Loe raamatut: «The William Henry Letters», lehekülg 7

William Henry to his Sister

My dear Little Sister, —

I'm sorry your little birdie's dead! He was a nice singing birdie! But I wouldn't cry. Maybe you'll have another one some time, if you're a good little girl. Maybe father'll go to Boston and buy you one, or maybe Cousin Joe will send one home to you, in a vessel, or maybe I'll catch one, or maybe a man will come along with birds to sell, or maybe Aunt Phebe's bird will lay an egg and hatch one out. I wouldn't feel bad about it. It isn't any use to feel bad about it. Maybe, if he hadn't been killed, he'd 'a' died. Dorry says, "Tell her, 'Don't you cry,' and I'll give her something, catch her a rabbit or a squirrel!" Says he'll tease his sister for her white mice. Says he'll tease her with the tears in his eyes, – or else her banties.

How do you like your teacher? Do you learn any lessons at school? You must try to get up above all the other ones. We've got two new teachers this year. One is clever, and we like that one, but the other one isn't very. We call the good one Wedding Cake, and we call the other one Brown Bread. Did grandmother tell you about the Fortune Tellers? We went to-day and she told mine true. She said my father was a very kind man, and said I was quick to get mad, and said I had just got something I'd wanted a long time (watch, you know), and said I should have something else that I wanted, but didn't say when. I wonder how she knew I wanted a gun. I thought perhaps somebody told her, and laid it to Old Wonder Boy, for we two had been talking about guns. But he flared up just like a flash of powder. "There. Now you needn't blame that on to me!" says he. "You fellers always do blame everything on to me!" Sometimes when somebody touches him he hollers out, "Leave me loose! Leave me loose!" Dorry says that's the way fellers talk down in Jersey. The Fortune Teller told W. B. that he came from a long way off, and that he wanted to be a soldier, but he'd better give up that, for he wouldn't dare to go to war, without he went behind to sell pies. All of us laughed to hear that, for Old Wonder Boy is quick to get scared. But he is always straightening himself up, and looking big, and talking about his native land, and what he would do for his native land, and how he would fight for his native land, and how he would die for his native land. He says that why she told him that kind of a fortune was because he gave her pennies and not silver money. His uncle that goes cap'n of a vessel has sent him a letter, and in the letter it said that he had a sailor aboard his ship that used to come to this school.

I was going to tell you a funny story about W. B.'s getting scared, but Dorry he keeps teasing me to go somewhere. I made these joggly letters when he tickled my ears with his paint-brush. Has your pullet begun to lay yet? I hope my rooster won't be killed. Tell them not to. Benjie says he had a grand great rooster. It was white and had green and purple tail feathers, O, very long tail feathers, and stood 'most as high as a barrel of flour, with great yellow legs, and had a beautiful crow, and could drive away every other one that showed his head, and he set his eyes by that rooster, but when he got home they had killed him for broth, and when he asked 'em where his rooster was they brought out the wish-bone and two tail feathers, and that was all there was left of him. I wouldn't have poor little kitty drowned way down in the deep water 'cause to drown a kitty couldn't make a birdie alive again. Have your flowers bloomed out yet? You must be a good little girl, and try to please your grandmother all you can.

From your affectionate brother,

William Henry.

P. S. Now Dorry's run to head off a loose horse, and I'll tell you about Old Wonder Boy's getting scared. It was one night when – Now there comes Dorry back again! But next time I will.

W. H.

William Henry to his Sister, about Old Wonder Boy's Fright

My dear Sister, —

I will put that little story I am going to tell you right at the beginning, before Dorry and Bubby Short get back. I mean about W. B.'s getting scared. But don't you be scared, for after all 't was – no, I mean after all 't wasn't – but wait and you'll know by and by, when I tell you. 'T was one night when Dorry and I and some more fellers were a sitting here together, and we all of us heard some thick boots coming-a hurrying up the stairs, and the door came a banging open, and W. B. pitched in, just as pale as a sheet, and couldn't but just breathe. And he tried to speak, but couldn't, only one word at once, and catching his breath between, just so, – "Shut – the – door! – Do! – Do! – shut – the door!" Then we shut up the door, and Bubby Short stood his back up against it because 't wouldn't quite latch, and now I will tell you what it was that scared him. Not at the first of it, but I shall tell it just the same way we found it out.

Says he, "I was making a box, and when I got it done 't was dark, but I went to carry the carpenter's tools back to him, because I promised to. And going along," says he, "I thought I heard a funny noise behind me, but I didn't think very much about it, but I heard it again, and I looked over my shoulder, and I saw something white behind me, a chasing me. I went faster, and then that went faster. Then I went slower, and then that went slower. And then I got scared and ran as fast as I could, and looked over my shoulder and 't was keeping up. But it didn't run with feet, nor with legs, for then I shouldn't 'a' been scared. But it came – O, I don't know how it came, without anything to go on."

Dorry asked him, "How did it look?"

"O, – white. All over white," says W. B.

"How big was it?" Bubby Short asked him.

"O, – I don't know," says W. B. "First it looked about as big as a pigeon, but every time I looked round it seemed to grow bigger and bigger."

"Maybe 't was a pigeon," says Dorry. "Did it have any wings?"

"Not a wing," says W. B.

"Maybe 't was a white cat," says Mr. Augustus.

"O, poh, cat!" says W. B.

"Or a poodle dog," says Benjie.

"Nonsense, poodle dog!" says W. B.

"Or a rabbit," says Bubby Short.

"O, go 'way with your rabbit!" says W. B. "Didn't I tell you it hadn't any feet or legs to go with?"

"Then how could it go?" Mr. Augustus asked him.

"That's the very thing," said W. B.

"Snakes do," says Bubby Short.

"But a snake wouldn't look white," says Benjie.

"Without 't was scared," says Dorry.

I said I guessed I knew. Like enough 't was a ghost of something.

I said like enough of a robin or some kind of bird.

"Of what?" then they all asked me.

"That he'd stolen the eggs of," says Dorry.

"O yes!" says Old Wonder Boy. "It's easy enough to laugh, in the light here, but I guess you'd 'a' been scared, seeing something chasing you in the dark, and going up and down, and going tick, tick, tick, every time it touched ground, and sometimes it touched my side too."

"For goodness gracious!" says Dorry. "Can't you tell what it seemed most like?"

"I tell you it didn't seem most like anything. It didn't run, nor walk, nor fly, nor creep, nor glide along. And when I got to the Great Elm-Tree, I cut round that tree, and ran this way, and that did too."

"Where is it now?" Dorry asked him.

"O, don't!" says W. B. "Don't open the door. 'T is out there."

"Come, fellers," Dorry said, "let's go find it."

Benjie said, "Let's take something to hit it with!" And he took an umbrella and I took the bootjack, and Bubby Short took the towel horse, and Mr. Augustus took a hair-brush, and Dorry took his boot with his arm run down in it, and first we opened the door a crack and didn't go out, but peeped out, but didn't see anything there. Then we went out a little ways, and then we didn't see anything. And pretty soon, going along towards the stairs, Bubby Short stepped on something. "What's that?" says he. And he jumped, and we all flung our things at it. "Hold the light!" Dorry cried out.

Then W. B. brought out the light, and there wasn't anything there but a carpenter's reel, with a chalk line wound up on it, and they picked it up and began to wind up, and when they came to the end of it – where do you s'pose the other end was? In W. B.'s pocket! and his ball and some more things held it fast there, and that chalk-line reel was what went bobbing up and down behind Old Wonder Boy every step he took, – bob, bob, bobbing up and down, for there was a hitch in the line and it couldn't unwind any more, and the line under the door was why 't wouldn't latch, and O, but you ought to 've heard the fellers how they roared! and Bubby Short rolled over on the floor, and Dorry he tumbled heels over head on all the beds, and we all shouted and hurrahed so the other fellers came running to see what was up, and then the teachers came to see who was flinging things round so up here, and to see what was the matter, but there couldn't anybody tell what the matter was for laughing, and W. B. he looked so sheepish! O, if it wasn't gay! How do you like this story? That part where it touched his side was when that reel caught on something and so jerked the string some. Now I must study my lesson.

Your affectionate brother,

William Henry.

P.S. When you send a box don't send very many clothes in it, but send goodies. I tell you things taste good when a feller's away from his folks. Dorry's father had a picture taken of Dorry's little dog and sent it to him, and it looks just as natural as some boys. Tell Aunt Phebe's little Tommy he may sail my boat once. 'T is put away up garret in that corner where I keep things, side of that great long-handled thing, grandmother's warming-pan. I mean that little sloop boat I had when I's a little feller.

W. H.

Georgianna's Letter to William Henry

My Dear Brother Billy, —

Kitty isn't drowned. I've got ever so many new dolls. My grandmother went to town, not the same day my kitty did that, but the next day, and she brought me home a new doll, and that same day she went there my father went to Boston, and he brought me home a very big one, – no, not very, but quite big, – and Aunt Phebe went a visiting to somebody's house that very day, and she brought me home a doll, and while she was gone away Hannah Jane dressed over one of Matilda's old ones new, and none of the folks knew that the others were going to give me a doll, and then Uncle J. said that if it was the family custom to give Georgianna a doll, he would give Georgianna a doll, and he went to the field and catched the colt, and tackled him up into the riding wagon on purpose, and then he started off to town, and when he rode up to our back door there was a great dolly, the biggest one I had, and she was sitting down on the seat, just like a live one. And she had a waterfall, and she had things to take off and on. Then Uncle J. asked me what I should do with my old dollies that were 'most worn out. And I said I didn't know what I should. And then Uncle J. said that he would take the lot, for twenty-five cents a head, to put up in his garden, for scarecrows, and he asked me if I would sell, and I said I would. And he put the little ones on little poles and the big ones on tall poles, with their arms stretched out, and the one with a long veil looked the funniest, and so did the one dressed up like a sailor boy, but one arm was broke off of him, and a good many of their noses too. The one that had on old woman's clothes Uncle J. put a pipe in her mouth. And the one that had a pink gauze dress, but 't is all faded out now, and a long train, but the train was torn very much, that one has a great bunch of flowers – paper – pinned on to her, and another in her hand, and the puppy he barks at 'em like everything. My pullet lays, little ones, you know. I hope she won't do like Lucy Maria's Leghorn hen. That one flies into the bedroom window every morning, and lays eggs on the bedroom bed. For maybe 't would come in before I got up. My class has begun to learn geography, and my father has bought me a new geography. But I guess I sha' n't like to learn it very much if the backside is hard as the foreside is. Uncle J. says no need to worry your mind any about that old fowl, for he's so tough he couldn't be killed. I wish you would tell me how long he could live if it wasn't killed, for Uncle J. says they grow tougher every year, and if you should let one live too long, then he can't die. But I guess he's funning, do you? Our hens scratched and scratched up some of my flowers, and so did the rain wash some up that night it came down so hard, but one pretty one bloomed out this morning, but it has budded back again now. Aunt Phebe says she sends her love to you, tied up with this pretty piece of blue ribbon. She says, if you want to, you can take the ribbon and wear it for a neck bow. Grandmother says how do you know but that sailor that went to your school in Old Wonder Boy's uncle's vessel is that big boy, that bad one that ran away, you called Tom Cush?

Father laughs to hear about Old Wonder Boy, and he says a bragger ought to be laughed at, and bragging is a bad thing. But he don't want you to pick out all the bad things about a boy to send home in your letters; says next time you must send home a good thing about him, because he thinks every boy you see has some good things as well as some bad things.

A dear little baby has moved in the house next to our house. It lets me hold her, and its mother lets me drag her out. It's got little bits of toes, and it's got a little bit of a nose, and it says "Da da! da da! da da!" And when I was dragging her out, the wheel went over a poor little butterfly, but I guess it was dead before. O, its wings were just as soft! and 't was a yellow one. And I buried it up in the ground close to where I buried up my little birdie, side of the spring.

Your affectionate sister,

Georgianna.

-

Among the other letters I find the following, from Tom Cush. As the people at Summer Sweeting place had been told the circumstances of his running away, it was not only proper, but just, that William Henry should send them this letter.

A Letter from Tom Cush to Dorry

Dear Friend, —

I have not seen you for a great while. I hope you are in good health. Does William Henry go to school there now? And does Benjie go, and little Bubby Short? I hope they are in good health. Do the Two Betseys keep shop there now? Is Gapper Skyblue alive now? I am in very good health. I go to sea now. That's where I went when I went away from school. I suppose all the boys hate me, don't they? But I don't blame them any for hating me. I should think they would all of them hate me. For I didn't act very well when I went to that school. Our captain knows about that school, for he is uncle to a boy that has begun to go. He's sent a letter to him. I wish that boy would write a letter to him, because he might tell about the ones I know.

I've been making up my mind about telling you something. I've been thinking about it, and thinking about it. I don't like to tell things very well. But I am going to tell this to you. It isn't anything to tell. I mean it isn't like news, or anything happening to anybody. But it is something about when I was sick. For I had a fit of sickness. I don't mean afterwards, when I was so very sick, but at the first beginning of it.

The captain he took some books out of his chest and said I might have them to read if I wanted to. And I read about a man in one of them, and the king wanted him to do something that the man thought wasn't right to do; but the man said he would not do what was wrong. And for that he was sent to row in a very large boat among all kinds of bad man, thieves and murderers and the worst kind. They had to row every minute, and were chained to their oars, and above their waists they had no clothes on. They had overseers with long whips. The officers stayed on deck over the rowers' heads, and when they wanted the vessel to go faster, the overseers made their long whip-lashes cut into the men's backs till they were all raw and bleeding. Nights the chains were not taken off, and they slept all piled up on each other. Sometimes when the officers were in a hurry, or when there were soldiers aboard, going to fight the enemy's vessels, then the men wouldn't have even a minute to eat, and were almost starved to death, and got so weak they would fall over, but then they were whipped again. And when they got to the enemy's ships, they had to sit and have cannons fired in among them. Then the dead ones were picked up and thrown into the water. And the king told the man that if he wanted to be free, and have plenty to eat and a nice house, and good clothes to wear, all he had to do was to promise to do that wrong thing. But the man said no. For to be chained there would only hurt his body. But to do wrong would hurt his soul.

And I read about some people that lived many hundred years ago and the emperor of that country wanted these people to say that their religion was wrong and his religion was the right one. But they said, "No. We believe ours is true, and we cannot lie." Then the emperor took away all their property, and pierced them with red-hot irons, and threw some into a place where they kept wild beasts. But they still kept saying, "We cannot lie, we must speak what we believe." And one was a boy only fifteen years old. And the emperor thought he was so young they could scare him very easy. And he said to him, "Now say you believe the way I want you to, or I will have you shut up in a dark dungeon." But the boy said, "I will not say what is false." And he was shut up in a dark dungeon, underground. And one day the emperor said to him, "Say you believe the way I want you to, or I will have you stretched upon a rack." But the boy said, "I will not speak falsely." And he was stretched upon a rack till his bones were almost pulled apart. Then the emperor asked, "Now will you believe that my religion is right?" But the boy could not say so. And the emperor said, "Then you'll be burned alive!" The boy said, "I can suffer the burning, but I cannot lie." Then he was brought out and the wood was piled up round him, and set on fire, and the boy was burned up with the wood. And while he was burning up he thanked God for having strength enough to suffer and not lie.

Dorry, I want to tell you how much I've been thinking about that man and that boy ever since. And I want to ask you to do something. I've been thinking about how mean I was, and what I did there so as not to get punished. And I want you to go see my mother and tell her that I'm ashamed. Don't make any promises to my mother, but only just tell, "Tom's ashamed." That's all. I don't want to make promises. But I know myself just what I mean to do. But I sha' n't talk about that any. Give my regards to all inquiring friends.

Your affectionate friend,

Tom.

P.S. Can't you tell things about me to William Henry and the others, for it is very hard to me to write a letter? Write soon.

T.

-

Mr. Carver's visit to the Crooked Pond School alluded to in the following letter was quite an event for my Summer Sweeting friends, and caused an extra amount of cooking to be done in both families. Boys don't half appreciate the blessing of not being too old to have goodies sent them. Now goodies taste good to me, very good, but I haven't a friend in the world who would think of boiling up a kettleful of molasses into candy, or of making a waiterful of seed-cakes to send me. Too old, they say, – in actions, if not in words. How cruelly we are misjudged sometimes, and by those who ought to know us best! I shall never be too old to receive a box like that of William Henry's, never, never! – unless my whole constitution is altered and several clauses taken out of it.

I remember of seeing that waiter of "good seed-cakes" on grandmother's best room table, between the front windows, waiting to be packed in Mr. Carver's valise. Mr. Carver's black silk neck-handkerchief, tall hat, clean dickies, stockings, two red and white silk pocket-handkerchiefs, and various other articles were distributed over the adjacent chairs, and his umbrella, in a brown cambric covering, stood near by. I have the impression that most of these things were ironed over, five or six times, as grandmother felt that apparel going away from home could not be too much ironed. Besides, it seemed to her impossible that such an event as Billy's father setting out on his travels should take place without extra exertions in some quarter.

Mr. Carver had other business which took him from home, but as "going to see Billy" was thought enough to tell Mrs. Paulina, why, it is enough for me to tell. "Mrs. Paulina" was an elderly woman, the wife of Mr. John Slade, one of the neighbors, and she was called "Mrs. Paulina," to distinguish her from several other Mrs. Slades.

Mrs. Paulina had her own opinion as to how money and time should be spent, – everybody's money and time. She was one of the prying sort, and had wonderful skill in ferreting out all the whys and wherefores of her neighbor's proceedings. It was a common thing at the Farm to say, when undertaking some new scheme, "Well, how much shall we tell Mrs. Paulina?" It being a matter of course that she would inquire into it. The girls often amused themselves by giving her blinding answers just to see how she would contrive to carry her point. I remember their having great fun doing this, just after William Henry went away to school. Lucy Maria said 't was just like a conundrum to Mrs. Paulina, a great mammoth conundrum, and the poor thing must be told about "Old Uncle Wallace," or she would wear herself out, wondering "how Mr. Carver could possibly afford the money."

The "Old Uncle Wallace" thus brought to the rescue of Mrs. Paulina would probably not have came to her rescue, or to any woman's rescue, had he been free to choose, seeing that he lived and died a bachelor, and a stingy bachelor at that! The old miser was a distant uncle, – either half-uncle, or grand-uncle, or half grand-uncle of the Mr. Carvers, and lived, that is before he died, in a town some twenty miles off. Billy's father was named for Uncle Wallace, and when a little boy, lived in the same neighborhood, and was quite a favorite with him.

The acquaintance with that distant branch of the family, however, had not been kept up, in fact I have no recollection of a single member of it ever coming to the Farm. They were people well to do in the world, and neither Mr. Carver nor Uncle Jacob were men to "honey round" rich relations. Certainly they never would have fawned upon the miserly old fellow, who had the reputation of being mean and tricky as well as miserly.

It seems, however, that "Uncle Wallace" did not wholly forget his namesake, for in his will he left him quite a valuable wood-lot near Corry's Pond, – some six or eight miles from the Farm, – and a few hundred dollars besides.

This occurred not a great while before my first ride out with Uncle Jacob. Mr. Carver had long felt that Billy was being spoiled at home, and the Crooked Pond School being recommended at that time as "really good," and "not too expensive," he resolved that while feeling rich he would place his son at that institution. And he was more especially inclined to do so for the reason that an old friend of his lived near there, and this friend's wife promised to see that the boy did not go about in actual rags. She is probably the person to whom William Henry refers in his first letters, as "the woman I go to have my buttons sewed on to."

The above circumstances were duly imparted to Mrs. Paulina, yet that perplexed woman got no relief. True, it was something to know where the money came from, but "How could a man," she asked, "spend so much money on eddication, when it might be drawing interest, or put into land?"

Mrs. Paulina couldn't guess. She gave it up.