Kitobni o'qish: «Summer Days»

SUMMER DAYS

IT was the fifteenth day of June, and the last day of school. Alice Grey had just said her last good-byes to the other girls, and was starting on her homeward way when she heard a voice behind her.

“Alice, Alice, wait a minute.”

Alice turned around and saw Susy Lee running towards her.

“Let’s go on together,” said Susy, overtaking her friend. “There is no use in walking alone when one can have company.”

“No, indeed,” said Alice, laughing, “particularly when the company has a good big sun umbrella, and the one has none. Here, let me take your arm, and creep under your shade, that’s a love.”

“Isn’t it hot?” exclaimed Susy, when they were both comfortably settled under the shade of the umbrella. “See, there isn’t a breath of wind.”

“Hot isn’t the word for it,” said Alice; “why, it is simply scorching. I am so glad we are through with school, for it is really dreadful to study in this weather. I am crazy to get off to the country, aren’t you?”

“Yes, indeed, I am,” said Susy. “I just love the country; don’t you? When I get on my blue flannel sailor suit and my big shade hat, and know that I can get just as mussy as I please, I am too happy for anything. Where are you going this summer?”

“Oh, we are going to Sandy Shore; we go there every summer. Papa has a cottage there.”

“Sandy Shore!” exclaimed Susy. “Why, how perfectly delightful. I am going there, too. Papa has rented a house for the summer, and we are to start off in about a week.”

The children were of course overjoyed to find that they were to be companions for the summer, and had a great deal to talk about. And so busy were they that Alice’s house was in sight long before the important event had been thoroughly discussed.

When they reached Mr. Grey’s it was nearly time for luncheon, however, so Alice and Susy kissed each other good-bye, and separated, each to confide to her mother the pleasant prospects for the summer.

Alice found the house in rather a confused state. Trunks were in every room; carpets were being taken up; and everything denoted that a change of some sort was about to take place.

Alice flew up the stairs, and, rushing into her mamma’s room, she found her father and mother talking together very earnestly about something.

“Why, mamma,” she exclaimed, “what is the matter? Are we going to the country earlier than usual?”

“Yes, Alice,” said Mrs. Grey, “we are going to the country day after to-morrow. Now that your school is ended there is no need of our staying longer in town, and I am impatient enough to get away from this heat. I don’t suppose you are sorry, are you?” she added, laughing.

“Not very,” said Alice. “I am nearly roasted with this heat, and, mamma, just think, isn’t it too lovely? Susy Lee is going to Sandy Shore for the summer. Her papa has rented a cottage there.”

“Why, that must be the cottage next to us. I heard Mr. Morton had rented it but I did not know to whom. I am so glad. How delightful it will be for you.”

“But now you must run, my dear, for I am so busy that if I stop to talk to you I shall never finish what I have to do. I wish you would go up in the nursery, and see if the children are all right. Maria is so busy helping me that she has no time to look after them.”

Alice went up stairs, resolving that she would take care of the children all the afternoon. “I cannot pack the trunks,” she said,

“but I can help by giving the others time to do it.”

She found beside her little sister Janet and brother Harry, Pauline and Charley Roberts there. The children had found a box of paints, and had been amusing themselves by making pictures of each other. They were in a great state of merriment over their last performance when Alice opened the door and walked in.

“Why don’t you paint something really nice?” said she. “I have some pictures in my room, and you can draw any one which you will select. Now, wait a minute till I bring you some.”

So Alice went to her room, and soon returned with some pictures. The children gathered around, and, after some hesitation, they selected a picture of a man skating.

“Let’s choose this,” said Charley Roberts; “It is such a hot day that a winter scene is refreshing. Doesn’t it feel delightful to breathe that cold air, and to see all that ice and snow?”

Alice laughed at this flight of imagination, and seating herself upon the floor she began to look over her sketch-book, while the children amused themselves by drawing.

The hours flew quickly past, and Alice took such good care of the children that her mamma was able to get everything ready for their departure in time. The eventful day arrived, and at six o’clock the children were up. The train left so early that it was necessary to make a very early start.

Breakfast was hurriedly eaten, and then the small bags and parcels which had not been already sent were gathered together, and out went the happy party to the carriage which was waiting for them at the door.

Oh, how delightful it was to be leaving the hot city with all its noise and dust, and how sorry Alice felt for all the people she met who were obliged to remain behind. Although the morning was cool, the day which followed was sure to be warm and uncomfortable.

The ride in the cars was long and dusty, to be sure, but who cared for that when there was something so delightful to look forward to at the end?

And it did not seem so very long after all, for there was so much to talk about, and there were so many plans to make for the summer, that before they knew it the conductor called out “Sandy Shore,” and they were at their summer home.

There was the old stage waiting at the station. In a few minutes all were comfortably seated, and off they went.

Oh, what rejoicings there were to be at home again, for the children always persisted in calling their country place home, and their house in the city as a sort of place where they must work and improve as much as possible.

The children ran about from room to room to see if there were any changes, but first of all they had to pay a visit to the stable, where they found Wrinkles, the old mastiff, basking in the sun, little dreaming that his friends were so near. When he heard their voices and saw them before him, his joy knew no bounds. He jumped up, and nearly overturned them in his joy at seeing them again.

Then, when he was convinced of their presence, he would not let them out of his sight, but followed them about everywhere. Everything had to be inspected; every room in the house had to be gone into; every corner of the stable must be looked at; and the dear old hay loft, where so many happy hours had been passed, could certainly not be neglected. And what should they find up there but Mistress Tab, with five of the prettiest kittens you ever saw. And what did they all do but march down stairs after the children, and walk into the house to show themselves to Mrs. Grey.

Then the boats had to be examined to see whether they leaked after the long winter drying. They were discovered to be in good condition, and while Wrinkles ran along the banks the children roved about, having such a delightful time that they could scarcely believe it could be so late when supper was announced.

The days went on happily till the time arrived when Susy Lee was expected. Then of course Alice was doubly happy. Although she was not one of those silly girls who cannot find pleasure in the society of her younger brothers and sisters, she was of course delighted to have a girl of her own age to play with. So on the day that Susy came she was, of course, quite excited. She and Janet and Harry went about collecting flowers, so that the house might look bright and pleasant when the family should arrive.

So Susy came, and then began the good times in earnest. The children took long walks in the woods and lanes, with Wrinkles for a guide and protector, and many were the curiosities they brought back from their rambles.

One day as they were walking along over a road which they had never taken before, Susy suddenly exclaimed:

“See, there is a little house. I am so glad, for I am dreadfully thirsty. I didn’t say anything about it before, for it was of no use when there was no water near by, but now I can get a drink. Come.”

So the children ran on till they came to the hut, and knocking at the back door they waited quietly for it to be opened.

But no answer came to their rapping, so Susy lifted the latch and peeped cautiously in. She started back in a minute, however, exclaiming:

“Alice, there is a little girl in there sitting on the floor and crying like everything. What shall I do? Would you go in or would you go away?”

Alice hesitated a minute, and then she said, softly:

“Let us go in by all means. The poor child may be in trouble, and, if so, we may be able to help her.”

So the children opened the door, and Alice walked quietly towards the girl. At first she was so absorbed by her grief that she did not hear any footsteps, but suddenly, being conscious that some one else was in the room, she started to her feet, and, drying her eyes upon the corner of her apron, she exclaimed:

“Oh! I beg your pardon, miss; I did not hear any one. Can I do anything for you?”

“What in the world can that be,” said Alice, looking at it attentively. “I will open it, and see what is inside.”

So she broke the seal and took out a letter which was folded carefully within. This she opened and imagine her astonishment, when out rolled a ten-dollar bill.

All sleepiness left her eyes as she began to read her letter.

“Dear Alice: I shall not see you again probably, for some time, as we start off again to-morrow morning; but although neither Mr. Cushman nor I can be at the fair on Saturday, we wish to make a contribution to this good cause. Will you please accept ten dollars for us, and buy whatever you think is best for your protégée? So good-bye, my dear little girl. With our best wishes for your success, I remain your affectionate

Uncle Dick.”

Alice could not sleep any more that morning. Instead of dreading to get up she now only longed for the time when she could dress herself, and run over to tell Susy the delightful news.

So she lay in bed waiting for the clock to strike six. “I will get up then, certainly,” she said; “but I wish it would be seven. I hate to be up so long before breakfast.”

Just then two little birds lighted on a tree just outside of her window, and began their morning song. They seemed to have a great deal to say to each other, and Alice thought they were probably settling upon a good place for a nest. Alice was right. They were deciding this most important question.

Poor little birds, they have a hard time of it! Between bad boys and cats they have to battle for their lives. We can excuse cats, for they know no better, and they eat two or three mouthfuls of bird as innocently as we would pick and eat two or three strawberries.

Well, these little birds were in a safe enough place, for the boys who came to visit Alice were little gentlemen; and as Alice lay there listening to them her thoughts began to wander. She thought she was a bird and that Susy was another, and that they were both standing on the chimney of Mrs. Thompson’s house. She was showing Uncle Dick’s money to Susy, holding it in her beak, when suddenly, a big black cat came creeping stealthily up the chimney and made a spring toward her ten-dollar bill. She woke with a scream, and found that morning had fairly come.

She sprang out of her bed, and was soon dressed. When she went down to the parlor, she found her mamma writing a letter.

“Oh, mamma,” she exclaimed, “did you see what Uncle Dick left for me?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Grey; “was he not kind? He put it under your pillow himself.”

“He is just the best uncle that ever lived,” said Alice, “and I am going to write and tell him so; but, oh, dear me, I forgot, I don’t know where he is.”

The summer passed away at last. Alice and Susy kept up their fair until Mrs. Thompson grew perfectly well. In fact she said she had never been so well in her life as she was when she began to walk about again.

The question arose how they should get back, should they take the cars or the boat.

The children were decidedly in favor of the boat, and at last it was decided that they should go in that way.

So one afternoon the trunks were all put on board of a big wagon, and off the Grey family went.

The children had great fun on the boat, and thought it much better than the cars.

The next day they reached New York, and soon the winter came with all its duties. It brought its pleasures, too, but it was a long time before the children ceased to talk about the pleasant summer days which had passed.

DOWN BY THE SEA

Hal Brooks and his sister Dolly lived in town. But this was only in the winter. As soon as the first of June came every year there was a great packing of trunks, for all the family were off to the seaside. Mr. Brooks had a house in the country as well as in town. The country house was built away out on a point of land that ran far into the ocean. On one side of this point were the quiet waters of the bay that lay in front of an old sea-port town, but on the other were the wild waves of the ocean.

The beach that faced the ocean was a fine one. In some places there was a long stretch of sand, and here in the summer time people came down from the town to bathe in the surf on pleasant days. But as you walked along this beach, presently you would come to a great rocky point, where the air was full of foam as the heavy swell from the sea dashed against it.

There were little sheltered nooks among these rocks, though, and here Dolly loved to sit in the bright Summer days, and watch the seagulls or the boats that swept by.

But we must go back to Hal and Dolly, who are now in town.

It is the first day of June, and the sun is shining brightly. In front of Mr. Brooks’ door is a great van, which two sturdy porters are fast filling with trunks, for to-day they are all off for Oldport. Hal stands on the steps watching the trunks as they are brought down, one after another, with great satisfaction, but he is soon summoned to breakfast. The carriage is to be at the door in half an hour to take them to the station; for Oldport is a long day’s ride on the railway from the town where they live.

There is not much to tell of that day’s ride in the cars. For hour after hour their way led through green fields, where the cattle were browsing so lazily that they hardly lifted their eyes to look at the train as it rushed by. But toward afternoon they began to get now and then peeps of the sea, and once, through the marine glass that his father had, Hal could plainly make out two sailors furling the jib of a vessel some two miles at sea.

They were both pretty tired and dusty, and the basket that had held their lunches was very empty, when just at dusk they heard the brakeman shout “Oldport,” and the train came to a stop at the well-remembered platform.

Mr. Brooks did not go to the great hotel on the hill, but to a little old inn close by the water’s edge. The inn keeper knew that they were coming, and their rooms were all ready for them and supper was just being put on the table as they drove up to the door. Mr. Brooks always went to this inn because the trip from Oldport to their home was made by boat, and this house was close to the pier. They could drive around, but it was a long, long way, while by the boat it was but a couple of miles. So old Andrew always met them bright and early the next morning after their reaching Oldport, with the big sail-boat, into which trunks, people and all were stowed away, and so home was reached.

The children were both too tired to eat much supper, and as soon as it was over went right to their rooms. Hal stood at the window a minute looking out across the bay to see if he could make out their own house. Yes, away out on the point, he saw it shining white in the moonlight, and here right below him in the harbor was a ship just setting out for sea. At any other time he would have been much interested in watching her and the men in the boat that were rowing back to shore, but to-night he was much too sleepy, so he left the window and in ten minutes he and Dolly both were fast asleep snugly tucked up in bed.

It was a bright morning when he opened his eyes. He lay still for a moment, hardly wide enough awake to know where he was. Then he heard the splash of the little waves on the beach and that roused him instantly. Not a sound came from the next room, where his papa and mamma and Dolly slept. He crawled quietly out of bed so as not to wake them, and stole to the window.

A little way along the beach, perhaps half a mile from him, he saw a boy and girl running. A fishing boat was sailing by on its way out to sea, and a man in it was waving his hand to them. Hal made up his mind that he must be the children’s father. But he looked at the boat and children only a minute, for coming across the bay was a sail that he knew at a glance to be that of their own boat, the Speedwell.

He ran to the chair where his clothes were, and began to dress himself with the greatest haste. Then leaving a few buttons to fasten as he went along, he stole out of the room on tip-toe, and running down the pier, reached it just in time to seize the painter that old Andrew threw him. And in another moment he was aboard; and the first thing that his father saw when he looked out of the window was Hal sitting on the Speedwell, and swinging his hat above him for joy.

While they were eating breakfast Andrew and another man carried down the trunks and stowed them away, and by nine o’clock all the luggage was on board. Meanwhile the children were impatient to be off. But much as they longed to be at their summer home they would never have left Oldport without first seeing Thalassa. Thalassa was the adopted daughter of the innkeeper, and was always called Lassie. The children were very much interested in her, for she had a strange history. It was this:

One night, about thirteen years before, there was a great storm. All at once came word that a ship was on the bar. The people crowded to the beach to watch, and to see if they could help those on board. But it was of no use. Of all that ship’s company only one came ashore alive, and that was a baby girl. How she lived in that wild sea no one could tell. The innkeeper who saw her floating just outside the surf, made fast a line around his waist, and at the risk of his life swam out and brought her in. And ever since that day when he rescued her half drowned from the sea, and declared that the friendless little baby should be as his own child, Lassie, his little mermaid as he called her, had been very dear to him. As for Lassie, she loved her adopted father better than all the world beside.