Aunt Madge's Story Part 6

"It can't be; Margaret, you haven't--"

"Yes, I have too. Yes, mamma, I've got a party! I'm wickeder 'n ever you heard of. Wont you put me in the river? I want you to. O, I'm _so_ glad you didn't give me no pairsol."

Mother pulled the carpet and looked at me, and then pulled the carpet again. She was considering what to do. Ruthie had gone to the door when the bell rang; we heard her voice in the entry.

"Call Ruth in here to me," said mother, "and take your little girls into the garden."

I knew by that, that she didn't mean to send them home; and O, how I loved her. It seemed to me I loved her for the first time in my life, for I never knew before how good she was, or how beautiful! Her head was tied up in a handkerchief, and she wore a faded calico dress and a tow ap.r.o.n, but I thought she looked like an angel. I lay flat at her feet and adored her.

While I was taking my little girls into the garden and trying to play, mother was talking to Ruthie about this strange freak of mine. This I learned afterwards.

"I don't like to disappoint all these little children," said she, "and I don't like to expose my naughty daughter either. You see, Ruth, if they find out what a dreadful thing she has done, they will not like her any more, and their mothers will not let them come to see her. And that may make Margaret a worse girl, for she needs a great deal of love."

"I know it," said Ruthie; "she's got a big, warm heart of her own, and one can feel to forgive such children better than the cold, selfish ones; you know that yourself, Mrs. Parlin. Why, bless her, she never had an orange or a peach in her life, that she didn't give away half."

It gratified my poor mother to see Ruthie so ready to take my part. It was more than she liked to do to ask the tired girl to go to work again over the hot stove and prepare a supper for an army of children; but Ruthie did not wait to be asked; for love of mother and for love of me, she set herself about it with a hearty good-will. I do not remember much that was said or done for the rest of the afternoon; only, I know every single girl came that was invited, and they all said it was a nicer party than even Fel's; but Fel didn't care; she was glad of it. Of course it was nicer, for Ruthie spread the table in the front yard, and 'Ria was so kind as to adorn it with flowers, and lay wreaths of cedar round the plates. We had cup-custards and cookies, and, something I didn't expect, little "sandiges," with cold ham in the middle. But didn't I know it was more than I deserved?

Didn't my heart swell with shame, and guilt, and grat.i.tude? I remember rus.h.i.+ng into the house in the very midst of the supper, just to hug mother and Ruthie.

The funny thing, the only funny thing there was to the whole party, was Lize Jane's present. In my agitation I had almost forgotten how anxious I was to see it. She came dressed very smartly in red calico, with a blue bow at her throat. Her hair was remarkably glossy, and she told us, in a loud whisper, she had "stuck it down with bear's grease and cologne." She brought her old tin pail, the very one she picked currants in, only it really had a cover on it now, and _that_ was what she called "a covered dish." And guess what was in it?

_Pumpkin sauce!_ The drollest looking mess. Dried pumpkin stewed in mola.s.ses. She said I never tasted anything like it before, and I am sure I never did, and never should want to again.

And that was the end of my party. Mother didn't sew me up in a bag and throw me in the river, for she was the most patient woman alive. She only forbade my going to anybody's house for a long time to come. It was a hard punishment; but I knew it was just, and I could not complain. My heart was really touched, and I had learned a lesson not easily forgotten. When I think of that party now, it is with a feeling of grat.i.tude to my dear mother for her great forbearance, and her wise management of a wayward, naughty little girl.

CHAPTER VI.

THE PATCHWORK SCHOOL.

Fel and I had begun to read before we were four years old, and by the time we were six we knew too much to go to the town school any more. I believe that was what we thought; but the fact was, Fel was very delicate, and her mother considered the walk to the school-house too long for her, and the benches too hard. She wished to have a governess come and live in the house, so the child could study at home. I thought this was too bad. I knew almost as much as Fel did.

Why must I go to the town school if it wasn't good enough for her?

"Mamma, I wish I was del'cate," whined I. "Ned snipped off my finger in the corn-sh.e.l.ler,--don't that make me del'cate?"

"Delicate!" said Ned. "You're as tough as a pine knot."

I thought this was a cruel speech. He ought to be ashamed to snip off my finger, and _then_ call me tough.

In looking about for a governess, Madam Allen thought at once of dear Martha Rubie, who lived just across the garden from their house.

Uncle John's wife was her sister, the aunt Persis I told you about, who thought I ought not to hear baby-talk. Aunt Persis wasn't willing her sister Martha should go away from home; she said Fel might trip across the garden and say her lessons at her house. Fel didn't like to do it, for she was afraid of aunt Persis--she wouldn't go unless I would go with her; and finally mother said I might; so it turned out just as well for me as if I was delicate. She wanted Gust to go too, and he wasn't willing. But if Fel set her heart on anything it generally came about.

"Augustus," said Madam Allen, smiling with her pleasant black eyes, which had a firm look in them, "you will recite to Miss Rubie if I wish it."

"Well, then, I want some of the other fellows to 'cite too," sniffed little Gust; "'tisn't fair for one boy to go to a patchwork school, long o' girls."

And thus it happened that several children joined us, and Miss Rubie had quite a sizable school.

And now I must tell you what sort of a house we went to; for the whole thing was very queer. In the first place, there was dear uncle John,--yes, _your_ uncle John; but don't ask any questions; I'll tell you more by and by,--and his wife, that was aunt Persis; and his wife's sister, dear sweet Martha Rubie; and his little boy, Zed. Aunt Persis was an elegant, stately woman, but there was always something odd about her. I think myself it was odd she shouldn't like baby-talk.

She knit herself into my earliest recollections when she was Pauline Rubie, and after she married uncle John, she knit my stockings just the same, and uncle never interfered with the stripes, red and white, running round and round like a barber's pole. They were the pride of my life till Gust Allen said they made my little legs look like sticks of candy, good enough to eat. Then I hated them; but aunt Persis had got in the way of knitting stripes, and wouldn't stop it, beg as I might--for she always thought her way was right, and couldn't be improved.

Among other things she thought she knew all about medicine. There was a system called "hot crop," or "steaming," and she believed in it, and wanted everybody to take fiery hot drinks, and be steamed. That was the chief reason why we were so afraid of her.

Her house was a very pleasant, cosy one, or would have been if it hadn't had such a scent of herbs all through it. The first day we went to school aunt Persis met us at the door, and asked Fel to put out her tongue. Then she took us to a cupboard, and gave Fel something to drink, that we both thought was coffee; but it was stinging hot composition tea. Miss Rubie came into the kitchen just as Fel was catching her breath over the last mouthful, and said she,--

"O, Persis, how could you?"

We followed Miss Rubie into the school-room as fast as we could go.

This school-room was right over a little cellar, just deep enough for a grown person to stand up in. It was called the "jelly-cellar," and when we were naughty Miss Rubie opened a trap-door and let us down. I was so restless and noisy that for a while I spent half my time in that cellar, surrounded by jars of jelly and jam. And I am afraid I could say sometimes, "How sweet is solitude!" for there was just light enough from the one window to give me a clear view of the jars, with their nice white labels, and more than once I did--I blush to confess it--I did put my fingers into a peach jar and help myself to preserves. I was old enough to know better; I resisted the temptation a great many days, but one unlucky morning I espied Dunie Foster coming up from the cellar with jelly stains on her white ap.r.o.n, and that set me to thinking.

"Ah, ha; Dunie eats perserves, and looks just as innocent's a lamb!

Folks think she's better 'n me, but she isn't, she's a _make-believer_. I wonder if it's dreadful wicked to take perserves?

Prehaps auntie spects us to eat 'em. Any way, Fel Allen never gets put down cellar, and it's real mean; and if I have to stay down there the whole time I ought to have something to make me feel better; I feel real hungry, and they ought to _spect_ I'd eat perserves." So I did it; partly because Dunie did, partly because Fel wasn't punished and ought to be, and partly because it was most likely auntie put 'em there a-purpose! I think I never did it but three times; and the third time it was thoroughwort and mola.s.ses! Strong, I a.s.sure you, boiled down to a thick sirup. I had the jar at my lips, and had taken a long, deep draught, when I happened to look up, and there was aunt Persis going by the window, and looking straight down at me!

I was so startled by the bitter taste in my mouth and the sight of aunt Persis, both coming at the same time, that I gave a little scream, and pranced round and round the cellar like a wild animal.

Miss Rubie heard me, and came down to see what was the matter. She did not ask if I had been meddling with the jars; but she must have known, for a sticky stream was trickling over my dress, and I had set the sirup down on the floor with the cover off. She bent a keen glance on me, and at the same time I saw a little twinkle in her eye. I suppose she thought my guilt would bring its own punishment, for she probably knew the thoroughwort would make me sick.

"Are you ready now to be a good, quiet girl?" said she. I had been shut down for noisiness.

"Yes'm," said I, meekly, and followed her up stairs.

But though my heart was heavy with shame, I could not help thinking, "What orful tastin' perserves!" and wondering if aunt Persis really was crazy, as Tempy Ann said she was.

Miss Rubie had had reason to think before that some of the children went to those jars, but she did not say so; she merely remarked,--

"It is nearly noon, children; you may lay aside your books now, and, if you like, I will tell you a story."

Everybody was pleased but me. I wanted to go home. The story was from the text, "Thou, G.o.d, seest me." It was about Adaline Singleton, a little girl who took her mother's cake without leave, and her mother counted the slices, and found her out.

I could not look up at Miss Rubie all the while she was talking, but I noticed Dunie Foster did. I was trying to rub that zigzag stream of sirup off my ap.r.o.n; and O, how sick I grew! Would she ever stop?

I knew G.o.d had seen me yesterday and day before, when I ate peach preserves, and I had no doubt it was to punish me that I had been allowed to swallow this bitter stuff to-day. But, O, if I could go home!

I never see that story of Adaline Singleton now among my books but it calls up a remembrance of guilt and nausea too. I would give a great deal, little Fly, if I hadn't so many bad things to remember. It is because I hope to do you good that I am willing to tell of them. May you have a purer childhood to look back upon!

Thankful was I when school was out that noon, but I wasn't able to go again in the afternoon; and my mother knew why!

It was the last time I was ever put in that cellar. Miss Rubie found another method of punishment; and I think I can say truthfully it was the last time I ever took sweetmeats without leave. I did other wrong things in plenty, but that I could never do again. When mother said I might go to the box and get "half a dozen raisins," I got half a dozen, and not a handful. Those solemn words rang in my ears,--"Thou, G.o.d, seest me,"--just as Miss Rubie had spoken them in her low, sweet tones.

For days I dared not meet aunt Persis's eye, but she treated me just the same, often loading me down with pennyroyal and spearmint to take home to mother. I did not know she was near-sighted, and had not seen me drinking her thoroughwort. It was the first medicine of hers I had ever taken, and that bitter taste in my mouth decided me, upon reflection, that she _was_ crazy. As it proved, I was not very far wrong.

There had been something the matter with her wits for two or three years, and she was growing queerer and queerer. People began to wonder what made her want to look at their tongues so much. She said now if she met people on her way to church, "Please, put out your tongue;"

and sometimes said it on the very church steps. This was queer; but they did not know how much queerer she was at home. We children could have told how she came into the school-room and felt all our pulses, but we thought Miss Rubie would be sorry to have us tell.

Her little boy Zed, about four years old, had to take her dreadful medicines, of course, for medicine was the very thing auntie was crazy about. He carried some of his doses into school to drink at recess, and we all pitied him. Sometimes he ate dry senna and raisins mixed on a plate, and we teased away the raisins, and he had to chew the senna "bare." He cried then, and said we ought to help eat that too, and we did. I thought it had a crazy taste, like the thoroughwort, and was sorry Zed had a liver inside him, and wished that his mother hadn't found it out.