The Project Gutenberg eBook of Little Miss Weezy
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Little Miss Weezy
Author: Penn Shirley
Release date: May 19, 2025 [eBook #76122]
Language: English
Original publication: Boston, MA: Lee and Shepard, 1886
Credits: Mary Meehan and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE MISS WEEZY ***
Little Miss Weezy
By Penn Shirley
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK
CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM
1886
COPYRIGHT, 1886.
BY LEE AND SHEPARD.
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS.
I. TEASING POKY
II. GOING TO CHURCH
III. THE PUMPKIN HOOD
IV. WEEZY'S PICKLE
V. DICKERY, DICKERY, DOCK
VI. UNKER DOCKER'S BEARD
VII. WEEZY'S SAMBO
VIII. WEEZY'S FIGS
IX. KIRKE AND JIMMY
X. THE BIRTHDAY DRIVE
XI. WEEZY AND KISTY
XII. A BEAUTIFUL PRESENT
XIII. THE DOLLS' CHRISTMAS WEDDING
LITTLE MISS WEEZY.
CHAPTER I.
TEASING POKY.
"I's Weezy Wozy, and I's _two_ old," said little Louise Rowe on her
second birthday; and from that time forth everybody called her "Weezy,"
though it wasn't her real name any more than it is yours.
There were two other little Rowes in the family,--Kirke, six years old;
and Molly, eight. Their father lived in a pretty Queen Anne cottage
at the end of the street, and the Wymans just around the corner. Mrs.
Wyman was aunt Clara, Mr. Rowe's sister.
Having no children of their own, Dr. and Mrs. Wyman were fond of
borrowing their youngest niece; and this birthday morning the doctor's
voice was heard calling from Mr. Rowe's gate,--
"Has anybody here a little girl to lend? a little girl two years old."
"Here I is, _unker Docker_. _I's_ two old," cried little Miss Weezy,
toddling through the hall.
"Possible? Then you must be the very young lady I'm looking for. Get
your bonnet, Snowy-locks."
Mrs. Rowe brought the dainty white Normandy cap, and tied it under
Weezy's chin.
"You must be unker Docker's darling," said she, lifting her into the
carriage.
Weezy bobbed her head till the cap-frill quivered like a spray of
cherry-blossoms in a wind, and away she was whirled to her uncle's
door.
Aunt Clara came out, with her bonnet on, to ask Dr. Wyman to drive down
to the dress-maker's.
"And if you'll be a good girl, Weezy, and stay with Poky, we'll bring
you home an orange," said she.
"A _dreat, bid_ ollange?" asked Weezy, always sharp on a bargain.
"Yes, dear; a great, big orange, the biggest in the store."
"Oh, ho, I _likes_ ollanges!" remarked Weezy, prancing away to find the
colored girl, whose long name was Pocahontas.
Poky was washing. After giving Weezy the clothes-pins to play with, she
hastened back to her tub on the other side of the kitchen. Suddenly two
little white arms splashed into the soap-suds beside her own black ones.
"Poky tired. Weezy _he'p_," said the little guest, who had climbed a
chair unnoticed.
"Sho, Miss Weezy! _peart_ help you are, _for shore_!" cried Poky,
wringing her out, and standing her upon the table, while she herself
put a basketful of clothes into the boiler on the range.
Then, believing the child safely penned, she brought her a cookie,
and ran out to hang the clothes-line. Unfortunately, Poky had failed
to notice that one end of the wash-bench was near the table. Left to
herself, Weezy speedily dropped down upon the bench, and from that to
the floor; and thus it came to pass that she ran and slammed the door
behind Pocahontas almost as soon as the girl had crossed the threshold.
"Poky _tan't tum in_!" crowed Weezy, turning the key in the lock.
"_Please_ let Poky in! Oh, Weezy must let poor Poky in!" shrieked the
startled maid, running back to the porch, and shaking the door.
"No, no! Poky tan't tum in," repeated the little tease, delighted to
make a sensation.
Pocahontas could hear the soap-suds bubbling in the wash-boiler, and
she knew it might at any moment overflow and scald the child. But what
was to be done? Half wild, she ran from window to window, and found
every one of them bolted. The front-door, too, was fastened, and the
key was in Dr. Wyman's pocket. A sharp clattering in the kitchen drew
trembling Poky to the window in the rear.
"Oh, oh! Little Miss Weezy'll kill herself, and the doctor'll blame
me!" groaned she, looking in as Weezy thrust the poker into the range.
"I's makin' fire," shouted the child proudly, while in the boiler above
the water foamed and seethed.
"Weezy'll burn! Weezy'll burn! Oh, please come!" cried Pocahontas with
chattering teeth.
Weezy laughed roguishly, and rattled the poker.
"Quick! oh, quick!" sobbed Poky, almost beside herself, as she saw
streams of water beginning to course down the sides of the boiler.
Weezy looked up, and the tears in Poky's eyes melted the child's
perverse little heart.
"Poor Poky _ky_; Poky _s'all_ come in," said she, skipping across to
the window.
Her flight was none too soon; for the soap-suds that moment boiled
over, flooding the range and every thing within reach. Even far away as
she was, Weezy's pretty Gretchen dress was spattered from neck to hem.
Little did aunt Clara think of that, as she sprang into the kitchen,
and caught up her mischievous pet, crying,--
"Thank Heaven, my darling is safe! What _was_ Poky thinking of, to
leave you alone!"
"Poky out doors! Weezy shut Poky out!" said the little rogue demurely.
"_You_ shut Poky out!" exclaimed astonished aunt Clara, kissing the wee
meddling hands, still black from the poker. "Well, well, who ever heard
the like?"
And it was Mrs. Wyman who let poor Poky in, as Weezy could not turn
back the key.
CHAPTER II.
GOING TO CHURCH.
Weezy was fast learning to talk, and her brother and sister delighted
in teaching her long and difficult words, such as "Mexico" and
"Constantinople."
Molly was a motherly little girl, always worrying over the shortcomings
of Weezy and her young brother. It is true that Kirke was often led
astray by a rough little playmate, Jimmy Maguire; and Weezy was perhaps
instructed in mischief by a three-years-old neighbor, Kisty Nye: still,
it might have been as well if Molly had found less fault with the
little ones, and thought more of correcting her own sad failing,--a
quick and troublesome temper.
One evening the three children were swinging together in the hammock in
their front yard, watching for grandpa Rowe.
"Now sing 'Little Sally Walker,' darling, please do," said Molly,
playing with her little sister's flaxen curls.
Weezy had already hummed "Bring back my Bonnie to me," and various
other tunes, and was tired.
"Tan't sing; sing's all gone! Loot!" said she, opening her mouth very
wide, to show how empty it was of music.
"Grandpa's most here!" shouted Kirke, leaping from the hammock and
running to meet an old gentleman walking up the street. Yes, it was
grandpa Rowe, a dear white-haired minister, with kind blue eyes, and a
face as smooth and pink as a baby's. And the satchel he carried held a
written sermon; for he was going to stay over Sunday and preach for the
village pastor, Mr. Cutler.
"It isn't every little girl that has such a good grandpa, Weezy, I can
tell you," said Molly wisely, as they hastened after Kirke. "Why, if
you should be naughty, it would make him want to cry."
The remark seemed to amuse Weezy very much; and when the "good" man
took her in his arms to kiss her, she shouted gleefully,--
"Gampa goin' to _ky_! What a keer old gampa!"
Molly was so mortified that she ran into the house, and kept out of the
way till tea-time.
Grandpa's visits were always a delight, and it was considered a great
treat to hear him preach. The next morning Mr. and Mrs. Rowe both
wanted to go to church; but with Lovisa Bran, the housemaid, away, what
could be done with Weezy?
"Can't Molly stay with her?" suggested Mr. Rowe, closing the
dining-room door for fear of being overheard.
"Of course she might do it, with neighbors so near; but she has been
depending upon going to church with her grandfather."
"Yes, I know. She thinks it a high honor to have a minister in the
family. I overheard her boasting last night that she was the only girl
in her class who had a grandfather that could preach!"
"I would stay at home myself if it was respectful to father," said Mrs.
Rowe thoughtfully.
When she went up-stairs by and by, she found Molly trying on the pretty
fall hat that she had not yet worn. It was a white felt, trimmed with
blue velvet and blue and white ostrich plumes, and suited well her fair
complexion and rich auburn hair.
"It is lovely, dear, and I know it will be a sad disappointment to you
if you can't wear it to-day," said Mrs. Rowe, coming up behind her
daughter at the glass.
"Not wear it? It doesn't rain. Why can't I wear it?" cried Molly in
great excitement.
Mrs. Rowe hesitated. It was certainly her own place rather than Molly's
to attend church to-day; but she found it hard to crush her little
daughter's pleasant anticipations.
"You forget, Molly, that Lovisa is away, and somebody must look out for
little sister," said she gently. "Aren't you willing to be the one?"
"No, I'm not, mamma, I'm not willing. I think it's too horrid, hateful
mean! I never can go anywhere or do any thing I want to, just because
of that little tagging fuss-budget," cried Molly, tearing off the
cherished hat and flinging it on the bed in a towering passion.
"That will do," sighed mamma, walking away. "And you need not stay at
home, Molly. I should be sorry to trust our little Weezy to the care of
a girl who does not control herself."
"Any thing wrong, Mary?" asked Mr. Rowe, meeting his wife in the hall.
"Only Molly's temper again," said she wearily. "She feels so abused at
being asked to stay at home with Weezy that I think it wisest not to
urge the point, but to leave her to herself, and let her find out how
naughty she is."
"Poor Molly, that quick temper of hers is always getting her into
trouble; but she is sure to repent bitterly," said Mr. Rowe, as he
followed his wife down-stairs.
"Do you know what's in my mind?" said Mrs. Rowe, pausing on the
landing, with an air of being about to say something startling. "I'm
half inclined to take Weezy to church."
Mr. Rowe whistled.
"There must be a first time," went on Mrs. Rowe; "and she might behave
very well."
"I'm willing to risk her if you are," said Mr. Rowe, on reflection;
"and I know it would gratify father to see the whole family in the
pew."
"Weezy's going to church; oh, goody!" cried Kirke, clapping his hands
at the news; whereupon Weezy clapped hers also, though she had no more
idea what "going to church" meant than a baby heathen. She was highly
pleased to be going anywhere in her cardinal velvet bonnet and cloak,
and ready to make any number of promises to be good.
When, at the ringing of the church-bell, Molly stole down-stairs with
red eyes and downcast lids, Weezy ran to take her hand; and the three
children walked together up the street, the little sister hopping along
in the middle, as radiant as a young flamingo. Mr. and Mrs. Rowe in
front of them, with grandpa, turned every now and then to smile upon
the happy baby.
"I hope she won't disgrace us to-day," remarked papa; "but I must
confess I feel somewhat as though we were taking a menagerie to
church."
"A menagerie that has good intentions; yes, so do I," laughed mamma
nervously, pausing to help Weezy up the steps.
The child's ruff was askew; and while it was being straightened, and
secured with a pin, grandpa went on up the broad aisle, and mounted the
stairs to the pulpit.
Weezy did not see him go; but, the moment she was seated in the pew
with the rest of the family, she missed him, and began to stare about
her in every direction. Unfortunately, she was so short, and the
pulpit was so tall, that she could not get so much as a glimpse of her
grandpa's head behind it.
"Poor gampa's lost hisse'f," thought she, distressed for a moment; but
she could not grieve long, where every thing around her was so grand
and so strange. It was early yet, and she amused herself for some time
in watching the colored light that streamed in through the stained
east window. One red ray adorned the crown of Miss Blount's bonnet in
the seat in front; another ray of green rested, like a plaster, on
Deacon's Crosby's nose. Weezy wanted to laugh; but she didn't laugh,
for she meant to be "mamma's goody girl."
All this time people were moving along the aisles and galleries to
their pews. Weezy thought these galleries very queer.
"What for do they have such high up _pee-zaz-zas_, mamma?" whispered
she.
"Hush, dear," said mamma anxiously; "folks mustn't talk in church."
Weezy puckered up her lips like the rim of a wilted morning-glory, and
sat as prim as a little nun till the organ sounded the first notes of
the voluntary.
"_Wind blows_," whispered she; then, as the grand music pealed forth,
she fairly quivered with delight, and sprang up to lean over the back
of the pew, her brown eyes sparkling and her cheeks aglow.
Mr. Rowe looked at her proudly, wondering if there was ever a more
bewitching child.
Dear papa! his look of pride soon changed to one of dismay; for as the
music ceased and Weezy turned, she saw her grandfather rising in the
pulpit, and gave a little squeal of joy.
"I see gampa," cried she, in her ringing, childish voice. "Look, papa;
_there's_ gampa, on the manty-piece."
It was rather droll to think of a grown-up minister tucked away on a
mantle-piece, and several people smiled; but grandpa Rowe read the hymn
as solemnly as though he had not heard a word.
Papa shook his head at Weezy, mamma put her finger on the child's lip,
and Molly looked ready to cry; but merry little Kirke could not keep
from laughing. He laughed till he had to stuff his handkerchief into
his mouth; and of course the more he laughed, the harder it was to
control Weezy.
The congregation now arose for the opening hymn; and the moment Weezy
heard her papa's voice, she thought she ought surely to sing too. So
with the best will in the world she struck up "Little Sally Walker,"
clear and high.
Dear, well-meaning baby! she had always before been called a goody girl
for singing, and why didn't mamma like it _now_? What _made_ mamma drag
her out of church in such a hurry? It was so queer!
[Illustration: "WHAT MADE MAMMA DRAG HER OUT OF CHURCH IN SUCH A
HURRY?"]
Wretched Molly, left alone at the head of the pew, cowered over her
hymn-book, shrinking from the eyes of the congregation.
"O mamma, mamma! don't you see how I felt?" sobbed she, an hour later,
in her mother's room, whither she had rushed from church to beg pardon
for her angry words in the morning. "I know everybody was thinking,
'There sits that selfish, selfish Molly Rowe. Why didn't she stay at
home with her little sister, instead of letting her come to disturb the
meeting?'"
"Hush, dear: I don't imagine they thought any such thing," said her
mother soothingly. "You were not to blame for Weezy's actions."
"But, oh, mamma, you know you wouldn't have taken her to church if I
hadn't been such a naughty, horrid girl. Sometimes, mamma, I can't help
being mad to think I'm so wicked."
CHAPTER III.
THE PUMPKIN HOOD.
There was a great bustle next morning at the Queen Anne cottage. Right
after breakfast grandpa Rowe went away on the train; next Lovisa
appeared in the Braxton stage; and, lastly, the older children had to
be helped off to school, for the fall term began that day.
"I tell you, Mrs. Rowe, it does seem good to see live children again,"
said Lovisa, standing in the doorway, with Weezy clinging to her gown.
Kirke was frisking down the path on his toes: but stout little Molly
walked with great dignity, in order not to spill the small phial of
soap-suds strapped between her books.
It was the fashion among the girls to carry soap-suds to school for
washing their slates, and Molly had stained hers a lovely scarlet by
soaking in it a scrap of red flannel.
"Turk go to _'c'ool_, Molly go to _'c'ool_, Weezy must go to _'c'ool_,"
wailed the little sister, in a spasm of lonesomeness.
"Tut, tut! Weezy wants to see what I have brought her in my bag, that's
what Weezy wants," said Lovisa, taking the child up-stairs to give her
a great scalloped seed-cake.
"Funny old cooky, all _wiggly_," cried Weezy, sitting down upon the
broad window-seat to eat it.
Pretty soon she spied a big pumpkin hood bobbing along under the
window. A hood could not travel about of itself; she knew that, and she
pattered down to see what was beneath it.
"Her's _keer_ old girl, mamma: got _pincoossun_ on," cried she,
capering into the sitting-room.
"Ask Lovisa to give her something to eat," said mamma, who had seen the
beggar-maid pass.
Weezy went skipping back. A few minutes later Mrs. Rowe found her
perched on the kitchen-table, looking on with great round eyes while
the young stranger munched a slice of bread and butter. In all her
little life Weezy had never before seen so droll a figure. No wonder
she called the child's head-covering a "pincushion." It certainly did
not look like a hood. It was made of rusty black cloth, and stuffed
with cotton, which was bursting through in twenty places.
"'Ittle dirl's dess all _waggetty_," chirped Weezy, pointing to the
rents in the child's gown.
"What is your name, my child?" asked Mrs. Rowe kindly.
"Ellen Nolan," answered the little vagrant; and she went on to say that
her father was dead, and her mother had "taken the sickness."
"Where do you live?" continued Mrs. Rowe.
"Big tenement t'other end of Spruce Street," said Ellen, with her mouth
full.
"_Sp'uce Stweet._ Funny to say _Sp'uce Stweet_," put in Weezy,
listening with great interest.
"I'll find something for your mother," said Mrs. Rowe, taking the
child's basket into the pantry. Next moment Weezy frisked after her.
"Her hasn't _no playsings_, mamma. Can't her have Weezy's wabbit?"
"If my little daughter gives away her rabbit, I'm afraid she will cry
for it by and by," said Mrs. Rowe, opening the cake-chest.
"No, no. Weezy won't _ky_."
"Well, well; run and get the rabbit, dear," said her mamma; and Weezy
brought the neglected animal, that had been lying under the piano on
its cotton-flannel back.
"Now _you's_ got a _playsing_," said she benevolently, crowding it into
Ellen Nolan's basket, between a biscuit and a doughnut.
Then, attracted by some musicians in the street, she scampered back to
the sitting-room to join in the tunes.
"O mamma!" cried she, hopping up and down in ecstasy, "hear the banders
blowin' moosic, and Weezy singin' what they blows."
Having watched the players out of sight, she ran into the kitchen
to entertain her guest; but the funny little beggar-maid had
disappeared,--basket, "playsing," and all.
"Her's tooken away Weezy's _wabbit_," sobbed the resentful baby,
slipping through the door left ajar by Ellen. "Her's a _nugly_, naughty
_sing_."
In three seconds more she was out of the yard.
"Him was Weezy's wabbit. 'Ittle dirl mustn't keep Weezy's wabbit
_allus_," grumbled she, stubbing her indignant toes over the pavement.
Meanwhile Mrs. Rowe had been hastening to wind the spools in her
work-basket before her little daughter should return to tangle the
threads. Presently she was struck by the unusual stillness of the
house, and went to see what the child was doing.
"I took it for granted she was with you," said Lovisa, appearing from
the basement, where she had been at work ever since Ellen Nolan left.
"Isn't she up-stairs?"
"No: I've looked everywhere; and the porch-door is open. I'm afraid she
has run away."
"I'll cut across to Cedar Street," said Lovisa, running out bareheaded.
Seizing her bonnet, Mrs. Rowe hurried over to Mrs. Nye's, in the hope
that Weezy might be with Kisty; but none of the family had seen her
that day. More and more alarmed, Mrs. Rowe hastened on down the street.
Passing a group of laborers digging by the roadside, she remembered
with a shudder that new water-pipes were being laid throughout the
city. What if her baby had fallen into one of the deep trenches opened
for these? Entering the nearest drug-store, she telephoned to her
husband that Weezy was missing; and then, at a loss what further to do,
ran home again to learn the result of Lovisa's search.
All this time Weezy was enjoying the world. April child that she was,
she soon forgot her tears; and catching sight of a small white dog,
with long silky hair hanging over its eyes, she trudged along behind
him, talking to herself.
"You's a keer doggy: ought to be _'shame_," said she. "Hair all snarled
up!"
Following the dog into Main Street, she stared with happy wonder at
the gay shops on either side. A gaudy barber's pole especially pleased
her.
"You's got pitty scarf," said she, hugging it, and trying to pick off
the painted stripes.
"My stars alive, what little creetur is this!" exclaimed a policeman,
spying her.
"I's papa's 'ittle Fidget," said she promptly, pleased with his uniform.
"And where does your father live?"
"Way, way off."
"Yes, yes; but what street does he live on, little girl?"
"_Sp'uce Stweet_," answered Weezy, suddenly remembering the funny name
Ellen Nolan had spoken.
"Spruce Street? You don't mean to say you've walked bareheaded all the
way from Spruce Street?" asked the puzzled policeman. "Why, it's more'n
a mile!"
"Weezy don't want to be talkin', talkin' all a time!" cried she
pettishly; "'tisn't _plite_. That's what my mamma says!"
"Think a minute, little miss. Don't you live on Pine Street?"
"Weezy _says_ her lives on Sp'uce Stweet," cried the little witch
impatiently.
"Oh, so your name's Weezy! What's the rest of it?"
"I's Weezy Wozy," said she, playing with a nutshell in the gutter.
"_Woolsey_, she means, I guess," mused the man. "I'll take her to Mr.
Woolsey's on Spruce Street. He has children."
Stepping upon a horse-car that moment passing, he soon reached the
house, with Weezy in his arms.
"Here's where your father lives," said he, ringing the bell.
"No, _him don't_," cried Weezy, nibbling a peppermint-drop given her by
the policeman.
That instant she caught a glimpse of Ellen Nolan plodding homeward
with her heavy basket.
"Her's got Weezy's _wabbit_," cried she, springing down and running
toward her, while the policeman followed with long strides.
"Do you know where this child lives, my girl?" asked he, laying his
hand on Ellen's shoulder. "If you'll show me the way to her house, I'll
give you a dime."
"Yes, I'll show you soon's I've left my basket," said she, rushing in
at a neighboring door, and coming out empty-handed.
"You's got a _playsing_, hasn't you?" prattled Weezy, as she walked
along with the policeman and Ellen. "Weezy don't want _wabbit_ now.
Weezy's got _pepnits_."
And when, a few moments later, her mother clasped her to her heart
with tears of joy, Weezy said, "Poor mamma! pepnits make mamma feel
_besser_." And that was all the little gypsy realized about the
anxiety she had caused.
Then papa and Lovisa hurried in, followed by Kirke and Molly fresh from
school; and Ellen Nolan afterwards told her mother that she never saw
the like of the fuss made over that baby.
As to Ellen herself, she went home the proudest girl on Spruce Street;
for Mrs. Rowe had given her a neat gingham dress of Molly's, and a
brown straw hat with "a stick-up feather, _fire red_."
CHAPTER IV.
WEEZY'S PICKLE.
"If Weezy is going to be in the habit of running away, I think we'd
better let people know where she belongs," said Mr. Rowe one morning,
after the child had been brought back by the policeman.
Accordingly he went to his writing-desk, and printed on a
correspondence-card, in big, black letters:--
MR. EDWIN H. ROWE,
No. 6 Oak Street.
He pinned the card to the back of Weezy's dress, right between the
shoulders; and after that, as long as the warm weather lasted, it was
pinned there every day. Weezy was rather proud of the badge. Kirke
called it "Weezy's guideboard."
She did not run away again that fall; for no better reason, it is to be
feared, than that she could not turn the new button that her papa had
put on the gate. When it grew too cold to play in the yard, she became
so restless and mischievous that even Lovisa lost patience.
"I've always said I liked _live_ children, Mrs. Rowe," cried she,
bursting into the sitting-room one day, half-scolding, half-laughing;
"but when it comes to their crawling into my flour-barrel, they're too
lively for me."
"I isn't _lively_ little dirl, mamma: I wanted to be _white_ little
dirl, just like _Coopid_," sneezed Weezy, capering behind Lovisa,
powdered with flour to her waist.
"O Weezy, Weezy!" cried mamma, trying not to smile at the white little
image, which certainly did resemble the marble Cupid in the library.
She did not feel in the least like smiling when it came to brushing the
flour from the child's hair; neither did Weezy, for the process was
long and tedious, hardly finished by dinner-time.
"The little rogue will wear you all out, Mary," said Mr. Rowe, after
laughing heartily over Weezy's prank. "You really need a nurse-girl."
"If we could find some child to amuse Weezy while Molly and Kirke are
at school, it would be a great relief," said Mrs. Rowe. "I have been
wondering whether it would do to trust Ellen Nolan."
"Ah, I understand," returned Mr. Rowe playfully: "you want to help
yourself a little by helping Ellen a great deal! That is just your way.
Well, why not take Ellen a week on trial?"
"Would you?" asked Mrs. Rowe. "Perhaps I'd better."
Ellen came the very next Monday, and proved so useful about amusing
Weezy that Mrs. Rowe was glad to have her come every day during the
winter, to remain from eight o'clock until four.
She was still with the Rowes, when the first of March arrived, bringing
the Rev. Mr. Cutler's birthday.
"We have invited Mr. Cutler to dine with us to-day, Ellen," Mrs. Rowe
said to her that morning, "and I want the dining-room kept tidy. You
and Weezy can play in the sitting-room; but remember, you must not go
into the dining-room."
"No'm," replied Ellen rather crossly. "If the minister is coming,
they'll have out the new pink china dishes, and them pretty silver
spoons with gold inside of 'em," she was thinking to herself. "And I
say it's real mean of Mrs. Rowe not to let me go in and see the table
_sut_."
Of course, this was wrong, besides being silly; but Ellen dearly loved
fine things, and she had handled so very, very few of them!
As she built block houses for Weezy, it drove her nearly wild to hear
the rattling of the dinner-service; and by and by, when she knew Lovisa
had gone into the kitchen to see about the pudding, she opened the
dining-room door,--"the least crack," you know,--and peeped in.
Weezy always did what Ellen did: so she peeped too.
"Weezy mustn't go in," said Ellen, with a longing look at the silver
fruit-stand on the sideboard.
"Yes, yes; her _must_," cried little Weezy, who had not thought of
going in till Ellen spoke, as the crafty nurse-girl very well knew.
"Her _must_ go," repeated Weezy, stamping her foot.
"Well, then, hush. Don't make a teenty-tonty speck of noise," whispered
Ellen, throwing the door wide open.
"Her mother doesn't want her to cry, and get her eyes and nose all red
when there's company coming, now, does she?" reasoned Ellen. "If Mrs.
Rowe should happen to catch us in here, I could say I couldn't make
Miss Weezy stay in the sitting-room best I could do."
But, dear me! Ellen didn't have a bit of a good time after she crossed
that forbidden threshold. While she stopped to examine the little
silver owl that was really a pepper-box, Weezy tipped over the silver
cat that sprinkled salt through its head. And she had hardly brushed
the tablecloth clean before Weezy was in the closet, dipping her
fingers into the pickle-jar. Worse than that, in the second of time
it took to replace the cover of the jar, Weezy seized the best silver
teapot, and ran away with it.
"Oh, give it back to me, Weezy; do give it back to me!" begged Ellen,
following in great distress. She dared not snatch the teapot, lest it
might be injured; besides, Weezy would scream, and that would bring her
mamma, who was up in her room dressing for dinner.
Weezy turned her back upon Ellen, and played with the nose of the
teapot. "I's making tea," said she roguishly, "nice tea for papa."
[Illustration: "WEEZY TURNED HER BACK UPON ELLEN, AND PLAYED WITH THE
NOSE OF THE TEAPOT.]
"Weezy Rowe, you horrid, provoking little wretch!" muttered Ellen, at
her wits' end.
Hark! Mrs. Rowe was leaving her chamber. She would come right down and
find them in the dining-room, and she would know Weezy couldn't have
turned the door-knob herself. Oh! oh!
Such a state of mind as Ellen was in at that moment! It is impossible
to say what she would have done if Mr. Cutler had not just then walked
up the path, and attracted Weezy's attention.
The little rogue dropped the teapot in a hurry, and darted to the long
window that opened on the front piazza, exclaiming,--
"The _goody_ man has come. I must go see the goody man."
Ellen whisked the teapot into the closet, and Weezy out of the window,
before Mr. Cutler had mounted the steps; and she had closed the window
and opened the front-door in the time that he was saying,--
"Well, and how does little Miss Weezy do?"
And she was demurely taking the minister's hat when Mrs. Rowe descended
the stairs.
"There, didn't I get out of that fix well?" mused Ellen, hurrying Weezy
back to her blocks. "Nobody in the house will know that I didn't mind
Mrs. Rowe."
Sly, foolish Ellen! Before dinner was over everybody in the house, from
grave Mr. Cutler to frolicsome little Kirke, knew all about it. It was
the teapot that told.
The pudding had been served, and Mrs. Rowe had asked Mr. Cutler whether
he preferred tea or coffee.
"I'll take a cup of tea, if you please," he replied; and then he went
on talking to Molly about her school.
Mrs. Rowe tipped the teapot, but no tea came out of the spout.
"What can this mean?" thought she. "There certainly must be tea enough,
or the teapot would not be so heavy."
She kept tipping it more and more. Suddenly a dark object flew out,
followed by a deluge of tea. The object was about as large as Kirke's
little finger. It flew right into the minister's plate, and there it
lay,--a wee cucumber pickle.
Mrs. Rowe was too mortified to speak; but Weezy clapped her hands,
crying,--
"See Weezy's stopper. _Weezy_ put it in, all nice."
"I suppose the funny stopper must be a present to me," laughed the
minister; while shamefaced little Ellen brought him a clean plate, and
Lovisa took away the soiled tray-cloth.
"The teapot was in order at breakfast-time, and how Weezy has found
a chance to meddle with it is a mystery," said Mrs. Rowe, trying to
laugh. "She couldn't have done it since Ellen came at nine o'clock, for
I charged Ellen not to let her go into the dining-room."
Mr. Cutler did not say a word. He purposely fixed his eyes on Lovisa,
just then bringing in fresh tea in an earthen teapot. But Ellen knew
that he knew of her disobedience, and she was so ashamed that she began
to cry; and after that everybody understood the story of the teapot.
CHAPTER V.
DICKERY, DICKERY, DOCK.
A few days after the dinner-party Ellen Nolan went home, ill with the
mumps. This left Weezy without a playmate, and with so much spare
time on her hands that she immediately began to turn her attention to
housework.
It was all very well so long as she contented herself with rolling out
cookies on her little cake-board, and cutting them with a thimble; but,
when she aspired to be chief cook, it was hard for herself and hard for
Lovisa.
"First she salts the hot apple-sauce, and next she burns her fingers
stirring the salt in," cried Lovisa one morning, carrying her,
wailing, into the sitting-room. "She's a dreadful capable child."
"Yes, Lovisa, I agree with you. She's capable of most any thing," said
Mr. Rowe gayly, as he tossed Weezy up to the ceiling.
His little daughter's exploits usually amused him, and he wondered that
they should annoy Mrs. Rowe and Lovisa; but that noon, on coming home
and finding that Weezy had learned how to unlock his writing-desk, he
was not at all amused.
"This'll never do, Mary," said he to his wife. "I can't have her
meddling with my papers. She'll be damaging them."
"What! can Weezy open the desk?" said Mrs. Rowe, who had been busy
up-stairs. "We must teach her not to touch it."
"It will be a difficult lesson for her," said Mr. Rowe, locking the
desk. "I believe it will be easier, as well as safer, to put the key
where she can't get it."
"If such a place is to be found," said Mrs. Rowe, smiling.
"I flatter myself that such a place _is_ to be found; and, moreover,
I flatter myself that I have found it," said Mr. Rowe, smiling too,
as he hung the key above the tall clock beside the desk. "There, the
little squirrel won't reach that nail this year, or next," added he
triumphantly; and he followed his wife to the dining-room, where the
three children were waiting for their dinner.
Molly was in high spirits. Mr. Nye had brought her home from school
in his new dog-cart, and he had promised some day to take his little
daughter Kisty and Weezy and herself to drive in the park. Could they
go? Oh, did her mother think they could?
Then Kirke had his story to tell about Miss Bailey, his favorite
teacher, who that morning had been summoned to the bedside of her sick
mother; and about Miss Cumstan, the new substitute, that couldn't keep
order. During a recitation Jimmy Maguire had crawled half way down the
aisle to say that Ben Cugley would sell his toy printing-press for
three dollars. Might Kirke buy it? Oh, did his father think he might?
The lively chat continued through the meal, and nothing more was said
or thought about the key to the writing-desk. After dinner Mr. Rowe
went to his office, and Molly and Kirke hurried to school, leaving
Weezy in the sitting-room tending Sambo. Mrs. Rowe had gone up-stairs
to finish mending a curtain, when Weezy frisked into the dining-room,
clutching Sambo by the button of his cap.
"See poor 'ittle Sambo, 'Visa," cried she, in a tone of the deepest
sympathy. "Sambo's got 'e mumps, _dust_ like Ellen."
"Dear, dear! if the little fellow has got the mumps, he must stay where
it's warm," cried Lovisa, hastening to clear away the table. "Take him
back to the fire this minute, and here's a lump of sugar for him."
"The sugar will keep Weezy out of mischief long enough for me to wash
the silver," mused she, bringing a bowl of hot water.
"Dess Weezy'll wock Sambo. Dess him feel besser," prattled Weezy,
running off to her little rocking-chair in one corner of the
sitting-room.
As she swayed to and fro with the ailing doll in her arms, she all at
once spied the key over the clock. It looked very odd there, very much
out of place.
"Oh, my 'tars!" cried she, greatly astonished. "What for's papa's
key flied up so high, you b'lieve? Oh, hum! wiss I's a big, bouncin'
_nangel_, so I'd go up and get it."
She looked at Sambo in her lap. Surely _he_ was not an angel, but why
couldn't he knock down the key as well as anybody? Dancing across the
floor, she tossed him as high as she could. That was as high as the
writing-desk, and he fell upon the top of it, flat upon his flat nose.
"Oh, hum!" muttered Weezy, climbing into a chair, "'spect I's got to go
_myse'f_."
"Lie 'till, Sambo; I's a-_tomin'_," she cried, scrambling from the
chair to the broad ledge of the desk. She stood upon the ledge a
moment, resting her chin upon the shelf where Sambo lay. "Dess I tan
det it. Weezy isn't 'ittle _'fraid dirl_," said she cheerily, preparing
to mount.
Clinging to the rail of the desk, she climbed up beside the doll, and,
springing to her feet, reached for the key. She could just touch it
with the tips of her fingers.
"Oh, _dee, dee_! wiss Weezy's arm was growed bigger," fretted she,
scowling down upon Sambo, still flat upon his nose.
Ah, ha! There was another way to make him of service. She could use him
for a cricket.
How her mamma would have shuddered if she had seen her little girl at
that moment, poised on tiptoe upon Sambo's back! But Weezy was agile as
a kitten. She did not fall, though she presently made the key fall with
a clatter.
A few minutes later Lovisa peeped in at the door, and discovered the
writing-desk open, and Weezy busily cutting paper dolls out of one of
her father's deeds.
When Mrs. Rowe showed them to him at tea-time, Mr. Rowe was a good deal
vexed.
"That was an important deed, Mary, and the loss of it will cause me
much trouble," said he. "How _did_ Weezy get hold of the key of the
desk?"
"Dickery, dickery, dock,
The mouse ran up the clock,"
answered Mrs. Rowe with a grave smile.
"Do you mean to say that baby helped herself to the key?" cried Mr.
Rowe, actually turning pale. "It's a mercy that she didn't break her
neck."
"Poh! I don't think that was much of a climb," said Kirke. "Weezy's
twice as spry as Molly."
"She's rather too spry, and altogether too daring, like a certain small
boy that I know," said Mr. Rowe.
"You were right, Mary; we must teach Weezy not to meddle with things,
for it is plain that we can't put things beyond her reach."
CHAPTER VI.
UNKER DOCKER'S BEARD.
Weezy's Sambo had hardly rallied from the mumps when she herself was
attacked by the same disease. One afternoon her face and throat began
to swell, and by the next morning she looked like a fat young Eskimo.
"Oh, ho! What a cheeky little girl! I never saw a little girl so
cheeky," cried Kirke, laughing merrily, at his first glimpse of her,
bolstered up in her mother's bed.
"I isn't _sheeky_ 'ittle girl. Make him 'top, mamma," moaned wretched
little Weezy, beginning to cry.
"Now, mamma, I didn't mean to tease her. I didn't, _honest_," exclaimed
Kirke, balancing himself across the foot-board. "She cries as easy as
a wink."
"Oh, she does, does she?" said Dr. Wyman, bustling in. "Well, my young
man, we must forgive her. Mumps seldom make people jolly."
"O unker Docker, I don't want any more mumps," wailed Weezy, reaching
out both hands.
One held the comb with which she had been arranging Viola Maud's blonde
wig. Viola Maud was the lovely great wax doll that Mrs. Rowe called
"her own," and _lent_ to Weezy only when the little girl was ill or
unhappy.
"Of course you don't want any more mumps, dearie, and so you're going
to stay in mamma's room, and keep quiet," said her uncle cheerfully,
sitting down beside the bed.
"But the mumps is _here_, unker Docker. They's got _in_," replied
Weezy, in a discouraged tone.
"Is that so?" asked Dr. Wyman, pretending to be very serious. "Then,
I tell you what we'll do to get 'em out. We'll take some castor-oil.
Mumps don't like castor-oil."
"Don't they?" said Weezy, deeply interested.
"I was afraid she would object to taking medicine, and I am agreeably
disappointed," thought the doctor, sending Kirke at once for a
teaspoon, and a little milk in an egg-glass.
But when Dr. Wyman had poured some oil into the milk, and brought it to
Weezy, it became evident that there had been a misunderstanding.
"No, no. _Unker Docker_ take slippy oil _hisse'f_. _Unker Docker_ make
naughty mumps go 'way. _Weezy_ don't want slippy oil," cried she,
putting her hands over her mouth.
Plainly she reasoned that, provided the medicine was swallowed, it did
not matter who swallowed it; and if unker Docker had not meant to do
his part in driving out the mumps, why had he said, "_We'll_ take some
castor-oil"?
Dr. Wyman disliked to scold a little girl who looked so feverish and
heavy-eyed, and he began to talk to Weezy in a coaxing manner.
"Come, darling," said he, "if you'll take this like a good little lady,
the minute you are well, I'll give you a nice long ride."
Weezy shook her head, being sufficiently shrewd to know that she could
have the drive without the medicine.
"Well, if you'll take it, I'll tell you a story."
"A great long 'tory," said Weezy, pricking up her ears; "a 'tory long
as this house?"
"Not quite as long as this house, perhaps," returned Dr. Wyman, "but as
long as,--as a hen-house, we'll say. It's a story about a chicken."
"About a truly chicken--a egg-chicken?"
"Yes, about a truly egg-chicken. Now, open your mouth."
"And may I comb _yous_ whixers all the time what you's telling?"
persisted Weezy, pausing with the cup at her lips.
"Yes, yes," said her uncle with a wry face; for his whiskers were
nearly as long as Weezy's arm, and he always winced when she dragged
the comb through them.
Without another word, Weezy shut her eyes, and emptied the glass. After
Kirke had carried the teaspoon and glass down-stairs, and gone off to
school, Dr. Wyman began his story:--
"Chicken Little came to town very unexpectedly."--
"Did he _wide_?" interrupted his listener, flourishing her brush.
"Yes. He rode all wrapped up in an egg-shell blanket. If you don't
believe it, you can ask my aunt Lovejoy, when she comes this summer.
She lives in Indianapolis; and the first call Chicken Little made in
the city, he made at her house."
"_Who_ did he call?" asked Weezy, beginning to braid her uncle's beard
into little tails.
"Whom did he call? Oh, he called aunt Lovejoy!" replied Dr. Wyman,
laughing to himself. "You see, this was how it happened. It was a hot
morning, and aunt Lovejoy was in the kitchen, stirring up a pudding for
dinner, when Tilly--Tilly was her German girl--came home from market
with a basket of eggs. Tilly set the basket on the table, and went
round to the corner-grocery for something,--a yeast-cake, I think it
likely: they eat bread at aunt Lovejoy's."
"_Course!_" put in Weezy, with disdain.
"Yes, sometimes it's _coarse_, and then again sometimes it is
fine," continued her teasing uncle. "Well, all this while, you must
understand, aunt Lovejoy was going on, stirring her pudding; and, as
she stirred, she kept hearing a little sharp, clicking noise. At first,
she supposed it was made by her spoon hitting the bowl; but, when she
stopped stirring, she heard the noise just the same, and it seemed to
come from the market-basket on the table. Aunt Lovejoy said to herself,
that there must be a dreadful ringing in her ears; and I've no doubt
she blamed her doctor for having given her so much quinine. But before
she finished stoning her raisins, the sound had grown so loud, that
she ran to the basket. As she raised the cover, something said to her,
'Peep, peep!'"
"I know, unker Docker, I know!" shouted Weezy, forgetting her sore
throat. "Chicken 'Ittle was in the _baxet_."
"What a bright girl! How could you guess!" said her uncle. "Yes; you
are right. There sat Chicken Little in an egg-shell, sticking his
yellow head out just far enough to play 'peek-a-boo' with aunt Lovejoy."
"Had he got his eyes open?" asked Weezy anxiously, thinking of her
blind kitten.
"Got his eyes open! I should say he had,--and his mouth too!" answered
Dr. Wyman, cringing at an unexpected snarl in his beard. "Don't you
believe the little fellow was glad to find somebody to speak to, that
was alive? Those eggs must have been poor company for a wide-awake
chicken."
"How did he get out?" asked Weezy, bringing her uncle back to the main
point.
"After a while, he _broke_ out. He pecked and pecked with his bill,
till he had made a hole in the egg-shell, big enough to squeeze
through; and then he marched forth, stretching his wings, first one,
and then the other, to show aunt Lovejoy how yellow and downy they
were. He was pretty hungry by this time: so aunt Lovejoy mixed some
corn-meal and water in a cup, and"--
Here the door flew open, and Kirke dashed in, crying,--
"Come, quick, uncle Doctor! Oh, please come quick as ever you can! My
teacher's most killed! Not Miss Cumstan, but _pretty Miss Bailey_!"
"Where have they taken her?" asked Dr. Wyman, with a rueful glance at
his beard, hopelessly tangled into six little tails, which Weezy called
braids.
"Into my class-room. She came back to school only this morning, and a
horse and carriage got frightened and ran into her," sobbed Kirke, half
frantic. "They sent me and another boy to bring you. O uncle, do hurry!"
"I will, I'll go this instant," said he, rising.
He had been hastily attempting to comb out the braids; but he now
threw down the comb in despair, and seized his hat.
"I look like a picture in a comic almanac," thought he, as he pressed
on with the boys; "but that is no reason why I should keep that
suffering girl waiting."
"They say Miss Bailey's broken her bones," Kirke further explained as
they drew near the schoolhouse. "She's fainted all in a heap."
When Dr. Wyman entered the class-room, she had rallied from the
fainting fit, and her arm was paining her severely. She was so weak and
nervous, that at sight of tall, dignified Dr. Wyman, with his beard
plaited like a girl's hair, she began to laugh, though it mortified her
to be so rude.
"I wear my whiskers in this style because my little niece is ill, Miss
Bailey," said the doctor humorously. "Now, if you please, I'll examine
your arm."
It proved to be a small bone that had been fractured, and he was glad
to be able to assure Miss Bailey that in a few weeks she would be as
well as ever. Having properly attended to the arm, and promised to call
the next day, Dr. Wyman went home through a back street, and spent a
whole hour, by the clock, in smoothing out the comical little braids
under his chin.
CHAPTER VII.
WEEZY'S SAMBO.
Mr. Rowe was fond of fun, and he seized the first opportunity to joke
Dr. Wyman on his droll adventure.
"Ah, doctor, I understand you're getting so vain, that, before calling
upon the ladies, you have your beard crimped!" said he, overtaking
him on the street. "I suppose next you'll be having it rolled on
curl-papers."
"I suppose I shall if my fair young barber so wills it," replied Dr.
Wyman sportively. "I only hope she won't prefer to curl it with tongs."
"Very well, if you choose to let Weezy make a guy of you, why you can,"
said Mr. Rowe good-naturedly; "but one thing is certain, I sha'n't let
her make a guy of _me_."
"Don't be too sure of it: she may take you unaware," returned the
doctor with a smile, as Mr. Rowe entered his own door.
Weezy had come down-stairs that morning so nearly well that Viola Maud
had been wrapped in tissue paper and laid away. Weezy did not miss her
much, she had so many dolls of her own. Indeed, she had more than she
could keep properly supplied with features and limbs; for the six had
only four noses among them, and not half enough arms to go round.
"You's cross 'ittle girl, Eva, snarled yous face all up," said Weezy,
climbing to the sitting-room window-sill with her bruised gutta-percha
baby. "Dess all tored, too. Oh, I be 'shame! Now you mus' clean house
for punish you."
She began to rub the doll up and down the glass in a brisk way,
extremely annoying to Kirke, upon the sofa taking his turn with mumps.
"You call that fun, miss, do you?" growled he, from the depths of the
afghan.
"Oh, defful fun; but this is _funner_," cried she with provoking
sweetness, turning Eva upside down to polish the window-pane with her
head.
"Oh, do stop that racket, Weezy! it makes my head ache. Please run out
and see the kitties."
"Oh, ho! I 'most didn't think 'bout the kitties," exclaimed Weezy,
throwing down the doll, and skipping away to the cat's basket in the
back entry.
There were three kittens,--two white, and one gray all except a white
spot at the tip of his tail. The gray was Weezy's favorite. She waked
this from its morning nap, and pulled it out of its warm nest to carry
it to Kirke.
"Loot! he's the _tip-tail_ kitty! He makes up faces; he can't help
_hisse'f_," said she charitably.
"Help himself! I should like to _see_ the poor little fellow help
himself, when you pick him up by the neck that way," cried Kirke
scornfully, raising himself on his elbow.
"Kitty's _mamma_ picks kitty up that way wiv her mouf: I _sawed_ her,"
retorted Weezy triumphantly.
Dropping her little mewing burden upon the lounge beside her brother,
she suddenly discovered that the kitty's eyelids had parted far enough
to disclose a glimmer of blue.
"Oh, loot, loot!" shouted she, hopping up and down in transport.
"Kitty's eyes is _unshuttin'_! Kitty's eyes is unshuttin'!"
"Is that a fact, little girl? Why, why, you don't say so!" cried her
father, who had that moment parted from Dr. Wyman at the gate.
"They _is_, papa, they truly _is_," cried Weezy, trying to blow open
kitty's three-cornered eyelids as she had seen Molly blow open the
petals of a rose-bud.
"Stop, stop, little daughter," called Mr. Rowe, laughing. "Her eyes are
not like blue gentians; you can't pry into them without hurting kitty.
I'd give her back to her mother, and run and find Sambo."
Sambo was Weezy's pet doll, made of worsted yarn,--pink face, blue
jacket, yellow trousers, and all. It injured other members of her
family to be dipped into the bath-tub, or dumped into the coal-hod;
but Sambo could bear rough treatment, he was so strong and well-knit.
Oh, he was a doll to be depended on! And from the crown of his red cap
to the soles of his green shoes, Weezy loved every inch of him. Yet on
occasion she could discipline him strictly; and when after a long hunt
she found him under the hall mat, she shook him till one of his bead
eyes fell off.
"What for, Sambo, you _yun_ away and hide?" scolded she. "I shall be
'bliged to tie Sambo, for 'cause Sambo didn't mind."
But to what should she tie the naughty little wretch?
Frisking about the hall, she spied upon the hat-tree her father's
overcoat. She could just reach the buttons on its back.
"Does you see that button, Sambo?" said she severely. "Well, I's going
to tie you to that button till you's a good boy. I's _sowwy_ to hurt
you, Sambo, but I does it for _yous good_."
As she talked, she was winding the ends of Sambo's scarf around the
button: and she ran in to dinner, leaving the poor doll swinging to and
fro like a queer kind of tassel.
Mr. Rowe chanced to be in haste that noon; and before Weezy had
finished her plate of custard-pudding, he asked to be excused from
the table, and went out into the hall to get ready to go down-town. It
was so dark there that he put on his overcoat without noticing what
was attached to it. Then he caught up his hat and gloves, and stepped
briskly into the street with Sambo bobbing up and down behind him.
The faster Mr. Rowe walked, the higher Sambo jumped and kicked. Oh, it
was very, very funny! Jimmy Maguire laughed so hard at the sight that
he rolled off the doorstep where he had been sitting. A group of boys
on the corner shouted and clapped their hands. Mr. Rowe could not see
any thing to laugh at: he wondered what all the excitement was about.
He might have gone the entire length of Main Street with Sambo's yellow
legs dancing a jig at his back, if he had not at the next crossing come
upon Dr. Wyman, waiting for a street-car.
"Good-afternoon," said the doctor, with a roguish twinkle in his eye.
"I hope you and your friend are enjoying your walk."
"Friend! What friend? I fail to see the joke," returned Mr. Rowe,
wheeling so abruptly that Sambo bounced against him, and struck him
between the shoulders.
"It's a joke that Weezy has had a hand in, I fancy," said Dr. Wyman,
chuckling, as Mr. Rowe gazed savagely about for the person who had hit
him. "Turn your head, my stiff-necked friend; now look down, and try to
see yourself as others see you."
When Mr. Rowe beheld Sambo swaying backward and forward like the
pendulum of a clock, he could not help laughing himself, though his
face grew very red.
"I must say I've cut a pretty figure, and I don't blame the boys for
shouting," said he, groping behind him for the doll. "Do, doctor, tear
the thing off somehow. Quick, for here comes your car, with thirty
pairs of eyes in it."
Dr. Wyman speedily unwound the scarf, and presented Sambo to Mr. Rowe
with a bow, saying jestingly, "Ah, you are the gentleman, I believe,
who an hour ago boasted that Weezy shouldn't make a guy of him!"
Mr. Rowe shrugged his shoulders. "I've half a mind to toss this
ridiculous image into the gutter," said he, as Dr. Wyman swung himself
upon the car. But then he thought of his little daughter; and, instead
of throwing Sambo away, he crammed him, head first, into his pocket.
"I'll take him home to Weezy this time," said he to himself; "but if
she ever hangs him on to my coat-tail again, I'll burn him up, cap and
boots."
CHAPTER VIII.
WEEZY'S FIGS.
"Well, Kirke, my lad, you need not mope indoors any longer," said Dr.
Wyman, calling in at the Rowes the next Monday morning. "I pronounce
you quite well enough to go to school."
"Rather stay at home, a great sight," muttered Kirke, playing with the
"tip-tail kitten."
"Nonsense! Why, I thought you liked to go to school."
"Did like it when Miss Bailey was there; but now they've put that tall,
strapping Miss Cumstan in her place, and"--
"And Miss Cumstan is to blame, I suppose, for being tall and
strapping,--whatever that may be."
"Oh, she's homely, and she's cross; and, besides all that, she's mean!
She bangs the boys against the piano, and gets it out of tune, and
then, sir, she makes 'em pay for tuning it."
"Easy, my boy, easy. Mustn't tell tales," said Dr. Wyman gravely. "I
dare say Miss Cumstan isn't half so black as the scholars have painted
her; but, anyway, she won't be likely to come in your way again very
soon, for Miss Bailey's arm has got well, and she is going back to
school this morning."
"Good, good, good!" cried Kirke, dropping the kitten and skipping out
into the back-yard, where Weezy was, to relieve his feelings by turning
a summersault.
"I don't see how you'll get along without me to amuse you, miss," said
he loftily; "but I'm going to school. Miss Bailey's come back, and I'm
going _a-kiting_."
"_Be still_ stepping on my dollies," said Weezy, not at all impressed
by the news, if indeed she had heard it. She was very, very busy; for
she had a garden to make, and nothing to do it with but an iron spoon
and a tin mustard-box.
"Hoh! call _those_ dollies, do you?" cried Kirke, hopping cautiously
over a row of poppies standing on their heads on the lower step. "_I_
should call 'em posies."
He need not have gone off laughing. The poppies, in their ruffled
scarlet skirts, made very nice dollies for a little girl used to dolls
without arms; and their green-leaf aprons were neat and becoming.
"Jingle, jingle," up the street.
"Spect that's the _beggar-man_," said Weezy, tumbling over her spoon in
her haste to tell Lovisa.
"_Beggar-man's_ coming! _Beggar-man's_ coming!" shouted she, running
into the kitchen, where her mother was helping about the fruit-cake.
"Dear me! if he is a tramp, I don't want him to come into the house,"
exclaimed Mrs. Rowe. "Do take him out something to eat, Lovisa."
Lovisa hurried to the pantry as fast as she could, for a bowl of bread
and milk; then she heard the man coming up the walk, and she ran back
to the kitchen to hand it to him before he should have time to enter.
"Here's something for you," said she, opening the door just far enough
to put the bowl through. "You can sit down outside on the doorstep and
eat it."
Instead of taking the bowl, the man began to laugh; and Lovisa opened
the door wider, and saw he was Mr. Blake, _the baker_.
"Beg your pardon, sir," stammered she, very much confused. "The little
girl said you were a _beggar-man_." And upon that _she_ began to laugh,
too, and laughed so hard that Mrs. Rowe herself had to give the order
for "two graham loaves and a loaf of sponge-cake."
"Run, dear, and get mamma's purse off the bureau," said she to Weezy.
"I want to pay Mr. Blake some money."
The child brought the purse, and looked on while the bread and cake
were being paid for.
"Here, dear," said her mother, shaking some soiled visiting-cards out
of the portmonnaie, "you may have these to play with. Now put mamma's
purse back where you found it."
Weezy was gone some time, but presently she ran down again to her
garden. Mrs. Rowe would not have felt so easy stoning raisins in the
pantry if she had known the baker had left the gate unfastened.
Weezy was not long in discovering the fact. Unfortunately, she still
held the cards in her hand. They gave her an idea.
"Weezy'll go a-calling," said she, whisking through the gateway, with a
backward glance to see if anybody was looking. She felt quite equal to
the undertaking; for hadn't she been visiting once with her mother, and
carried the card-case all the way?
[Illustration: "'WEEZY'LL GO A-CALLING,' SAID SHE, WHISKING THROUGH THE
GATEWAY."]
"'Come in, you pretty little pet;' _that's_ what the lady'll say," she
prattled on to herself, climbing the steps of the first house around
the corner, dragging armless Sambo after her by the stocking-yarn hair.
"Oh, what a high-up bell!"
Even on tiptoe she could not reach it. She laid Sambo down and stood on
top of him, but even then could only touch the bell-knob with the tips
of her fingers.
"Oh, my suz! guess I'll have to knock."
And she did knock, so very gently that nobody in the world could have
heard her.
"People's gone away off," said she, slipping a card under the door, as
she had seen her mamma do when nobody answered her ring.
"Weezy'll give 'em a card for when they come back. Don't want to be a
_selfish_ girl."
After that she did not try to pull any more bell-knobs, but contented
herself with leaving cards at every house on that side of the street.
One happened to be a church, and another an oyster-saloon; but it was
all the same to Weezy.
When she reached the provision-store on the second corner from home,
she had only a single card left. As the door stood open, she carried it
in, and ran up to a pleasant-looking clerk, who was sorting apples.
"I've come calling," said she blandly, sitting down on a pile of
codfish.
"What upon earth!" cried the young man, starting in surprise at the
droll little figure.
"Me and Sambo, we've come a-calling," repeated Weezy, holding up the
long-suffering dolly. "Sambo's tired. Take him, please."
"Thank you, no; you must excuse me. What's your name,--Grandmother
Gripsey?"
"Weezy Rowe," replied she, drumming her small boot-heels against the
codfish, in some resentment at being called "grandmother."
"Where do you live?"
What made folks for ever and ever ask her that? She drew in her lips
till there wasn't a snip of scarlet to be seen, she was so afraid she
should tell; for she shrewdly suspected the man wanted to send her
home. In offering Sambo to the clerk, she had dropped her card; and
it lay on the floor, face upward, with "Mrs. Edwin Rowe, No. 6 Oak
Street," written very clearly upon it.
"Is that yours?" asked the young man, reading the address.
"It's my mamma's. We use 'em when we go a-calling," said she, with a
longing glance at the apples. "I like apples, I do."
The clerk ran to the door and called out to a boy in a market-wagon,
"Here, Jim, you have orders on Oak Street: leave this bundle at number
six, will you?"
Then, almost before Weezy knew it, he had lifted her and Sambo upon the
seat, and given the boy the card, so he could not mistake the direction.
The horse trotted off at a brisk pace, and the square baskets on the
floor of the wagon danced up and down the middle. These were filled
with vegetables and other articles that people had ordered for their
dinners, and Weezy's driver stopped every now and then at a door to
leave one. She found it great fun to go about in this fashion, and was
having a most delightful time when they drew up at her father's house
on Oak Street.
"But I don't want to be _home_," said she, with a twinge of conscience
at the thought of meeting her mother; for in the depths of her little
heart she knew it was wrong to run away.
But, when the boy lured her with a paper of figs, she was wonderfully
soothed. She let him lift her down at once, and skipped past him
through the back-gate.
Of course, he ought to have gone in with her, and told her mother where
he had found her; but, being a bashful boy, he did no such thing. He
watched her in at the kitchen-door, and then drove off.
Nobody had missed Weezy. Her mother was up-stairs combing her hair,
when the child came in with her frock full of figs.
"See what I've got for mamma."
"Why, where did you get them, child?"
"'Way, 'way off," replied Weezy evasively. "Isn't they good?"
Mrs. Rowe looked at her little daughter in amazement. She had run
against a molasses barrel in the store, and smeared her dress, and then
whitened it in spots with flour; and, as her mother raised her on her
lap, she perceived an unmistakable odor of fish about her.
"Weezy, where have you been?" said she sternly: "tell mamma the truth."
"Riding 'way, 'way off," persisted the child, sobbing now.
"But who gave you the figs?"
"Oh, the queer old boy I went a-riding with!"
Mrs. Rowe opened the window, and gazed up street and down, but did not
see any "queer old boy."
What could be the meaning of this wild story? Lovisa knew nothing about
it.
"And surely," thought Mrs. Rowe, "if a man had brought my baby home, he
would have left her in somebody's care."
Could Weezy have got the figs at the grocery opposite? Her mother had
sometimes let her run over there to buy a cent's worth of peanuts,
while she stood in the doorway watching her. But the grocer was not
fond of children. That he should have given her the figs, seemed
unlikely.
Mrs. Rowe's purse still lay on the bureau where Weezy had put it. Mrs.
Rowe unclasped it with an uneasy feeling. She distinctly remembered,
that, after paying the baker, there had been left a dime and a roll of
bills; and now the dime was gone. Mrs. Rowe recollected with a throb of
pain that Weezy had been a long time in carrying back the portmonnaie.
"Mamma has lost some money," said she. "Does Weezy know any thing about
it?"
"No'm," sobbed the child, terrified by her mother's solemn tone.
"Didn't my little daughter buy figs with it? Think a minute."
"No, she didn't," said Weezy, smothering herself in her apron.
Mrs. Rowe was distressed.
"It was very naughty to spend mamma's money," said she gravely; "but
it would be a great deal naughtier if Weezy should tell a wrong story
about it."
"I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry," cried the baby. "Weezy _will_ be
good."
"And mother's darling won't ever do such a dreadful thing again, will
she?" said Mrs. Rowe, much relieved. "Don't you think mamma ought to
tie those wicked hands, to make them remember?"
"Yes'm," said Weezy meekly.
Five minutes after, Lovisa knocked at the door. Weezy sat on the bed,
her chubby wrists bound together by a neck-ribbon.
"Here's a dime, Mrs. Rowe, that I found under the kitchen-table. I
suppose you dropped it in making change."
"Weezy _didn't_ take mamma's money," shouted the little gypsy
gleefully. "Isn't it _so_ nice Weezy didn't take mamma's money?"
"The next time I punish Weezy I will try to be sure we both know what
the punishment is for," thought Mrs. Rowe, as, between laughing and
crying, she untied the child's hands. "How shall I ever learn to bring
up my baby?"
CHAPTER IX.
KIRKE AND JIMMY.
Weezy was so tired after this that she went to sleep in her high-chair
at the dinner-table. Papa laid her on the sitting-room lounge; and she
slept on, till, late in the afternoon, the slamming of the gate waked
her.
A second after, the porch-door creaked, and Kirke skipped into the room
in his butternut suit, as eager and frolicsome as a tan terrier.
"Oh, you just ought to see Miss Bailey!" cried he, spinning about on
one foot like a humming-top. "You just ought to see her!"
"Weezy want to see too," yawned his little sister, rubbing her eyes.
"I'm glad you have your old teacher back again, my dear," said mamma,
setting her work-basket on the table out of reach; for things had such
a trick of upsetting wherever Kirke was.
"Yes; and I tell you what, mamma, she's nice," said Kirke, standing
his slate up endwise and sitting down upon it. "She's some like aunt
Louisa, and she's some like you; but she's most of all like grammy."
"Indeed? what a dear old lady she must be!" said Mrs. Rowe
mischievously.
"Now, mamma, she isn't old: you know she isn't. She's just as young
as she can be. Only she's like grammy because she looks _goody_. She
doesn't peek through glasses like that great cross Miss Cumstan, and
shake her finger at a boy when he moves his lips a little easy; no,
sir. She's real kind and pleasant, and I'm going to be as still as a
mouse in _her_ school."
But, his slate slipping, Kirke's mother saw just then a noisy little
boy sitting down hard upon the floor.
"I'm glad your intentions are so good," said she, tenderly smoothing
his thick brown hair, which wouldn't stay parted, and would hang
straight over his eyes, making his head look like a little hay-cock,
or an old-fashioned English bee-hive. "Now you have entered the
intermediate grade, I want you to be a manly little fellow."
"Me too, mamma," put in Weezy, anxious to be whatever Kirke was.
"Oh, you silly, silly goosie!" shouted Kirke merrily. "Molly, come in
and hear Weezy. She wants to be a boy."
"No, I don't _ever_! I don't, _shoe's_ the world!" cried Weezy, rolling
off the lounge in high resentment.
Now, I must tell you, that for one whole week after Miss Bailey came
back, Kirke was a model boy, out of pure love to his old teacher;
but then came review day, which always was a day of temptation to
Kirke. He didn't see the use of studying what he knew already; and the
figures he made on his slate he certainly couldn't have copied from the
arithmetic, though he had ciphered through long division.
First he drew something which would have been a circle if it had only
been round, and placed inside it two big O's, with a tall straight line
between them, and the sign of subtraction beneath. This stood for a
woman's head; though you might just as easily have supposed it was a
tea-plate, with two doughnuts and two sticks of candy in it.
Kirke thought it a very good head indeed; and he put such a furious mop
of hair on it, that he quite wore out his slate-pencil. Then he perched
the head on a sort of pincushion, with two club feet, and over the
whole wrote _Miss Cumstan_ in chalk letters.
Kirke always put down the names of his portraits nowadays: he found it
saved awkward blunders. No danger this time of anybody's taking his
drawing for a pepper-box on stilts!
He felt an artist's pride in his work; and with one eye on his
spelling-book, and the other on Miss Bailey, he passed the slate across
the aisle for Jimmy Maguire's approval.
"She ain't got no arms," whispered Jimmy, who had never heard of a
grammar.
"Pencil's gone up," answered Kirke, behind his hand.
"Give her here: I'll fix her," said Jimmy, grasping the slate.
Miss Bailey was busy at the desk; but she had quick ears, for all the
gold bells in them, and she looked up in the direction of the sound.
Kirke seemed to be studying with all his might; but Jimmy, putting on
Miss Cumstan's arms with dashing strokes, looked any thing but studious.
"Bring me the slate, Jimmy," said Miss Bailey, satisfied that no
example in the simple rules could require such peculiar figuring.
Jimmy dared not disobey, though he did manage to blur the image with
his left elbow as he went along.
"Lay the slate on the desk, and remain after school, James," said Miss
Bailey: "I want to talk with you;" and Jimmy took his seat with head
very high,--for the boys were all looking,--but with spirits fearfully
low.
You wouldn't have thought that he cared one bit. Somehow, it would seem
that a boy in such an ugly jacket, and with so many warts on his hands,
couldn't have much feeling. Why, all the boys would have laughed at the
idea of his minding being "talked to,"--this Jimmy Maguire, who was
always getting feruled.
But Jimmy did mind, because Miss Bailey, ever since she came to the
school, had spoken kindly to him, and treated him "as if he _was_
somebody." Kindness was a new thing to him, and he liked it.
But now it was all over with him! Miss Bailey would inquire about him,
and find out that his father was in the State prison; and of course she
would hate him, just as everybody else did. And there sat Kirke Rowe
looking as innocent as a Jack-in-the-pulpit. Nobody suspected _him_ of
getting into scrapes: _his_ father wasn't a jail-bird.
"Are you going to tell on me, Jimmy?" whispered Kirke at recess.
The boys were in the yard, with a long flight of stairs and two closed
doors between them and the schoolroom; but Kirke couldn't speak aloud.
"Tell on you? No, baby, I don't tell tales," said Jim fiercely; "but
you better keep your old slate at home next time, or I will."
Kirke felt relieved. That very morning Miss Bailey had patted him on
the shoulder, calling him her "good boy;" and now he always would be
good: he wouldn't draw any more pictures, and nobody need know any
thing about the forenoon's mischief. He hadn't got caught whispering:
if Jim had, Jim must bear the blame. He didn't ask Jim to draw Miss
Cumstan's arms, and put a ferule in one hand and a book in the other.
It wasn't his fault if Jim did get "talked to."
So Kirke went home at noon among the "good-deportment scholars," and
tried to believe that the reason he felt so uncomfortable was that he
was hungry. As if he didn't know better! He knew, as well as you do,
that he had been a very mean little boy; but he didn't say any thing
about it, not he!
He only grumbled at every thing, and made himself more disagreeable
than a grown man five times as large could possibly have done, if he
had tried with all his might. His mother couldn't think what ailed him,
unless he was coming down with measles.
"I'm going to have a birfday to-morrow, and Kisty'll have a birfday
too," said little Weezy.
"Well, what of it?" said Kirke crossly, and hurried out of the house.
He was trying to hush his troublesome mite of a conscience, which kept
telling him, over and over again, that he ought to confess to Miss
Bailey that he drew the picture.
It is just possible that he might have done so before school in the
afternoon, if Jimmy hadn't made mouths at him as he came down the
aisle. Kirke couldn't stand that, and he got very angry indeed. He
didn't care what happened to Jimmy. He hated him. He hated Miss Bailey:
she had green eyes!
After that, it really seemed as if Kirke couldn't be naughty enough.
In the arithmetic-class he chalked the seams of Peter Flint's
jacket,--stupid Peter Flint, who never could tell how many grains make
a scruple; and afterwards, when Miss Bailey was writing a question
on the blackboard, for the boys to perform,--it is dreadful to think
of,--he blacked his own face with a bit of coal, at which Jimmy Maguire
laughed outright.
Miss Bailey turned around in dismay. If an example in reduction
wouldn't keep a boy sober, what would?
"James Maguire," said she severely, "I cannot excuse this second
misdemeanor. At recess you will report yourself in this room, for
punishment."
But behind Jimmy at recess came a very frightened little boy, the
roguery crowded out of his eyes by tears.
"Please, Miss Bailey," said Kirke, winking very fast, "it's _I_ that's
to blame. 'Twas I, playing chimney-sweep, that made Jimmy laugh. I drew
the picture, too, this morning,--all but the arms,--and I whispered as
much as Jim did!"
The story was out now; and, in spite of himself, Kirke's handkerchief
had to come out too, just like any girl's; though, maybe, girls'
handkerchiefs are not usually made into rabbits, as Kirke's was.
Miss Bailey was surprised and grieved to find her pet boy had been so
naughty; though she forgave him in a minute, with a smile for all the
world like grammy's.
But Jimmy, poor Jimmy, there he stood, as stock-still as an
exclamation-point, too astonished to speak.
Just think of that little snip of a Kirke Rowe owning up to a trick he
hadn't been caught in! Poor Jim couldn't understand it: he hadn't had
any bringing-up, you know.
But it gave him a clearer idea of honesty than he had ever had in his
life before, and did him as much good as it did Kirke, which is saying
a great deal.
CHAPTER X.
THE BIRTHDAY DRIVE.
The day Weezy was four years old, Kisty Nye was five,--quite old enough
to be called Christine, if the family had thought about it. Mrs. Nye
had made her little daughter a birthday cake, and invited Weezy to
supper. Ellen Nolan was not now at Mrs. Rowe's. She was attending a
primary school.
"I'm a year older than I was yesterday, mamma," said Weezy that
afternoon, when her mother was tying her bonnet. "Pretty soon won't I
be every teenty speck as old as Kisty?"
Before Mrs. Rowe could reply, Weezy was whisking down the gravel-walk,
dragging behind her a dust-pan tied to a string. The dust-pan held two
dolls and a clay pipe.
"Oh, ho, Weezy, I shouldn't suppose you'd let your dolls smoke a pipe!"
"My dollies _never_ smoke pipes. You're a naughty boy to say so," cried
Weezy, much offended.
"Ah, I know now," said Kirke, with an innocent air. "You smoke that
pipe yourself."
"O Kirke, _what_ a story! Kisty 'n' I blow bubbles with it. You know we
do."
"Oh! Kisty _Nye_ blows bubbles," said Kirke, pretending not to
understand. "And why don't _you_ blow 'em too?"
"Well, I said I did. I said Kisty 'n' _I_ blow bubbles," cried Weezy
pettishly, twitching her dust-pan carriage out of the way of her
brother's stilts, as he hopped through the gate.
"Yes, Kisty _Nye_ blows bubbles. Just what you said; and this makes
twice you've said it," cried teasing Kirke, slamming the gate behind
him.
"H'm! I don't like to have folks shut gates in my faces," grumbled
Weezy, pushing it open in high displeasure. "I think you're a very
_plaguing-y_ boy."
Kirke laughed, and stooped down to close the sweet little scolding
mouth with a sugar-plum.
"Old Mr. Nye gave me three of 'em, and I saved one for you," said he.
"Who says I'm a _plaguing-y_ brother?"
"You are not _plaguing-y_ now any more," said Weezy serenely. "Oh, hum!
wish _Mr. Old Nye_ would give ME three sugar-plums myself."
Once more in gay good-humor, she trudged along with Kirke to Kisty's
house, not far up the street, and, the moment she saw Kisty, threw both
arms about her waist. It was a chubby waist; for Kisty was a chubby
little girl, broader than Weezy, though not an inch taller.
"Oh, I know something sp--len--did!" said Kisty, squeezing her fat
palms together very hard. "We're going to have something; guess what."
"Pin-nuts," suggested Weezy breathlessly.
"Better'n peanuts. Something that hasn't any shell on to it."
"Gum-drops?"
"No, no! You can't guess, you can't guess," cried Kisty triumphantly.
"They grow on trees, and they have seeds in the middle."
"Watermelons! I about know them's um," cried Weezy, giving Kisty
another hug.
"Poh! watermelons don't grow on trees. Watermelons grow on _bushes_,
ever so low on the ground. I've seen 'em in grandpa's garden," said
Kisty, proudly reflecting that she knew a great deal more than Weezy,
who was only four years old.
"Honest? Well, sugar gooseberries, then," said Weezy, considerably
crushed.
"No, indeed. Those don't grow: those are baked in the oven. I shall
have to tell: it's apples,--red, ripe apples."
Weezy clapped her hands.
"Ned is going into the country to buy the apples, and mamma says for
him to take us with him in the new dog-cart," said Kisty, fairly out of
breath with the excitement of spreading the good news.
Weezy screamed with delight; and, leaving the dolls flat on their backs
under the lilacs, scampered off to the stable, Kisty following as fast
as her clumsy, fat legs would carry her. They found Ned backing the
horse into the thills of the dog-cart.
"Mamma says, Ned, you must buy a bushel of the best apples you can
find," panted Kisty, running to the house again for her hat.
"I rather think I'd better steal 'em," answered her tall brother,
with a sly wink at Weezy. "Wouldn't you, little Miss Weezy? Supposing
we creep into every orchard we come to, and taste of an apple on every
tree in it, so we can pick out the nicest, and fill our baskets with
them? Don't you believe that would be the best way?"
There was no response, but the young man had not looked for any. He
was busy buckling the harness, and thought no more about Weezy, till,
looking up presently, he saw Kisty climbing into the buggy all by
herself.
"Why!" said he, "where's the other little birthday girl?"
Kisty did not know. She ran to ask her mother, and her mother did not
know. Weezy was not in the stable, or in the garden, or in the house.
After a long search, Ned found her in the hammock at home, sobbing
bitterly. Mrs. Rowe and Lovisa had locked the house and gone away; and
the poor little girl was all alone, with nobody to speak to.
"Ah, here you are, little runaway," said Ned playfully, pulling
her hands from her wet eyes. "Isn't this a funny time to play
hide-and-seek, when you're going to drive, and the horse is waiting for
you?"
"I'm not a-going. I don't want to ride; wish you wouldn't _bovver_ me,"
wailed she, rolling over upon her face.
"Oh, come along, dear!" urged Ned; "come right along, before Kisty
cries herself sick. When we've got our apples, we'll go to see a red
and green parrot I know of, that'll say, 'Walk in, walk in, have a
chair?'"
Weezy shook her head till her neck must have ached, and no amount of
coaxing on Ned's part would induce her to go with him. He did not know
what to make of her, and at last hurried home to ask what it was best
to do.
Mrs. Nye felt as uncomfortable about the occurrence as Ned did; and the
moment she saw Mrs. Rowe enter her front-door, she advised him to rush
across to tell her the story.
"I can't imagine what has come over Weezy," said he, catching up his
hat. "I never knew her to act so before."
As he paused on Mr. Rowe's door-stone to wipe his feet, he heard the
child in the sitting-room sobbing, and this was what she was saying,--
"He was going to steal the apples: he truly was, mamma. S'pose I'd ride
with boys that steal? Course I wouldn't. But, oh, mamma, it's _such_ a
cunning doggy-cart; and, oh dear! I wish I had some apples."
"You precious little goosie!" cried Ned, bursting into the room,
laughing. "Did you think I really meant to steal the apples? Why,
Weezy, dear, I was just in fun. I wouldn't steal them any more than you
would."
"You _said_ you would, you truly did," said Weezy, peeping through her
fingers at him with an air of doubt.
"I was making believe, pet; just making believe. I'll leave it to your
mother if I wasn't," said Ned gayly. "Come along with me, and I'll
promise not to steal so much as an apple-core."
Picking her up, tears and all, he carried her away to his father's
stable, where the horse still stood in the harness; and, when he set
her down in the dog-cart, her face was beaming with smiles.
She had a lovely drive, and saw for herself that Ned did not steal a
single apple, though he bought as many as the dog-cart would hold. And
on their way back they called upon the parrot, and he invited them to
"walk in, and have a chair," as politely as if he had been a gentleman.
When they drove into Mr. Nye's yard, tea was ready: and the two
little "birthday girls" sat side by side at the table, Kisty in her
high-chair, and Weezy in a common chair with the big dictionary in it;
and each had a piece of the birthday cake, and all they wanted besides.
And when, by and by, Ned went home with Weezy, he carried a beautiful
little new basket filled with choice apples, and gave it to her to keep.
So you see, Weezy had a pretty good kind of a birthday, after all.
CHAPTER XI.
WEEZY AND KISTY.
It was more than a year after Weezy's birthday drive that grandpa and
grandma Rowe came to her father's house to spend Thanksgiving.
When they returned to the parsonage away up among the Berkshire hills,
they took Weezy; and, that Weezy might not be homesick, they invited
little Kisty Nye to go with her.
Weezy was five years old now, but, alas! no nearer Kisty's age than she
had been before; for Kisty was now six. They found at the parsonage Mr.
Henry Bishop, grandpa's oldest grandson, who took Weezy up in his lap
and told her that he was her cousin, and that he boarded at grandpa's,
and taught the village school.
"Kisty and I haven't ever been to school, not ever," said Weezy
plaintively. "Please can't we go, Mr. Cousin Bishop?"
"You? I'm afraid you don't know enough," said Mr. Bishop, patting her
cheek. "Can you say all your letters?"
"Most all, _incept_ two or three _little_ ones," said Weezy briskly. "I
can spell too."
"Indeed! What can you spell?"
"Oh, I can spell all the easy words,--d, o, g, dog; c, a, t, cat; g, o,
t, goat," said Weezy, proud of her knowledge.
"Oh, I see, you spell by sound, the phonetic way!" said Mr. Bishop,
throwing back his head and laughing.
"Don't know what is _fonetti-quay_," returned Weezy, rather disturbed.
"My brother could spell it, I guess. _He_ can spell awful hard words."
Then she frisked away to beg grandma to send her and Kisty to school to
"Mr. Cousin Bishop."
"What should I do without my dear little girls?" said grandma, smiling
over her spectacles. "No, no, I couldn't spare them."
But, by the close of the week, the "dear little girls" had become so
tired and cross from endless romping, that grandma concluded she could
spare them very well. The schoolhouse was near, and she thought it
would be really better for them to go to school than to play all day
long: so the next Monday morning she dressed them in their warm plaid
gowns, and sent them off, each with a cooky in her pocket.
They were by far the smallest scholars of any; and Mr. Bishop soon
found that when they were not at his knee, picking out their letters in
the primer, it was puzzling to know what to do with them. If they sat
together, they would whisper and make too much noise; and if they sat
apart, Kisty would go to sleep, and Weezy would be miserable.
At last he hit upon the expedient of sending them out to play in the
sunshine the moment they had recited. They liked this very much.
Right behind the schoolhouse was a steep bank, down which the boys and
girls coasted at noon and at recess. Kisty and Weezy thought it fine
fun to slide there all by themselves, and clumsy Kisty did not mind a
fall or two, with only Weezy to see.
One afternoon, indeed, she grew so daring that she slid standing up for
the whole length of the slope; but unfortunately she lost her balance
at the foot, and pitched forward on her little snub nose. It bled
furiously; any nose would have bled, treated in that way; and Kisty
howled so dismally that Mr. Bishop heard her from his desk, and sent
one of the large girls to bring her in.
The girl found frightened Weezy mopping Kisty's face with her own
Mikado pocket-handkerchief, and tugging with all her might to drag her
up the bank.
[Illustration: "FOUND FRIGHTENED WEEZY MOPPING KISTY'S FACE WITH HER
OWN MIKADO POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF."]
"This accident puts an end to your sport, little girls," said Mr.
Bishop, after they were again in their seats. "I must forbid your
sliding any more."
"I think it's real mean," whispered Weezy behind her primer. "He's just
as _selfish_ as he can be!"
"'Tisn't _his_ bank either," grumbled Kisty.
"I wish you wouldn't go and be such a little tumble-down girl, Kisty
Nye," went on Weezy rather spitefully. "If you hadn't gone and hurt
your nose, he would have let us slide some more."
"Well, do you s'pose I could help it, Weezy Rowe? Do you s'pose I
hurted my nose to purpose?" retorted Kisty, burying her face in her
apron.
"Don't cry," said Weezy, putting both arms around Kisty's neck. "Please
not cry. It makes the blood leak out again."
"The primer class next," called Mr. Bishop.
Pulling her apron from her head, Kisty followed Weezy down the aisle to
his desk for their reading-lesson.
Mr. Bishop enjoyed his two little pupils, and had taken so much pains
in teaching them that they could now spell out such sentences as, "Do
we go up?" quite glibly.
"That'll do," said he, when they had finished the page, and had each
spelled "goat" and "coat" three times over without missing.
Then Weezy jogged Kisty's elbow, and Kisty jogged Weezy's; and it was
Weezy that spoke first.
"Please can't Kisty 'n' I go out and play?"
"I hardly dare let you," replied Mr. Bishop regretfully.
"Please," pleaded Weezy. "I'll hold on to Kisty so tight she can't
fall."
"She'll hold on to me," echoed Kisty.
"Will you promise to take only one slide?"
"Yes, sir, truly; but bare one," cried they in a breath.
"Well, if you'll be very careful, I'll try you," said Mr. Bishop,
smiling; and they ran away, two happy little children.
They were gone so long that he entirely forgot them till late in the
afternoon, when he was dismissing the school. Then, from a back window,
he caught sight of them disappearing below the bank. Presently they
climbed in view again, Weezy dragging Kisty.
Three times they went up and down the slope, while Mr. Bishop stood
watching them with a grave face, grieved to think they should have
broken their promise to him.
At last he rapped upon the pane; and they came dancing in, their
cheeks glowing like cabbage-roses.
"I'm sorry I cannot trust my little girls," said he soberly, taking
down his overcoat.
Bashful Kisty hung her head, but Weezy opened her great brown eyes in
indignant wonder.
"_We_ haven't done any thing," said she.
"Think, Weezy. Didn't you tell me you would take but one slide? And
I've seen you take three myself."
"Oh, no; honest, we never," cried Weezy.
"Never, now, certi'gly," echoed Kisty.
"Hush, children," said Mr. Bishop sternly. "It is very naughty to speak
an untruth, and I say I _saw_ you sliding."
"Truly we slided only but just once," persisted Weezy, with an honest
face.
Kisty pulled her apron over her head, sobbing dolefully, as she always
did when scolded.
Mr. Bishop looked down upon the weeping bundle of calico, sorely
puzzled.
"Did you forget your promise when you slid so many times?" he gently
asked.
"We never _did_ slide so many times," said Weezy indignantly.
"'Cause we promidged," wailed Kisty. "Me and Weezy was only but just
heeling and toeing the bank."
Mr. Bishop tried hard not to smile.
"Indeed, was that all? But _how_ did you heel and toe it? I want to
see."
"It's just as easy as nothing," said Weezy, frisking off to the
snow-drift, where she and Kisty had been playing.
At sight of its steep side riddled with holes, like a cliff full of
sand-martens' nests, Mr. Bishop laughed outright; but he caught his
breath when fearless little Weezy ran swiftly down, setting her small
boot-heels in these holes, one after another.
"_That's_ how to _heel_ the bank," she called back from the bottom.
"Quick! look, Mr. Cousin Bishop. _This_ is how to _toe_ it."
And, facing about, she ran up, pressing the toes of her little boots
deep into the tracks their heels had made.
"What will these children do next to kill themselves?" thought the
teacher. "I hate to keep breaking their hearts."
But, when he told them that they must not "heel and toe the bank" any
more, Weezy only said,--
"Well, we _didn't_ slide so many times; now did we, Mr. Cousin Bishop?"
"And we didn't never break our promidge," added Kisty, emerging from
her apron.
"As if we'd be little _tell-lie_ girls," said Weezy, as she and Kisty
trudged home hand in hand behind Mr. Bishop.
When she went into the sitting-room, her grandpa and grandma sat by the
open fire, with an empty chair between them, and both were smiling.
"You'd better shut the door, dear," said grandma quietly.
Weezy turned around to obey, and then, for the first time, saw her
father, who had been hiding behind it.
"O papa, papa, you funny papa!" cried she, springing into his arms, and
half smothering him with kisses. "Who brought you to grandma's house?
Did mamma?"
"No, dear; mamma couldn't come, so she sent me to take you home for the
Christmas-tree. She has a wonderful present for you."
"Oh, oh! What is it, papa?"
"I promised I wouldn't tell; but something that moves."
"A tricycle? Oh, is it a tricycle?"
"Something that can make more music than a tricycle," replied papa,
with a glance at grandma.
"Is it a hand-organ? Oh, is it?" cried Weezy, clapping her hands.
"No, no, little quiz; it's not a hand-organ," laughed Mr. Rowe. "And
now I sha'n't tell you another thing about it, or, before I know it,
you'll be guessing what it is."
CHAPTER XII.
A BEAUTIFUL PRESENT
Mr. Rowe staid at the parsonage one day, and then went back to
Gallatin, taking with him Weezy and Kisty. Kisty's brother Ned met her
at the station, and drove her away in the dog-cart; and Weezy went home
with her father in a hack.
"There's Kirke looking out of the window. Oh, oh! and there's Molly.
Guess they'll be glad to see their dear little sister," cried Weezy
complacently, as the driver stopped at the gate.
"Did you tell her, papa? Did you tell her?" shouted Kirke, dancing out
in his slippers, and catching up Weezy at the risk of breaking his
back.
"No, no, my son, I didn't tell her," said papa, laughing. "I remembered
my promise to you and Molly."
Molly was already on the threshold, hugging and kissing "her dear
little sister;" and Mr. Rowe had to drive the excited children in,
before he could close the door.
"Where's mamma? Where _is_ my mamma? cried Weezy, running into the
sitting-room.
"Up-stairs," said Molly, her blue eyes sparkling. "Papa's gone up; and
we're going in a minute, just as soon as I can get your things off.
Dear, dear, I do believe your hood is tied in a hard knot."
"Bust the string; _I_ would! Oh, come ahead," cried Kirke impatiently,
perching on the railing of the stairway.
"In a minute. The knot's undoing. There, now we'll scamper," said
Molly, dropping the hood, and taking one of Weezy's hands; while Kirke
skipped down and took the other. Side by side the three children
hurried up-stairs, into their mamma's chamber.
"Here I am, mamma! Don't you feel _belighted_ to have your little girl
come home?" cried Weezy, frisking up to her mother, who sat in an
easy-chair by the grate, in a new cardinal wrapper, holding on her lap
a white flannel bundle.
"Yes, dear, I am _belighted_; indeed I am," said mamma, kissing the
bright, eager face again and again. "Have you been grandma's little
comfort?"
"Some," replied Weezy, rather doubtfully. "Gramma says I improve."
"Let me show it first; please let me show it first," whispered Kirke,
fingering the white flannel bundle, which his little sister had not yet
observed.
"You haven't asked what mamma has for you, Weezy," said papa, very near
telling.
"It's yours, and it's Molly's, and it's mine," said Kirke, turning
down the blanket with a flourish. "There, sir, what do you think of
that? It's a little live brother!"
"An onty donty little brother! Oh, oh, oh!" gasped Weezy, hopping up
and down, and gazing at the awakening little stranger. "Truly, mamma,
is he ours to keep?"
"We trust so, dear."
"O mamma, just see his little fists wiggle! And, mamma, look: he's got
his eyes open a'ready."
Kisty ran over early the next morning to see the baby; and, when she
and Weezy became too noisy, Mrs. Rowe sent them into Molly's room,
where, to tell the truth, they were not wanted. Molly sprang up and
hid her work in a drawer; for she was doing something that her little
sister must not know of at present,--something that would please her
vastly by and by.
To begin at the beginning. Mrs. Rowe had said one day that at
Christmas she should give Viola Maud to Weezy. Whereupon Mr. Rowe had
remarked, that, if she did so, he should give Weezy a new "gentleman
doll" in place of Sambo, who had now grown old and decrepit.
Then it was that it came into Molly's head to marry these dolls to each
other, and make them a fine wedding. She and Kirke had talked about it
a great deal during Weezy's absence, and made all the arrangements.
Kirke, with his toy press, was to print the wedding-cards; Lovisa had
promised to make the wedding-cake; and Molly herself was to provide the
bride's _trousseau_, which must be as elegant and ample as Viola Maud
herself could desire.
It was nearly completed; and Molly was setting the last stitches in the
bridal veil this morning, when interrupted by Weezy and Kisty.
The little girls were discussing the new baby with great animation.
"What do you suppose makes him cry so funny?" exclaimed Kisty, inclined
to be jealous of his young lordship.
"Oh, he hasn't learned how!" cried Weezy, warm in his defence. "Course
he can't cry nice _yet_. He hasn't been down here only but just two
weeks."
"Oh, so he hasn't! I forgot," said Kisty meekly.
"Before he came down he used to be a little angel fluttering 'round the
sky," added Weezy instructively; "and, you know, he didn't hear anybody
crying up there."
This must be so, and seemed to settle the matter; and no more fault
could be found with his manner of crying.
"Who cut off his wings?" queried matter-of-fact Kisty, sniffing Molly's
cologne. "Was it your mamma?"
"_I_ don' know. Guess they dropped off."
"He's got awful little feet," remarked Kisty, putting the stopper back
into the cologne-bottle.
"Awful little," echoed Weezy; "and so soft and pinky!"
"_I_ don't think baby's nose is very pretty," said Kisty frankly.
"I don't care: it's prettier'n yours is, any old how, Kisty Nye,"
retorted Weezy, backing away from the bureau where Kisty stood.
"Visa calls it a Roman nose," said Molly, with a grown-up smile, very
irritating to her small sister.
"Well, I don't care if it is a _roaming_ nose; it's just as good as
anybody's."
"Yes, indeed, dear," said Molly soothingly; "and mamma says it won't
look so big when baby gets plumper. And now if you and Kisty will run
down and play in the dining-room, I'll give each of you a piece of
candy out of the box grandma sent me."
"Well," said Weezy, again in good-humor, "if you won't give us the
_tongue-smarty_ kind, we'll go."
CHAPTER XIII.
THE DOLLS' CHRISTMAS WEDDING.
On Christmas Eve Mrs. Rowe came down-stairs to see the Christmas-tree
that aunt Clara had arranged; and, to please Weezy, nurse brought the
baby.
It must be admitted that the little fellow behaved abominably; making
up faces at everybody, and even squaring his fists at the lovely
silver mug presented to him, as if he scorned the name of Donald Rowe
that Santa Claus had had engraved upon it. But then, as Weezy justly
remarked, baby was not used to company.
Everybody else fully enjoyed the wonderful tree, laden with gifts.
There was a dark merino for Ellen Nolan, an overcoat for Jimmy
Maguire, and a great package of books for the minister, Mr. Cutler.
There was a nice work-box for Lovisa, a warm red shawl for Pocahontas,
and a lovely picture-book for Kisty, beside gifts without number for
the Wymans and Rowes.
But what captivated Weezy more than all these things was the sight of
two dolls sitting under the tree side by side. One was Viola Maud,
gorgeously arrayed in a party dress of pink satin; and the other was
an elegant little bachelor in a black broadcloth suit, with white
waistcoat and gloves, and a watch no bigger than a buttercup.
"Oh, oh, oh! the _beau_tiful, _beau_tiful dollies!" cried she, dropping
on her knees before them. "O Molly, _do_ you s'pect they're for me?"
"Yes, yes, every bit of 'em," replied Molly, almost as excited as
Weezy. "And here are Viola Maud's clothes. Mamma cut 'em out, and I
sewed 'em, all but the button-holes."
"Oh, you _are_ a darling sister! Oh, what a beautiful little trunk!"
"Kirke bought you that. Doesn't it look for all the world like aunt
Clara's big Saratoga?"
Weezy pulled out the garments, one by one, uttering little squeals of
delight, and hopping up every other moment to kiss Kirke and Molly. The
trunk contained six complete suits, not counting the red jersey jacket;
and by changing about,--putting the polonaise of one dress over the
skirt of another,--Viola Maud, you see, could have two different gowns
for each day in the week.
Then there were half a dozen hats of the latest mode, and handkerchiefs
of real lace, beside two sets of under-garments all ruffled and tucked.
Certainly it was a fine outfit for a little girl of eleven to fashion,
and Molly deserved much credit.
Before the presents were taken from the tree, Kisty was brought over to
see it; and Kirke and Molly told her and Weezy all about the marvellous
doll-wedding to be celebrated on the morrow, and how Kirke was going
round early in the morning to invite the wedding guests.
"He'll bring me a card too," thought Kisty, delighted; "and I never had
a wedding-card in all my life."
Christmas dawned clear and bright; and after breakfast Kirke and
Molly bustled off to one corner of the library, with an air of great
importance.
"Are you sure you've printed invitations enough?" asked Molly anxiously.
"Hoh, yes. Here they are,--one, two, three, four, five, six, seven,"
said Kirke, counting over the cream-tinted correspondence cards in his
hand.
They were dainty affairs, and read in this way:--
_Miss Weezy Rowe
Requests the pleasure of your presence
At the Marriage of her Doll,
Viola Maud,
To Mr. Clarence Osborne,
On Christmas, at 3 o'clock P.M.
6 Oak Street.
P.S. Please bring all your Dolls._
Molly had hesitated about the postscript, but had finally concluded it
would be safer to add it.
While she was trying her pen, Kirke slipped the seven cream-tinted
cards into their seven cream-tinted envelopes, each bearing the
monogram R. O., which of course meant Rowe and Osborne.
Then Molly carefully addressed these envelopes to the seven little
girls that Weezy knew best, and laid them in a pretty willow basket,
with a white satin bow on top.
When they were ready, Kirke took the basket, and went out to deliver
them. From her mother's room Kisty Nye saw him coming down the street,
and her heart went pit-a-pat. But alack and alas! Kirke walked straight
by, and never turned his head!
He left an invitation for Jenny Lancey right opposite, and one for
Matty Lee at the corner; and after that he came back by the house to
leave one on Elm Street for that snip of a Dolly Wright, whom Weezy
hardly knew at all!
Kisty had been so sure she herself should be invited. And why not? Oh,
it was very, very hard! No wonder she nearly cried her eyes out, and at
dinner left her pudding untasted, feeling that this was a very cruel
world for a little girl only six years old.
Quarter of three came at last; and as Molly remarked, it was almost
late enough to begin the wedding.
She and Kirke had got all the old dolls together in a row on the
sitting-room lounge, to represent Viola Maud's "poor relations," when
Jenny Lancey rushed in, exclaiming, "O Molly, did you mean to leave out
Kisty Nye? She feels dreadfully because she isn't invited."
"I did invite her; I invited Kisty Nye first of any," cried Molly,
flying across the room in wild excitement. "Kirke Rowe, you've gone
and forgotten to give Kisty her invitation. You naughty, horrid boy! I
think you're just as"--
Molly bit her lips, trembling with anger, and began to cry.
"Oh, dear, dear!" sobbed she, in quite a different tone, "you've made
me lose my temper again. O Kirke! how could you, when I promised mamma
I'd try to be sweet for baby's sake?"
"I delivered every note there was in the basket, so now," said Kirke
sulkily.
"Who came to the door at Mr. Nye's? Was it the girl?"
"I don't know; I don't believe I went there," said Kirke, considering.
"I'll go and see."
"Wait, wait," said Jenny. "Take Kisty a card, can't you? She'll be mad,
not to have one like the rest of us."
"I didn't print but seven," said Kirke.
"Well, I'll write her one; she won't know the difference," returned
Molly, running into the library, and dragging out her desk.
As she lifted the lid, the first thing she saw was a cream-tinted
envelope, so plainly directed to Kisty Nye that grandma herself might
have read it without her spectacles.
"There, miss, who's to blame now?" cried Kirke triumphantly, peeping
into the envelope to make sure the card was in it.
The next moment the front-door slammed, and he was racing down the
street bareheaded, to bring Kisty; for, dearly as he loved to tease, he
could not bear to have anybody made unhappy.
You may be sure Mrs. Nye was not long in putting on her little
daughter's hood and cloak; and the rest of the wedding guests had
hardly assembled before Kirke and Kisty appeared among them, Kisty's
happy face beaming with smiles.
There was a hush in the room, when the doll bride and bridegroom,
supported by Molly, entered arm in arm, and took the places in the
bay-window, beneath a marriage-bell of Christmas evergreen. The bride
wore a white satin gown, with a most extravagant train; and her long
lace veil was fastened with a wreath of fine white flowers, supposed
to be dwarf orange-blossoms.
She stood gazing straight at the minister, while the bridegroom leaned
toward her with an affectionate stare, his left hand grasping a cambric
handkerchief, with which to dry her eyes in case she should shed tears
during the trying ceremony.
Kirke, in his father's best white necktie, officiated as clergyman;
and as Viola Maud could only say "papa" and "mamma," and as Clarence
Osborne was too much stuffed to speak at all, Molly had to make the
responses for both parties.
"Do you, Clarence Osborne, take this woman to be your _awful_ wedded
wife?" began the acting minister, in a tone of deep solemnity.
"I do," squeaked a faint voice, while the bridegroom bowed with all his
might.
"Do you, Viola Maud, take this man to be your _awful_ wedded husband?"
"I do," answered a voice still fainter; and the bride's head bent
gently, like a flower caressed by a butterfly.
"Then," said the minister clearing his throat, "I pronounce you man and
wife."
The nervous strain was over at last, but it had been too much for the
sensitive bride. As the bridegroom turned to salute her, she tottered
and fell fainting into his arms.
Fortunately, Molly, foreseeing such a catastrophe, had provided herself
with a smelling-bottle, which she now held to the nostrils of the
swooning little lady.
"Mrs. Osborne" was kind enough to revive very soon, and to receive the
congratulations of the guests crowding about her; and it was observed,
in her praise, that she greeted her "poor relations" just as cordially
as she did the most richly attired doll in the room.
Afterwards Weezy and Kisty passed around the wedding-cake and the
bride's-cake; and Molly and Kirke brought in hot chocolate in pretty
little china cups, that all might drink to the health of the bride and
bridegroom.
Oh, it was a lovely, lovely afternoon! And its close was better than
its beginning; for the little girls and their dolls were taken home in
Dr. Wyman's great double sleigh, in which Mr. and Mrs. Osborne had set
out on their honeymoon trip.
And so ended the dolls' Christmas wedding.
* * * * *
SOPHIE MAY'S
LITTLE FOLKS' BOOKS.
_Any volume sold separately._
DOTTY DIMPLE SERIES.
Six volumes. Illustrated. Per volume, 75 cents.
Dotty Dimple at her Grandmother's.
Dotty Dimple at Home.
Dotty Dimple out West.
Dotty Dimple at Play.
Dotty Dimple at School.
Dotty Dimple's Flyaway.
* * * * *
FLAXIE FRIZZLE STORIES.
Six volumes. Illustrated. Per volume, 75 cents.
Flaxie Frizzle.
Little Pitchers.
Flaxie's Kittyleen.
Doctor Papa.
The Twin Cousins.
Flaxie Growing Up.
* * * * *
LITTLE PRUDY STORIES.
Six volumes. Handsomely Illustrated. Per volume, 75 cents.
Little Prudy.
Little Prudy's Sister Susy.
Little Prudy's Captain Horace.
Little Prudy's Story Book.
Little Prudy's Cousin Grace.
Little Prudy's Dotty Dimple.
* * * * *
LITTLE PRUDY'S FLYAWAY SERIES.
Six volumes. Illustrated. Per volume, 75 cents.
Little Folks Astray.
Prudy Keeping House.
Aunt Madge's Story.
Little Grandmother.
Little Grandfather.
Miss Thistledown.
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS,
BOSTON.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE MISS WEEZY ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
