________________________________________________
_ Exactly five minutes before six the party
arrived in great state, for Bab and Betty wore
their best frocks and hair-ribbons, Ben had
a new blue shirt and his shoes on as full-dress, and
Sancho's curls were nicely brushed, his frills as white
as if just done up.
No one was visible to receive them, but the low
table stood in the middle of the walk, with four chairs
and a foot-stool around it. A pretty set of green and
white china caused the girls to cast admiring looks
upon the little cups and plates, while Ben eyed the
feast longingly, and Sancho with difficulty restrained
himself from repeating his former naughtiness. No
wonder the dog sniffed and the children smiled, for
there was a noble display of little tarts and cakes,
little biscuits and sandwiches, a pretty milk-pitcher
shaped like a white calla rising out of its green leaves,
and a jolly little tea-kettle singing away over the
spirit-lamp as cosily as you please.
"Isn't it perfectly lovely?" whispered Betty, who
had never seen any thing like it before.
"I just wish Sally could see us now," answered Bab,
who had not yet forgiven her enemy.
"Wonder where the boy is," added Ben, feeling
as good as any one, but rather doubtful how others
might regard him.
Here a rumbling sound caused the guests to look
toward the garden, and in a moment Miss Celia appeared,
pushing a wheeled chair, in which sat her
brother. A gay afghan covered the long legs, a
broad-brimmed hat half hid the big eyes, and a discontented
expression made the thin face as unattractive as the
fretful voice, which said, complainingly, --
"If they make a noise, I'll go in. Don't see what
you asked them for."
"To amuse you, dear. I know they will, if you
will only try to like them," whispered the sister, smiling,
and nodding over the chair-back as she came on,
adding aloud, "Such a punctual party! I am all
ready, however, and we will sit down at once. This
is my brother Thornton, and we are all going to be
very good friends by-and-by. Here 's the droll dog,
Thorny; isn't he nice and curly?"
Now, Ben had heard what the other boy said, and
made up his mind that he shouldn't like him; and
Thorny had decided beforehand that he wouldn't
play with a tramp, even if he cut capers; go
both looked decidedly cool and indifferent when Miss
Celia introduced them. But Sancho had better manners
and no foolish pride; he, therefore, set them a good
example by approaching the chair, with his tail waving
like a flag of truce, and politely presented his
ruffled paw for a hearty shake.
Thorny could not resist that appeal, and patted the
white head, with a friendly look into the affectionate
eyes of the dog, saying to his sister as he did so, --
"What a wise old fellow he is! It seems as if he
could almost speak, doesn't it?"
"He can. Say 'How do you do,' Sanch," commanded Ben,
relenting at once, for he saw admiration in Thorny's face.
"Wow, wow, wow!" remarked Sancho, in a mild
and conversational tone, sitting up and touching one
paw to his head, as if he saluted by taking off his hat.
Thorny laughed in spite of himself, and Miss Celia
seeing that the ice was broken, wheeled him to his
place at the foot of the table. Then, seating the little
girls on one side, Ben and the dog on the other, took
the head herself and told her guests to begin.
Bab and Betty were soon chattering away to their
pleasant hostess as freely as if they had known her for
months; but the boys were still rather shy, and made
Sancho the medium through which they addressed
one another. The excellent beast behaved with wonderful
propriety, sitting upon his cushion in an attitude of such
dignity that it seemed almost a libertyto offer him food.
A dish of thick sandwiches had been provided for his especial
refreshment; and, as Ben from time to time laid one on his
plate, he affected entire unconsciousness of it till the word
was given, when it vanished at one gulp, and Sancho again
appeared absorbed in deep thought.
But, having once tasted of this pleasing delicacy, it
was very hard to repress his longing for more; and, in
spite of all his efforts, his nose would work, his eye
kept a keen watch upon that particular dish, and his
tail quivered with excitement as it lay like a train
over the red cushion. At last, a moment came when
temptation proved too strong for him. Ben was
listening to something Miss Celia said; a tart lay
unguarded upon his plate; Sanch looked at Thorny
who was watching him; Thorny nodded, Sanch gave
one wink, bolted the tart, and then gazed pensively
up at a sparrow swinging on a twig overhead.
The slyness of the rascal tickled the boy so much
that he pushed back his hat, clapped his hands,
and burst out laughing as he had not done before
for weeks. Every one looked round surprised, and
Sancho regarded them with a mildly inquiring air, as
if he said, "Why this unseemly mirth, my friends?"
Thorny forgot both sulks and shyness after that,
and suddenly began to talk. Ben was flattered by his
interest in the dear dog, and opened out so delightfully
that he soon charmed the other by his lively
tales of circus-life. Then Miss Celia felt relieved, and
every thing went splendidly, especially the food; for
the plates were emptied several times, the little tea-pot
ran dry twice, and the hostess was just wondering
if she ought to stop her voracious guests, when something
occurred which spared her that painful task.
A small boy was suddenly discovered standing in
the path behind them, regarding the company with
an air of solemn interest. A pretty, well-dressed child
of six, with dark hair cut short across the brow, a
rosy face, a stout pair of legs, left bare by the socks
which had slipped down over the dusty little shoes.
One end of a wide sash trailed behind him, a straw
hat hung at his back, his right hand firmly
grasped a small turtle, and his left a choice collection
of sticks. Before Miss Celia could speak, the stranger
calmly announced his mission.
"I have come to see the peacocks."
"You shall presently --" began Miss Celia, but got
no further, for the child added, coming a step nearer,--
"And the wabbits."
"Yes, but first won't you --"
"And the curly dog," continued the small voice,
as another step brought the resolute young personage
nearer.
"There he is."
A pause, a long look; then a new demand with the
same solemn tone, the same advance.
"I wish to hear the donkey bray."
"Certainly, if he will."
"And the peacocks scream."
"Any thing more, sir?
Having reached the table by this time, the insatiable
infant surveyed its ravaged surface, then pointed a fat
little finger at the last cake, left for manners, and said,
commandingly, --
"I will have some of that."
"Help yourself; and sit upon the step to eat it,
while you tell me whose boy you are," said Miss
Celia, much amused at his proceedings.
Deliberately putting down his sticks, the child took
the cake, and, composing himself upon the step, answered
with his rosy mouth full, --
"I am papa's boy. He makes a paper. I help
him a great deal."
"What is his name?"
"Mr. Barlow. We live in Springfield," volunteered
the new guest, unbending a trifle, thanks to the charms
of the cake.
"Have you a mamma, dear?"
"She takes naps. I go to walk then."
"Without leave, I suspect. Have you no brothers or
sisters to go with you?" asked Miss Celia, wondering
where the little runaway belonged.
"I have two brothers, Thomas Merton Barlow
and Harry Sanford Barlow. I am Alfred Tennyson
Barlow. We don't have any girls in our house, only
Bridget."
"Don't you go to school?"
"The boys do. I don't learn any Greeks and
Latins yet. I dig, and read to mamma, and make
poetrys for her."
"Couldn't you make some for me? I'm very fond
of poetrys," proposed Miss Celia, seeing that this
prattle amused the children.
"I guess I couldn't make any now; I made some
coming along. I will say it to you."
And, crossing his short legs, the inspired babe half
said, half sung the following poem: (1)
"Sweet are the flowers of life,
Swept o'er my happy days at home;
Sweet are the flowers of life
When I was a little child.
"Sweet are the flowers of life
That I spent with my father at home;
Sweet are the flowers of life
When children played about the house.
"Sweet are the flowers of life
When the lamps are lighted at night;
Sweet are the flowers of life
When the flowers of summer bloomed.
"Sweet are the flowers of life
Dead with the snows of winter;
Sweet are the flowers of life
When the days of spring come on.
(1) These lines were actually composed by a six-year
old child.
"That's all of that one. I made another one when
I digged after the turtle. I will say that. It is a
very pretty one," observed the poet with charming
candor; and, taking a long breath, he tuned his little
lyre afresh:
Sweet, sweet days are passing
O'er my happy home.
Passing on swift wings through the valley of life.
Cold are the days when winter comes again.
When my sweet days were passing at my happy home,
Sweet were the days on the rivulet's green brink ;
Sweet were the days when I read my father's books;
Sweet were the winter days when bright fires are blazing."
"Bless the baby! where did he get all that?" exclaimed
Miss Celia, amazed; while the children giggled as Tennyson,
Jr., took a bite at the turtle instead of the half-eaten cake,
and then, to prevent further mistakes, crammed the unhappy
creature into a diminutive pocket in the most business-like way
imaginable.
"It comes out of my head. I make lots of them,"
began the imperturbable one, yielding more and more
to the social influences of the hour.
"Here are the peacocks coming to be fed," interrupted Bab, as
the handsome birds appeared with their splendid plumage
glittering in the sun.
Young Barlow rose to admire; but his thirst for
knowledge was not yet quenched, and he was about
to request a song from Juno and Jupiter, when old
Jack, pininng for society, put his head over the garden
wall with a tremendous bray.
This unexpected sound startled the inquiring
stranger half out of his wits; for a moment the stout
legs staggered and the solemn countenance lost its
composure, as he whispered, with an astonished air,
"Is that the way peacocks scream?"
The children were in fits of laughter, and Miss
Celia could hardly make herself heard as she answered
merrily, --
"No, dear; that is the donkey asking you to come
and see him: will you go?
"I guess I couldn't stop now. Mamma might want
me."
And, without another word, the discomfited poet
precipitately retired, leaving his cherished sticks
behind him.
Ben ran after the child to see that he came to no
harm, and presently returned to report that Alfred
had been met by a servant, and gone away chanting a
new verse of his poem, in which peacocks, donkeys,
and "the flowers of life" were sweetly mingled.
"Now I'll show you my toys, and we';; have a
little play before it gets too late for Thorny to stay
with us," said Miss Celia, as Randa carried away the
tea-things and brought back a large tray full of
picture-books, dissected maps, puzzles, games, and
several pretty models of animals, the whole crowned
with a large doll dressed as a baby.
At sight of that, Betty stretched out her arms to
receive it with a cry of delight. Bab seized the games,
and Ben was lost in admiration of the little Arab chief
prancing on the white horse, -- all saddled and bridled
and fit for the fight. Thorny poked about to find a
certain curious puzzle which he could put together
without a mistake after long study. Even Sancho
found something to interest him; and, standing on his
hind-legs, thrust his head between the boys to paw
at several red and blue letters on square blocks.
"He looks as if he knew them," said Thorny,
amused at the dog's eager whine and scratch.
"He does. Spell your name, Sanch;" and Ben put
all the gay letters down upon the flags with a chirrup
which set the dog's tail to wagging as he waited till the
alphabet was spread before him. Then, with great
deliberation, he pushed the letters about till he had
picked out six; these he arranged with nose and
paw till the word "Sancho" lay before him correctly
spelt.
"Isn't that clever? Can he do any more?" cried
Thorny, delighted.
"Lots; that's the way he gets his livin', and mine
too," answered Ben; and proudly put his poodle
through his well-learned lessons sith Such success
that even Miss Celia was surprised.
"He has been carefully trained. Do you know how
it was done?" she asked, when Sancho lay down to
rest and be caressed by the children.
"No, 'm, father did it when I was a little chap, and
never told me how. I used to help teach him to dance,
and that was easy enough, he is so smart. Father said
the middle of the night was the best time to give him
his lessons; it was so still then, and nothing disturbed
Sanch and made him forget. I can't do half the tricks,
but I'm goin' to learn when father comes back. He'd
rather have me show off Sanch than ride, till I'm
older."
"I have a charming book about animals, and in it an
interesting account of some trained poodles who could
do the most wonderful things. Would you like to hear
it while you put your maps and puzzles together?"
asked Miss Celia, glad to keep her brother interested
in their four-footed guest at least.
"Yes,'m, yes,'m," answered the children; and, fetching
the book, she read the pretty account, shortening
and simplifying it here and there to suit her hearers.
"I invited the two dogs to dine and spend the
evening; and they came with their master, who was a
Frenchman. He had been a teacher in a deaf and
dumb school, and thought he would try the same plan
with dogs. He had also been a conjurer, and now was
supported by Blanche and her daughter Lyda. These
dogs behaved at dinner just like other dogs; but when
I gave Blanche a bit of cheese and asked if she knew
the word for it, her master said she could spell it. So
a table was arranged with a lamp on it, and round the
table were laid the letters of the alphabet painted on
cards. Blanche sat in the middle, waiting till her
master told her to spell cheese, which she at once
did in French, F R O M A G E. Then she translated a
word for us very cleverly. Some one wrote pferd, the
German for horse, on a slate. Blanche looked at it and
pretended to read it, putting by the slate with her paw
when she had done. 'Now give us the French for that
word,' said the man; and she instantly brought
CHEVAL. 'Now, as you are at an Englishman's
house, give it to us in English;' and she brought me
HORSE. Then we spelt some words wrong, and she
corrected them with wonderful accuracy. But she did
not seem to like it, and whined and growled and looked
so worried, that she was allowed to go and rest and eat
cakes in a corner.
"Then Lyda took her place on the table, and did
sums on the slate with a set of figures. Also mental
arithmetic, which was very pretty. 'Now, Lyda,'
said her master, 'I want to see if you understand
division. Suppose you had ten bits of sugar, and you
met ten Prussian dogs, how many lumps would you, a
French dog, give to each of the Prussians?' Lyda
very decidedly replied to this with a cipher. 'But,
suppose you divided your sugar with me, how many
lumps would you give me?' Lyda took up the figure
five and politely presented it to her master."
"Wasn't she smart? Sanch can't do that," exclaimed
Ben, forced to own that the French doggie
beat his cherished pet.
"He is not too old to learn. Shall I go on?"
asked Miss Celia, seeing that the boys liked it, though
Betty was absorbed with the doll, and Bab deep in a
puzzle.
"Oh, yes! What else did they do?"
"They played a game of dominoes together, sitting
in chairs opposite each other, and touched the dominoes
that were wanted; but the man placed them and
kept telling how the game went. Lyda was beaten,
and hid under the sofa, evidently feeling very badly
about it. Blanche was then surrounded with playing-cards,
while her master held another pack and told us to choose
a card; then he asked her what one had been chosen, and
she always took up the right one in her teeth. I was asked
to go into another room, put a light on the floor with cards
round it, and leave the doors nearly shut. Then the man
begged some one to whisper in the dog's ear what card she
was to bring, and she went at once and fetched it, thus showing
that she understood their names. Lyda did many tricks
with the numbers, so curious that no dog could possibly
understand them; yet what the secret sign was I could
not discover, but suppose it must have been in the
tones of the master's voice, for he certainly made none
with either head or hands.
"It took an hour a day for eighteen months to
educate a dog enough to appear in public, and (as
you say, Ben) the night was the best time to give the
lessons. Soon after this visit, the master died; and
these wonderful dogs were sold because their mistress
did not know how to exhibit them."
"Wouldn't I have liked to see 'em and find out how
they were taught! Sanch, you'll have to study up
lively, for I'm not going to have you beaten by French
dogs," said Ben, shaking his finger so sternly that
Sancho grovelled at his feet and put both paws over
his eyes in the most abject manner.
"Is there a picture of those smart little poodles?"
asked Ben, eying the book, which Miss Celia left open
before her.
"Not of them, but of other interesting creatures;
also anecdotes about horses, which will please you,
I know," and she turned the pages for him, neither
guessing how much good Mr. Hamerton's charming
Chapters on Animals" were to do the boy when he
needed comfort for a sorrow which was very near. _
Read next: CHAPTER X. A HEAVY TROUBLE
Read previous: CHAPTER VIII. MISS CELIA'S MAN
Table of content of Under the Lilacs
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
