Little Stories of Real Life

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 8, 23 February 1907, Page 37

Little Stories of Real Life

By

S. N. CLEGHORN

LITTLE Henry Peaslee, in his white pantaloons and purple roundabout, was amusing himself in the parlour as best he could. He examined the Chinese work-box with all its ivory shuttles and bobbins, th<<melon-seed bags and painted lambrequin; or else he watehed the derrick swing large blocks of marble that looked no bigger than white beans in the mountain quarries far above. In the sitting-room, in the other wing, his unele and aunts were having a diseusion as to which of them should take him to bring up. His aunt »Sarah said that she was perfectly willing to assume the responsibility. It would be a good de-al of care, she said, but she would do her best to turn him out a good boy, ami a healthy boy, and an industrious boy. His unele Zadok shifteel his mighty bulk in his chair. “ The little toad,” saiel he, “ had better come to us,. Wife told me to fetch him home with me. ‘ Fetch him back here,’ said she, ‘ and set him down among our children.’ The more the merrier,” concluded Heiry’s Uncle Zadok, whose sunlike face, fringed round with grey stubble beamed like a paterfamilias in an allegorica 1 picture. But Henry’s Aunt Emma said, in a trembling voice, while all her thin, body shook: .. “I want him! I crave after him, Sister Sarah—Brother Zadok! ” The others looked a't her and at each other. " Well.” said Mrs. Sarah. “ Well.” said Mr. Zadok, a little doubtfully, “ I’m—l’m agreed.” ’ They drummed on the arms of their chairs a little longer, and rolled a glance or two round the ceiling, and wondered in their own minds whether Poor Emma could really make a success of bringing up her orphaned nephew. But her lap seemed to be waiting for him; her long arms looked empty; and the words that she had spoken vibrated gtill in the room. “ Well, Emma,” said Mr. Zadok at length, “ you’ve cut out a piece of work for yourself. I hope the boy’ll be a comfort to ye. But let me give ye one piece of advice: make a man of him.” “ Yes, Emma,” cried her sister. “ Henry's a timid child, and you must harden him. You must toughen him.” Mr. Zadok nodded. “Toughen him,” repeated he. “ Push him out to play with other boys. If he tumbles down and scrapes his nose, don’t let him run to you a-bawling. Don’t let him grow- up afeard of dogs. Don’t set by his bed to keep away the bogeyman.” “ But she will! ” cried Mrs. Sarah. Miss Emma blushed. “Well, enough said,” concluded Mr. Zadok. Enough had been said to change all the echoes in the room, which before hail been full of Miss Emma’s “ I crave after him! ” but now were full of Mr. Zadok’s “Make a man of him!” It was quite true that Henry Peaslee was a nervous, timid, imaginative child. He started at sudden noises; he was afraid of dogs, and even of large eats; and often he had bad dreams, and woke up crying. He was an only child, with the blood of generations of introspective ministers flowing in his veins. Now his maiden aunt, with a proprietary air, tied on his little circular cloak, and had scarcely hooked herself up in her own dolman when the Peru stage came bumping down the hill, and hawed to a stop between the giant locusts. Mr. Zadok escorted Miss Emma, and Mrs. Sarah lifted in the little boy; and the lean horses jogged away toward the sunset notch between Blueberry and Bald Fowl mountains. And as the happy aunt, under eover of the kind canvas flap, stole her long arm round the boy, Mrs. Sarah was saying to Mr. Zadok in the house behind them. “Emma Peaslee is no woman to bring uj> such a boy as Henry."

“No,” said Mr. Zadok. “She wun't make a man of him.”

Meantime the stage, slowly rolling over spur after spur of the mountains, came at length to “Sandacre Street,” and took on another passenger from the store there. Henry felt a knocking in his ribs as the stranger entered. He was a hairy, gipsy-looking man, with earrings in his ears. As he sat down he stretched out his legs, like a board fence, across the stage, balancing the heel of one boot on the toe of the other. Henry hitched himself closer to his aunt. The stranger began poking with his stick in the dark corners of the stage, as if he had seen a rat. Henry clasped his aunt’s arm, and huddled to her side. What was this fluttering beneath his ear? It was his Aunt Emma’s heart palpitating like a rabbit’s or a chipmunk’s. Henry was amazed. Grown-up people, in his experience, had never been afraid —they were his protectors and protectresses. But here, was his Aunt Emma breathing fast and short, and her hand was cold against his leg in its linen pantaloon! ,

They had reached the bad roads of Famumville, and now, as one wheel went over a log. the other down in a mud pot, the gipsy, stick and all. was pitched violently against Miss Emma Peaslee and her nephew. Henry was all ready to cry; he felt the tears risipg in his throat—tears which he tried in vain to swallow-; but before they quite gushed 'out, his Aunt Emma, clutching him tightly, let out a faint shriek, and followed it with a hundred tiny panting breaths.

And then there awoke and stirred in Henry Peaslee’s soul a feeble, blind impulse of chivalry, no bigger than a mothmiller. It fluttered about inside of him, and filled him with a curious discomfort. His chest felt hot. He turned his face off his aunt’s bosom, and looked at the stranger, who had sunk deep into his loose coat. Ah! he was a terrible-look-ing customer. His front teeth bit into his lower lip; his hairy neck, his knotty hands made him look wild and fierce. But Henry’s blood was up since he had heard his aunt’s tender little scream. He turned to the fierce mountaineer; he opened his mouth, and, trembling all over, thrust out his tongue at him. “You did-did-dasn t bump into my auntie again!” said he in a brave, quavering voice. And immediately a little man stood up inside of him and made him feel big enough to pitch the gipsy out over the back Wheels. “Here we air, little nephew! Here we air in Famumville, and this is the little green house -where we belong!” It was late in the winter of that (to Miss Emma Peaslee) ever memorable year that her brother and sister at last succeeded in getting over to Famumville to see her. The visit had long been talked of, but the heat, the cold, and the rain had intervened; Zadok had shingles and Sarah a touch of gout; and mud and drifts prevented the stage from making its circuit. But at length, on a day late in February, Henry's uncle and his Aunt Sarah descended from the stage at the post-office, and walked down the long, marble street to the little green house. “I hope Emma will be to home,” said Mr. Zadok, thinking of his sister’s currant shrub. Mrs. Sarah smiled; “She’s probably to home, teaching Henry to do his patchwork.” said she. “Or dressing a dolly for him,” added Mr. Zadok. “Or tying his hair up with a blue ribbon,” said Mrs. Sarah. “Poor little toad!” said Mr. Zadok, “setting to home with his auntie on a Saturday afternoon! Or if she takes him out, it’ll be to call on the minister — Whifkachool who throwed that slushball, boys? Which of ye done it I” “Ah! that catched ye plumb on the

ear, mister,” chuckled an aged man In the doorway of a store. ’’Which of ye done it?” repeated Mr. Zadok, glaring at the boys within a fort of snow across the street. The soggy ball had splashed his spectacles and diekey, and was trickling down his shoulder-blade.

“I ean tell ye who throwed it,” said the aged bystander. “It was that young one in the plum-eoloured roundabout. I don't reeomember his name. He's full of all seeh monkey-shines.”

“Wai,” roared Mr. Zadok, “if he dast to do sech a trick again, I’ll eome over thar and t-an him. Who did ye say the little blackguard was? I ean’t see nothing through these spectacles, eonsarn the boy!” “His name's kind of got away from me. It’s some sort of gardin truck, like Beans or Parsnip. He’s a tough little feller. He’s be’n out there senee the forenoon, pluggin’ every man that went by. He don’t plug the ladies. Your company- needn't have ran away.” “Why, where is Sarey?” i.sked Mr. Zadok, looking round him. Mrs. Sarah had fled. Her blue barege skirt at that moment whisked into an alley and was lost to view. “That little feller has blossomed out wonderful since he was fetched here by his auntie,” volunteered the old man. “He was a pindlin’, fidgety child. Naow he’s the manliest little shaver you ever see. Oh, I reeomember his name naow — it’s Peaslee. His folks was from Perewwav.”

Mr. Zadok caught the old man by the sleeve.

“Manly little shaver, is he?” he asked eagerly. “Wai,-I guess yes! Why, here awhile ago the gipsies stole his auntie’s old Speekler, the best lay in’ hen she had. What did that little feller do, hey? Why, he took after the gipsy waggon, follered it otit of tabwn to the old sand-bank, and hung around their camp till dark, and got hold of the old hen, and fetched her hum.”,-

“Buy a rabbit!” . cried Mr. Zadok, slapping his giant thigh. “Buy a rabbit,-hey? That hain’t a circumstance. Here in the fall they had a torchlight parade for Franklin Pierce. That little Ta’snip feller he dumb out of his winder, after his auntie had put him to bed and blowed out his candle; he shinned dowit the old popple-tree, and run up to the church and rung the bell like sixty-seven!” “Good for the little tyke!” shouted Mr. Zadok, thumping his new friend on the shoulder. “I see you know- the p’ints of a boy.” said the old man gieetuliy, though his shoulder was sore. “I ought to know the p’ints of this one,” said Mr. Zadok, “for he’s my brother Alferd’s son.” “You don’t tell me-that!” “I do,” said Mr. Zadok, swelling out his chest with pride. “Wai, sir!” “Yes, sir! But when I knowed him, he was seeh a pindlin’, fidgety- child as you describe. What's made this mighty ehange in him, hey?”. “You want me to tell ve, mister?”

“1 do, sir.” “Wai, sir, look across the -treet tbarv That’s his auntie.” Mr Zadok looked. Through the shouting, snowballing group of boys, he could see his sister Emma’s delicate, thia form, ela in lire calling dress of watered silk, and Paisley shawl. She was cowering on the kerbstone, with beta arms up as if to shie! I her head. Shs took a step forward, then retreated three; and was hovering still on tbs curb when she eaught sight of Henry’s purple roundabout, and forthwith begai* to eall in a faint voice: “Nenny! Nenny! Nenny!” "Look at the little feller now. mister.” Mr Zadok looked, and saw his young nephew scramble to his feet ami tear hot foot across the street. He gave bis aunt his arm with a most Chestertieldian air; and she elung to him as if ha were a captain of marines. And Henry looked the part. His shoulders wer* thrown back, and he walked with a mighty swagger. Not one of his late companions threw a slushhall at him, aa he escorted his lady aunt across the street. “Wai,” said Mr Zadok, “I’m beat. This is too many for me.” "Brother! You here!” cried Miss Emma. Mr Zodak hardly heard. He was patting his nephew on the head, the shoulders, and the back. He hau* no thoughts for any one else, for as the antediluvian in the store doorway had said, Air Zadok was a connoisseur in boys. “You was quite a little man, tha’r, son,” said he. "Your auntie hain’t spoiled you yit. I want you should coma over to South Derry and visit my boys. Thar’s Fred, is ten, and Josiph, eight, and W.iliam ” “Wha-wbat say, Brother Zadok?” cried Miss Emma Peaslee, all in a Hutter, laying her thin fingers on her brother’s arm. "What air you saying to Nenny?” Mrs Sarah was peering out of her alley. She heard her brother Zadok repeat : “Why, I want the little tyke should eome and spend a week with our boys, over to South Derry.” And then she heard her sister Emma reply: “Oh. brother! You’re very kind. But I can’t spare him. You won’t go away and leave auntie, will you, Nenny?” SA* was fluttering and almost crying. “No, ma’am, I wun’t—l never willl” cried the little boy “I’m most afraid to go for the mll'r without Nenny,” resumed Miss Emma. “He purteets me from that fierce cow of the Snookses. I like him with ma, too, when his grandfather’s gun has to be dusted. Ami to tell the truth, bro, ther, l—l don’t know how I could go tc sleep at night without Nenny looking under my bed, to—to see, you knew, brother—if there was a—a man there.” When Miss Emma had thus spoken, her sister Sarah and her brother Z.idAi both began to realise with wonder and admiration how their timid sitter, in her old-fashioned, womanly, and quits unconscious way, had made a. man o* little Henry.