Running To Waste. Baker George Melville
constitution.” The captain fired up at once, denounced such tomboy tricks, and declared the girl should go to school, or he’d know the reason why.
And so thanks to Mrs Thompson, and not her husband, Becky was to be turned from the error of her ways. The captain was a liberal man; his purse was always open to the demands of his wife. She might cover every bed in the parish with comforters, clothe the poor, and feed the hungry, to her heart’s content; he would never stop to count the cost. And so she often managed to repair damages his temper had caused, out of his own purse.
But the man’s obstinacy had brought one serious disaster, which she found all her woman’s wit necessary to repair. It had driven their only child from his home, and made a breach between father and son which might never be healed.
Harry Thompson, at the age of fifteen, was a leader among the boys of Cleverly. He was brave, skilful, and mischievous. He was looked upon as a hero by his playfellows, whom he could incite to the performance of wonderful gymnastic feats, or to the perpetration of boyish tricks hardly as creditable. Among his enthusiastic admirers was Becky Sleeper, then ten years of age, whom, being a special favorite of his, he took pains to train in all the sports with which he was familiar. He was then attending the school; no interested student, but very quick and apt to learn, standing fair in his class. The next year he was sent to the academy; and a suddenly-acquired taste for learning so fired his ambitious spirit that at the end of the second year he graduated at the head of his class, with the reputation of being a remarkable scholar. Then, hungry for knowledge, he wanted to go to college. But Captain Thompson had already planned a course for his son. He had book-learning enough; he wanted him to be a practical man. He should go into the yard and learn the trade of a ship-carpenter; in time he could be a builder; and then the son could build, and the father would fit out and send his ships abroad.
The son demurred. The father’s obstinacy asserted itself; he could not be made to listen to reason; and the matter ended by the boy’s proclaiming his determination to go through college, if he had to scrub the floors to get through, and the father’s threat that, if he left home, the doors should be closed against his return.
The boy went. The mention of his name was forbidden in his home by the angry father. He had been gone four years, and the captain seemed as insensible to his welfare as he did when he pronounced his dictum.
But the mother, she had not held her peace for four long years without knowledge of her boy. Snugly tucked away among her treasures were weekly records of her son’s progress, in his own handwriting – tender, loving epistles, such as make a mother’s heart warm and happy, telling of true growth in manhood’s noblest attributes, and showing in every line the blessed power of a mother’s influence.
Despite her cross, Mrs. Thompson was a happy woman, and the championship of her son by Aunt Hulda was a power to make her merry; for she knew how her Harry got through college. He didn’t scrub the floors to get through. O, no! Captain Thompson’s purse paved the way for a more stately march through the halls of learning.
And so, having had her laugh, Mrs. Thompson called, in a loud voice, —
“Silly!”
Silly, somewhere down in the tale of the kite, answered the summons with a shrill “Yes, marm,” and in a few minutes entered the room.
Priscilla York was one of Mrs. Thompson’s charity patients – a tall, ungainly, awkward girl, whom, from pity, the good woman had taken into her house, with a desire to teach her a few of the rudiments of housekeeping.
Silly was by no means a promising pupil, her “breaking in” requiring the breaking up of many dishes and the exercise of much patience.
She was abrupt and jerking in her motion, except when she walked; then she seemed afraid of damaging carpets, not having been accustomed to them, and walked on tiptoe, which peculiar footfall caused the heels of her slip-shod shoes to drop with a “clap-clap-clap,” as she crossed the oil-cloth on the floor of the dining-room. Her clothes hung loosely on her, and as she entered the room her arms were stuck stiff at her side, her mouth wide open, and her eyes staring as though she expected to hear some dreadful news.
“Silly,” said Mrs. Thompson, “get the covered basket.”
“Yes, marm,” said Silly, and darted for the door.
“Stop, stop, child; I’ve not finished.”
Silly darted back again.
“I want you to get the covered basket, and take some things over to Mrs. Sleeper.”
“Yes marm;” and the girl darted for the door a second time.
“Silly, stop this instant! What in the world are you thinking of?”
“The covered basket, marm; it’s in the pantry.”
“Silly, when I have finished what I want to say, I will tell you to go.”
“Then you don’t want the covered basket, marm?”
“Get the covered basket, put in it the ham that was left at dinner, a pair of chickens I cooked this morning, a couple of mince pies, and a loaf of bread. Do you understand?”
“Yes marm. Basket, ham, chickens, mince pie, bread,” said Silly, briskly.
“Very well. Those are for Mrs. Sleeper, with my compliments.”
“Yes marm. Basket and all?”
“Bring back the basket, of course. Now go – ”
“Yes, marm;” and Silly made a third dart doorward.
“Stop, stop, Silly!”
“You told me to go when you said go; and I was a going to go.”
“That was my mistake, Silly. I want you to go to the pantry, get a bottle of currant wine, a jar of damson preserves, and a box of sardines. Can you find them all?”
“O, yes, marm. Currant wine, damson preserves, sardines.”
“Very well. Be careful in handling things. Those are for Aunt Hulda, with my compliments. Make no mistake, and be sure to tell her I sent them. Now, Silly, go.”
Silly started at the word “go” so forcibly that she ran plump against the portly form of the captain, who just then entered.
“Hang it!” roared he; “why don’t you see where you are going, stupid?”
“Stupid” stopped not to tell the reason why, but darted by the captain: and soon a commotion among the dishes in the pantry made it evident that Silly was “handling things” none to carefully.
“Where’s that crazy thing going now?” muttered the captain, as he stalked to the window.
“On one of my errands, Paul; so don’t be inquisitive.”
Had he dreamed that Aunt Hulda’s defence of his boy had turned his wife’s sympathies in her direction, and that there was likely to be a shower of goodies poured into the spinster’s lap, he might have been inquisitive, instead of shouting at that particular moment, —
“Hang it! there’s that boy again! and with my apples, too! He shan’t escape me this time. No, no.” And the captain darted from the room, and out into the road, bare-headed.
Teddy Sleeper had waited two hours, in the woods behind the orchard the return of Becky, supposing that, as she was the leader of the expedition, after decoying the captain to a safe distance, she would return to rescue her follower; for Teddy had not sufficient reliance on his own skill to venture either an attack or a retreat. At last, getting weary, he crept out into the lane, and from there into the main street, and started for home. But as he neared the church he was waylaid by a half a dozen of his cronies, just returning from a game of base ball, and, of course, very hungry. Catching sight of the fruit stowed away in Teddy’s jacket, they set up a roar of delight, and surrounded him.
“Hooray! Ted’s made a haul!”
“Divy’s the thing – hey, Ted?”
“O, come, Ted, don’t be mean.”
“But