The William Henry Letters Part 13

P. S. We have got good times enough planned out to last a month. Uncle J. says we may have his old horse, and Young Gray, and Dobbin, and the cow too, if we want, to ride horseback on, or tackle up into anything we can find, from a hay-cart to a wheelbarrow. I shall want to write, but sha' n't. There'll be no time. When I get home, I'll talk a week.

Love to all inquiring friends.

Maggie could have formed but little idea of the nature of the offer mentioned in Dorry's postscript, because she had never, at that time, stood on the spot and seen with her own eyes all the "wheel-ed things"

that were to be seen in Uncle Jacob's back-yard.

How gladly would I, if s.p.a.ce permitted, go into a minute description of that roomy enclosure, with its farming implements, garden tools, cattle, pump, fowls, watering-trough, grindstone, woodpile, haystack, etc., and carryalls, carts, wagons, wheelbarrows, roller-carts, and tip-carts, some in good repair, others very far out of it! "Entertainment for man and beast" might truly have been written over the entrance!

Mother Delight (an old nurse-woman) once remarked of Uncle Jacob, that he was a very _buying man_. This was a true remark, and yet he never bought without a reason. For instance, if Quorm (a Corry Pond Indian) brought bushel-baskets along to sell, Uncle Jacob took one, not because he had not bushel-baskets enough, but to encourage Quorm. And if Old Pete Brale wanted to let Uncle Jacob have an infirm, rickety wagon, and take his pay in potatoes, Uncle Jacob traded, that Pete Brale might be kept from starvation. And so of other things.

It may be imagined, therefore, that as time went on all manner of vehicles were there gathered together. Some of these were in good running order, while others had been bought partly with a view to their being repaired and sold at a profit. The expression on Aunt Phebe's face when Uncle Jacob brought home an addition to his interesting collection was very striking. I remember particularly observing this at the coming into harbor of a rattling, shackly, green-bottomed carryall, which had a door at the back, and seats running lengthwise. It formerly belonged to some person who, having then a large family of small children to get to meeting, contrived a conveyance which would take in and discharge again the greatest number with the least trouble.

In this odd vehicle, which had been run under an overhanging apple-tree, I often sat through the summer afternoon, now reading my book, now watching the animal life about me, gaining useful knowledge from both.

Sometimes, when feeling like a boy again,--as I often did and do feel,--I would amuse myself with playing _go to ride_ in a comical old chaise. It was set high, and pitched forward, the lining was ragged, the back "light" gone, the stuffing running out of the cushions; yet there I liked to sit, and "ride," and joggle up and down, as in the happy days of boyhood. But not, as in those happy days, "hard as I could," for reasons easy to guess.

I trust no one will imagine that s.p.a.cious yard to have been merely a sort of safe anchorage, where all manner of disabled craft might run in for shelter! Lest any words of mine should imply this, or seem to cast blame on Uncle Jacob, let me hasten to say that he really required a variety of "wheel-ed things" to carry on his business.

Neither of the Mr. Carvers got their living wholly, or even chiefly, by farming. They drew wood from lots owned by themselves, or by others, and used their teams in any way, according as employment was offered them.

Thus heavy carts were wanted for heavy work, and light carts for light work, besides carryalls for dry and for rainy weather, and riding wagons, because they were handy.

For all the Summer Sweeting folks were hard workers, they knew how to get up a good time, and enjoyed it too, as we shall see by the account of one which Dorry gives in the following letter:--

_Dorry to his Sister._

DEAR SIS,--

O, we've hurrahed and hurrahed and hurrahed ourselves hoa.r.s.e! Such a bully time! You'd better believe the old horses went some! And that hay-cart went rattle and b.u.mp, rattle and thump,--seemed as if we should jolt to pieces! But I've counted myself all over, and believe I'm all here! Bubby Short's throat is so sore that all he can do is to lie flat on the floor and wink his eyes. You see we cheered at every house, and they came running to their windows, and some cheered back again, and some waved and some laughed, and all of them stared. But part of the way was through the woods.

This morning Billy and Bubby Short and I went over to Aunt Phebe's of an errand, to borrow a cup of dough. I wish mother could see how her stove shines! And while we were sitting down there, having some fun with Aunt Phebe's little Tommy, Uncle Jacob came in and said, "Mother, let's go somewhere."

She said, "Thank you! thank you! we shall be very happy to accept your invitation. Girls, your father has given us an invitation! Boys, he means you too!"

"But you can't go,--can you?" Uncle Jacob cried out, and made believe he didn't know what to make of it. O, he's such a droll man! "I thought you couldn't leave the ironing," says he.

"O yes, we can!" Hannah Jane said; and "O yes, we can!" they all cried out.

Aunt Phebe said it would be entirely convenient, and told her girls to shake out the sprinkled clothes to dry.

"O, now," said Uncle Jacob, "who'd have thought of your saying 'yes.' I expected you couldn't leave."

Then they kept on talking and laughing. O, they are all so funny here!

Uncle Jacob tried to get off without going; but at last he said, "Well, boys, we must catch Old Major."

That's the old gray horse, you know. And we were long enough about it.

For, just as we got him into a corner, he'd up heels, and away he'd go.

And once he slapped his tail right in my face. But after a while we got him into the barn.

Then pretty soon Uncle Jacob put on a long face, and looked very sober, and put his head in at the back kitchen door, and said he guessed we should have to give up going, after all, for the mate to Old Major had got to be shod, and the blacksmith had gone away.

"Harness in the colt, then," Aunt Phebe said. "No matter about their matching, if we only get there!"

That colt is about twenty years old. He's black, and short, and takes little stubby steps; and he's got a s.h.a.ggy mane, that goes flop, flop, flop every step he takes. But Old Major is bony, and has a long neck, like the nose of a tunnel. Such a span as they made! What would my mother say to see that span!

They were harnessed in to the hay-cart. A hay-cart is a long cart that has stakes stuck in all round it. We put boards across for benches. Aunt Phebe brought out a whole armful of quite small flags, that they had Independent Day, and we tied one to the end of every stake.

Such a jolly time as we did have getting aboard! First all the baskets and pails full of cake and pies were stowed away under the benches, and jugs of water, and bottles of milk, and a hatchet, and some boiled eggs, and apples and pears. Then uncle called out, "Come! where is everybody?

Tumble in! tumble in! Where's little Tommy?"

Then we began to look about and to call "Tommy!" "Tommy!" "Tommy!" At last Bubby Short said, "There he is, up there!" We all looked up, and saw Tommy's face part way through a broken square of gla.s.s--I mean where the gla.s.s was broken out. He said he couldn't "tum down, betause the _roosted_ was on his feets." You see, he'd got his feet tangled up in Lucy Maria's worsteds.

"O dear!" Lucy Maria said; "all that shaded pink!"

When they brought him down, Uncle Jacob looked very sober, and said, "Why, Tommy! Did you get into all that shaded pink?"

"Didn't get in _all_ of it," said Tommy. Then he told us he was taking down the "gimmerlut to blower a hole with." Next he began to cry for his new hat; and when he got his new hat, he began to cry for a posy to be stuck in it. That little fellow never will go anywhere without a flower stuck in his hat. Aunt Phebe says his grandmother began that notion when her damask rosebush was in bloom.

After we were all aboard, Uncle Jacob brought out the teakettle, and slung it on behind with a rope. He said maybe mother would want a cup of tea. Then they laughed at him, for he is the tea-drinker himself. Next he brought out a long pan.

"Now that's my cookie-pan!" Aunt Phebe said. "You don't cook clams in my cookie-pan!"

He made believe he was terribly afraid of Aunt Phebe, and trotted back with it just like a little boy, and then came bringing out an old sheet-iron fireboard.

"Is this anybody's cookie-pan?" said he, then stowed it away in the bottom of the cart. Bubby Short wanted to know what that was for.

"That's for the clams," Uncle Jacob said.

But we couldn't tell whether he meant so. We never can tell whether Uncle Jacob is funning or not. I haven't told you yet where we were bound. We were bound to the sh.o.r.e. That's about six miles off. The last thing that Uncle Jacob brought out was a stick that had strips of paper tied to the end of it.

"That's my flyflapper!" Aunt Phebe said. "What are you going to do with my flyflapper?"

He said that was to brush the snarls off little Tommy's face. Tommy is a tip-top little chap; but he's apt to make a fuss. Sometimes he teased to drive, and then he teased for a drink, and then for a sugar-cracker, and then to sit with Matilda, and then with Hannah Jane. And, every time he fretted, Uncle Jacob would take out the flyflapper, and play brush the snarls off his face, and say, "There they go! Pick 'em up! pick 'em up!" And that would set Tommy a-laughing. Tommy tumbled out once, the back end of the cart. Billy was driving, and he whipped up quick, and they started ahead, and sent Tommy out the back end, all in a heap. But first he stood on his head, for 't was quite a sandy place. I drove part of the way, and so did Bubby Short. We didn't hurrah any going. Some men that we met would laugh and call out, "What'll you take for your span?"

And sometimes boys would turn round, and laugh, and holler out, "How are _you_, teakettle?" I think a hay-cart is the best thing to ride in that ever was. Just as we got through the woods, we looked round and saw Billy's father coming, bringing Billy's grandmother in a horse and chaise. Then we all clapped. For they said they guessed they couldn't come.

When we got to the sh.o.r.e the horses had to be hitched to the cart, for there wasn't a tree there, nor so much as a stump. Uncle Jacob called to us to come help him dig the clams. Billy carried the clam-digger, and I carried the bucket. Isn't it funny that clams live in the mud? How do you suppose they move round? Do you suppose they know anything? Uncle Jacob struck his clam-digger in everywhere where he saw holes in the mud; and as fast as he uncovered the clams we picked them up, and soon got the bucket full.

Then he told us to run like lamplighters along the sh.o.r.e, and pick up sticks and bits of boards. "Bring them where you see a smoke rising,"

says he.

O, such loads as we got, and split up the big pieces with the hatchet!

Uncle Jacob had fixed some stones in a good way, and put his iron fireboard on top, and made a fire underneath. Then he spread his clams on the fireboard to roast. O, I tell you, sis, you never tasted of anything so good in your life as clams roasted on a fireboard!

And he put some stones together in another place, and set on the teakettle, and made a fire under it,--to make a cup of tea for mother, he said. Tommy kept helping making the fire, and once he joggled the teakettle over. Aunt Phebe and the girls sat on the rocks, the side where the wind wouldn't blow the smoke in their eyes. But Billy's grandmother had a soft seat made of sea-weed and the chaise cushions, and shawls all over her, and Billy's father read things out of the newspaper to her. He said they two were the invited guests, and mustn't work.

It took the girls ever so long to cut up the cakes and pies, and b.u.t.ter the biscuits. I know I never was so hungry before! The clams were pa.s.sed round, piping hot, in box covers, and tin-pail covers, and some had to have shingles. You'd better believe those clams tasted good! Then all the other things were pa.s.sed round. O, I don't believe any other woman can make things as good as Aunt Phebe's! Georgianna had a frosted plum-cake baked in a saucer; and, every time she moved her seat, Uncle Jacob would go too, and sit close up to her, and say how much he liked Georgie, she was the best little girl that ever was,--a great deal better than Aunt Phebe's girls. Then Georgianna would say, "O, I know you! you want my frosted cake!" Then Uncle Jacob would pucker his lips together, and shut up his eyes, and shake his head so solemn! He keeps every body a-laughing, even Billy's grandmother. He was just as clever to her! picked out the best mug there was to put her tea in,--Aunt Phebe don't carry her good dishes, they get broken so,--and shocked out the clams for her in a saucer. When you get this letter, I guess you'll get a good long one. After dinner we scattered about the sh.o.r.e. 'T was fun to see the crabs and frys and things the tide had left in the little pools of water. And I found lots of _blanc-mange_ moss. We boys ran ever so far along sh.o.r.e, and went in swimming. The water wasn't very cold.