OUR BOYS & GIRLS.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 744, 4 June 1886, Page 4

OUR BOYS & GIRLS.

By Sophie Swett.

BARTY’S TURKEY. [a Thanksgiving-day Story.]

* What do you wish, Barty O'Flanigan 1 T Miss Sarah Wilhelmina Appelby put her head out at the window and spoke rather impatiently. Barty O Flanigan was a small boy with a big basket and a bigger voice, while his brogue was something wonderful to hear. ‘ It’s the foine fat turrkey the misthress is afther promisin’ me fur me Thanksgivin’ I’m wantin’,’ replied Barty. ‘ Shure, didn’t I ketch her ould horrse as was afther runnin’ away, an’ hould him till the arrums iv me was broke intirely ? An’ sez the misthress to me, sez she, “Barty,” sez she, “come up an’ take your pick iv me foine fat turrkeys fur your Thanksgivin’ dinner,” sez she. An’ it’s here I am, Miss, be the same token.’ Miss Sarah Wilhelmina remembered her aunt’s promise. ‘ But Tim has gone to the station,’ she said. ‘ You’ll have to come agaiu when he can catch one for you.’ ‘ An’ win* couldn’t I ketch it meself, an’ me mother waitin’ to pluck the feathers aff it, an’ the misthress say in’ I could have me pick ?’ queried Barty insinuatingly. ‘ I don’t know whether you could catch one, Barty; you’re so small,’ said Sarah Wilhelmina doubtfully. ‘ The legs pv .ne is long,’ said Barty, displaying them with pride, * an’ I can ketch anything at all, so me mother sez—barrin’ the maysles.’ Now Sarah Wilhelmina was in a hurry, for she was going away to spend Thanksgiving ; and Martha Washington was down cellar and Mancy had gone on errand. ‘I know Aunt Doxy wouldn’t wish him to be disappointed,.’ she said to herself ; and then she added aloud, ‘Oh, well, Barty; you may catch one if you can ; all the turkeys are out in the field ; ’ and with that Sarah Wilhelmina rushed off to her train, while Barty betook himself to the field where the doomed Thanksgiving turkeys were enjoying the frosty November air. Two hours afterward Miss Eudoxia Appleby, the mistress of Pine Hill Farm, reaehed home with her small niece, Rebecca Ellen, and her nephew Thaddeus. ‘ I m almost sorry I let Sarah Wilhelmina go,’ said Aunt Doxy, sadly. ‘ I’m afraid we shall have a very lonely Thanksgiving.’ As they usually had very jolly Thanksgivings at Pine Hill Farm, Becky and Thaddy grew sad also, and Becky, looking wistfully out of the window at a little house at the foot of the hill, said. : ‘ Better ’vite the people at the cottage ; then’t wouldn’t be lonesome.’ Aunt Doxy spoke severley, almost sharply. ‘ Becky,’ she said, ‘ those people in the cottage are not such as I approve of, and neither of you children must even go near the fence.’ Nobody in Cressbrook knew just what to think of the ‘ cottage people,’ as Aunt Doxy called them. They had taken the little house in the early spring, and had added peaks and gables and little piazzas to it, and had painted it in red and olive and yellow, until Aunt Doxy declared it a dreadful sight to see. And she didn’t like the looks of the people any better. They wore fantastic finery and appeared as if they were always going to a fancy-dress ball. The man who took care of their horse and cow had been seen in a Roman toga. The lady of the house fed the chickens in a Mother Hubbard dress of sea-green organdie, with

a poke bonnet on her head and a ridicahv’" dove nerched on her shoulder. vT** a 11 e , L „ nnrl rn'i-1 nf -*oUt the Same children -a boy and i f'gL^ y _ looked Hke a •fff and grandmother who had Jiscstepped out of some old picture-frame, or so Aunt Doxy thought. She even contemplated building a very high fence between the two gardens, lest Becky and Thaady should take an interest in the small antique-looking persons who lived in the queer cottage.

Of course they took an interest in them, and many stolen glances besides ; they soon found out in some way that the children at the cottage were named Rupert and Marguerite, and that they were kind and pleasant playmates. But in the midst of the children's horrifying assertion to Aunt Doxy, that they didn’t believe Rupert and Marguerite were very bad children after all, there came a revelation that almost took the good lady’s breath away. Emancipation, or Mancy, was the very black daughter of the equally black Martha Washington, whom Miss Eudoxia had imported from the South for household ‘ helps ’ soou after the war. And Mancy now burst, almost breathless, into the room with the cry : 1 Oh, Miss Doxy ! de Princess gone !’ vi«£ one • She hasn’t flown over the cothas she?’ exclaimed Aunt Doxjq in great consternation. * Wus’n dat,’ declared Martha Washington, bustling in after her daughter. ‘Wus’n dat, Miss Doxy ! she’s been pulled froo de fence !’ Aunt Doxy was fond of pets and had a great many, but her heart was especially set upon her pea fowls— ‘ Prince and Princess Charming.’ The Prince was a great, splendidly-shaped peacock, with a magnificent display of tail-feathers ; the Princess was of a"dull color, and had no tail-feathers to spread. She was chiefly remarkable for a very discordant voice. But Aunt Doxy seemed fonder of her than of the Prince. Perhaps it was because everybody disparaged hei. ‘ Pulled through the fence! Why, what do you mean?’ she cried. Martha Washington’s fat and jolly face wa3 gloomy with prophecy. * Yo’ knows, for a fac 1 , Miss Doxy,’ she said, ‘ how ’tractive dem peacocks has allays b’en to de family down dar,’ and she pointed a fat, disapproving finger at the cottage, for Martha Washington shared her mistress’s prejudices. ‘De gemman hisself done sit on de fence in de br’ilin’ sun, atakin’ of dem off wiv his pencil, an’ de leetle gal say her mammy done want a fan made out ob de Prince’s tail. And see yar, Miss Doxy, ’ —Martha Washington solemnly drew from’her pocket a brownish-drab feather, — e I done fin’ dis stickin’ in de cottage fence where de pore bird was pulled froo.’ And Martha Washington spread out both her fat hand 3, as if to emphasise her proof of the ‘ cottage people’s ’ guilt. Aunt Doxy was overcome. *O my poor Princess !' she said. ‘ What could they want it for?’ ‘ Why, to eat, Miss Doxy, o’ course, declared Martha Washington. ‘Dat sort o’ s’picious folks allays get de curusest t’ings to eat. Dey took Princess for deir T’anksgibin’ dinner.’ ‘ What ignorant, barbarous people they must be—to eat a peacock !’ said Aunt Doxy. ‘ I certainly must write a letter of remonstrance, and see what excuse they can offer for so unchristian an act.’ (To be continued )