were folded on a chair by the bedside. Archie had never dressed himself before, but he managed pretty well, except that he turned the small ruffled shirt wrong-side out. The other things went on successfully. There were certain b.u.t.tons which he could not reach, but that did not matter. The small stocking toes were folded neatly in, all ready to slip on to the feet. But the shoes _were_ a difficulty; they fastened with morocco bands and buckles, and Archie couldn't manage them at all.

"Oh, dear!" he said to himself, "I wish Loo--isa would come and buckle my shoes for me. No, I don't, though, 'cause p'raps she'd say, 'Go back to bed, naughty boy; it isn't time to get up.' I wouldn't like that.

Sometimes Loo--isa does say things to me."

So he put on the shoes without buckling them, and, not stopping to brush his hair or wash his face, he clapped on his broad-brimmed straw hat, took "Robinson Crusoe" and the spade, dropped the red apples and the gingerbread into his pocket, and stole softly downstairs. The little feet made no noise as they pa.s.sed over the thick carpets. Marianne, who was lighting the kitchen fire and clattering the tongs, heard nothing.

He reached the front door, and, stretching up, pulled hard at the bolt.

It was stiff, and would not move.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Archie, "I wish somebody _would_ come and open this door for me."

He looked at the bolt a minute. Then an idea struck him, and, laying "Robinson Crusoe" and the little spade down on the floor, he went into the dining-room pantry, where was a drawer with tools in it.

"I'll get Papa's hammer," he thought to himself, "and I'll pound that old bolt to pieces."

While he was gone, Marianne, who had lighted her fire, came from the kitchen with a broom in her hand. She opened the door, shook the mat, and began to sweep the steps. A sharp tinkle, tinkle met her ear from the back gate. It was the milkman ringing for some one to come and take in the milk. Marianne set her broom against the side of the door, and hurried back to the kitchen. Her foot struck against "Robinson Crusoe"

as she went. She picked it up and laid it on the table.

"Why, the door's open!" exclaimed Archie, who at that moment came from the dining-room, hammer in hand.

He did not trouble himself to speculate as to how the door happened to be open, but, picking up the spade, wandered forth into the garden. The gate gave no trouble. He walked fast, and long before Marianne came back to her sweeping he had gained the woods, which were near, and enclosed the house on two sides in a shady half-circle. They were pretty woods, full of flowers and squirrels and winding, puzzling paths. Archie had never been allowed to go into them alone before.

The morning was delicious, so full of snap and sunshine that it set him to dancing and skipping as he went along. All the wood-flowers were as wide awake as he. They nodded at Archie, as if saying "Good-morning,"

and sent out fresh smells into the air. Busy birds flapped and flew, doing their marketing, and fetching breakfast to hungry nestlings, chirping and whistling to each other, as they did so, that the sun was up and it was a fine day. A pair of striped squirrels frisked and laughed and called out something saucy as Archie trotted by. None of these wild things feared the child: he was too small and too quick in his movements to be fearful. They accepted him as one of themselves,--a featherless bird, or a squirrel of larger growth; while he, on his part, smiled vaguely at them and hurried past, intent on his projects for a house and careless of every thing else.

The sun rose higher and higher. But the thick branching trees kept off the heat, and the wood remained shady and cool. The paths twisted in and out, and looped into each other like a tangled riband. No grown person could have kept a straight course in their mazes. Archie did not even try, but turned to right or to left just as it happened, taking always the path which looked prettiest, or which led into deepest shade. If he saw anywhere a particularly red checkerberry, he went that way; otherwise it was all one to him where he went. So it came to pa.s.s that, by the end of an hour, he was as delightfully and completely lost as ever little boy has succeeded in being since woods grew or the world was made.

"I dess this is a nice place for my house," he said suddenly, as the path he had been following led into a small open s.p.a.ce, across which lay a fallen tree, with gray moss, which looked like hair, hanging to its trunk. It _was_ a nice place; also, Archie's feet were tired, and he was growing hungry, which aided in the decision. The ground about the fallen tree was carpeted with thick mosses. Some were bright green, with stems and little branches like tiny, tiny pine-trees. Others had horn-shaped cups of yellow and fiery red. Others still were bright beautiful brown, while here and there stood round cushion-shaped ma.s.ses which looked as soft as down.

Into the very middle of one of these pretty green cushions plumped Archie. He rested his back against a tree trunk, and gave a sigh of comfort. It was like an easy chair, except that it had no arms; but what does a little boy want of arms to chairs? He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out, first the red apples, and then the gingerbread.

The gingerbread was rather mashed; but it tasted most delicious, only there was too little of it.

"I wish I'd brought a hundred more pieces," soliloquized Archie, as he nibbled the last crumb. "One isn't half enough bekfast."

The red apples, however, proved a consolation; and, quite rested and refreshed now, he jumped from the moss cushion and prepared to begin his house-building.

"First, I must pick up some sticks," he thought,--"a great many, many sticks, heaps of 'em. Then I'll hammer and make a house. Only--I haven't got any nails," he added with an after-thought.

There were plenty of sticks to be had in that part of the wood; twigs and branches from the dead tree, fragments of bark, odds and ends of dry brush. Close by stood a white birch. The thin, paper-like covering hung loose on its stem, like grey-white curls. Archie could pull off large pieces, and he enjoyed this so much that he pulled till the birch trunk, as far up as he could reach, was perfectly bare. Some of the boughs were crooked. Archie tried to lay them straight with the others, but they wouldn't fit in nicely, and stuck their stiff angles out in all directions.

"Those are naughty sticks," said Archie, giving the crookedest a shove.

"They shan't go into my house at all."

The want of nails became serious as the heap of wood grew large and Archie was ready to build. What was the use of a hammer without nails?

He tried various ways. At last he laid the longest boughs in a row against the side of the fallen tree. This left a little place beneath their slope into which it was possible to creep. Archie smiled with satisfaction, and proceeded to thatch the sloping roof with moss and bits of bark. Then he grubbed up the green cushion and transferred it bodily to his house.

"This'll be my chair," he said to himself. "I dess I don't want any more furnture except just a chair. Loo--isa, she said, 'so many things to dust is a bodder.'"

At that moment came a rustling sound in the underbrush. "P'raps it's savages," thought Archie, and, half pleased, half frightened at the idea, he gave a loud whoop. Out flew a fat motherly hen, cackling and screaming. What she was doing there in the woods I cannot imagine.

Perhaps she had lost her way. Perhaps she had private business there which only hens can understand. Or it may be that she, too, had built a little house and hidden it away so that no one should know where it was.

Archie was enchanted. "A hen, a hen," he cried. "I'll catch her and keep her for my own. Then I'll have eggs, and I'll give 'em to Mamma, and I'll make custards. Custards _is_ made of eggs. Loo--isa said so."

"Chicky, chicky, chicky," he warbled in a winning voice, waving his fingers as if he were sprinkling corn on the ground for the hen to eat.

But the hen was not to be enticed in that manner, and, screaming louder than ever, ran into the bushes again. Then Archie began to run too.