The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe: or, There's No Place Like Home. Douglas Amanda M.
kitchen. She was motherly and cordial, however, and gave him a bright smile.
"I told Mr. Terry that you might as well come in here for your dinner. It is quite a long run home."
"You are very kind," stammered Joe, feeling that he must say something, in spite of his usual readiness of speech deserting him.
"You ought to have an apron, Joe, or a pair of overalls," she said kindly. "You will find grocery business rather dirty work sometimes."
"And my best clothes!" thought Joe with a sigh.
But the coffee was so delightful, and the cold roast beef tender as a chicken. And Joe began to think it was possible for a few things to work together for good, if they were only the right kind of things.
Altogether he went home at night in very good spirits.
"But my trousers will have to go in the wash-tub, Granny," he exclaimed. "I believe I wasn't cut out for a gentleman, after all."
"O Joe, what a sight! How could you?"
"It was all easy enough. If you'd had molasses to scrub up, and flour to get before it was dry, you would have found the sticking process not at all difficult. And oh! Mrs. Van Wyck came in."
Florence flushed a little at this.
"Yes, wait till I show you." With that, Joe sprang up, and wrapped Granny's old shawl about him, and began in his most comical fashion. In a moment or two the children were in roars of laughter.
"I don't know as it is quite right, Joe dear," interposed Granny mildly, "to make fun of any one."
"My conscience don't trouble me a bit;" for now he was in a high glee. "I owe her a grudge for making me pay twenty-four cents for eggs. And, Granny, when you come to the store, don't beat me down a penny on any thing; nor ask me to throw in a spool of cotton nor a piece of tape, nor squeeze down the measure. I wonder how people can be so mean!"
"Rich people too," added Florence in an injured tone of voice, still thinking of Mrs. Van Wyck's overture.
"There's lots of funny folks in the world," said Joe with a grave air. "But I like Mr. Terry, and I mean to do my very best."
"That's right;" and Granny smiled tenderly over the boy's resolve.
"And I'll put on my old clothes to-morrow. Who knows but I may fall into the mackerel-barrel before to-morrow night?"
Kit laughed at this. "They'll have to fish you out with a harpoon, then."
"Oh! I might swim ashore."
The next day Joe improved rapidly. To be sure, he met with a mishap or two; but Mr. Terry excused him, and only charged him to be more careful in future. And Father Terry administered his unfailing consolation on every occasion.
But on Saturday night Joe came home in triumph.
"There's the beginning of my fortune," he said, displaying his dollar and a half all in hard cash. For that was a long while ago, when the eagle, emblem of freedom, used to perch on silver half-dollars.
CHAPTER VI
FORTUNES AND MISFORTUNES
"I think I'll go into business," said Hal one evening, as he and Granny and Florence sat together.
They missed Joe so much! He seldom came home until eight o'clock; and there was no one to stir up the children, and keep the house in a racket.
"What?" asked Granny.
"I am trying to decide. I wonder how chickens would do?"
"It takes a good deal to feed 'em," said Granny.
"But they could run about, you know. And buckwheat is such a splendid thing for them. Then we can raise ever so much corn."
"But where would you get your buckwheat?" asked Florence.
"I was thinking. Mr. Peters never does any thing with his lot down here, and the old apple-trees in it are not worth much. If he'd let me have it ploughed up! And then we'd plant all of our ground in corn, except the little garden that we want."
"What a master hand you are to plan, Hal!"
Granny's face was one immense beam of admiration.
"I want to do something. It's too hard, Granny, that you should have to go out washing, and all that."
Hal's soft brown eyes were full of tender pity.
"Oh! I don't mind. I'm good for a many day's work yet, Hal."
"I hope some of us will get rich at last."
Florence sighed softly.
"I thought you were going to have a green-house," she said.
"I'm afraid I can't manage the green-house now, though I mean to try some day. And I noticed old Speckly clucking this morning."
"But we haven't any eggs," said Granny.
"I could get some."
"How many chickens would you raise?" asked Florence.
"Well, if we should set the five hens, – out of say sixty-four eggs we ought to raise fifty chickens; oughtn't we, Granny?"
"With good luck; but so many things happen to 'em."
"And if I could clear thirty dollars. Then there's quite a good deal of work to do in the summer."
"I shall soon be a fine lady, and ride in my carriage," Granny commented with a cheerful chirrup of a laugh.
"Mrs. Kinsey's chickens are splendid," said Florence.
"Yes. Shall I get some eggs, and set Speckly?"
"It's rather airly to begin."
"But I'll make a nice coop. And eggs are not twenty-four cents a dozen."
Hal finished off with a quiet smile at the thought of Mrs. Van Wyck.
So he went to Mrs. Kinsey's the next morning, and asked her for a dozen of eggs, promising to come over the first Saturday there was any thing to do, and work it out.
"I'll give you the eggs," she said; "but we will be glad to have you some Saturday, all the same."
So old Speckly was allowed to indulge her motherly inclinations to her great satisfaction. Hal watched her with the utmost solicitude. In the course of time a tiny bill pecked against white prison walls; and one morning Hal found the cunningest ball of soft, yellow down, trying to balance itself on two slender legs, but finding that the point of gravity as often centred in its head. But the little fellow winked oddly, as much as to say, "I know what I'm about. I'll soon find whether it is the fashion to stand on your head or your feet in this queer world."
One by one the rest came out. Hal had a nice coop prepared, and set Mrs. Speckly up at housekeeping. Dot caught one little "birdie," as she called it, and, in running to show Granny, fell down. And although Dot wasn't very heavy, it was an avalanche on poor "birdie." He gave two or three slow kicks with his yellow legs, and then was stiff for all time.
"Hal's boofer birdie," said Dot. "See, Danny!"
"O Dot! what have you done?"
"Him 'oont 'alk;" and Dot stood him down on the doorstep, only to see him tumble over.
"Oh, you've killed Hal's birdie! What will he say?"
"I 'ell down. Why 'oont him run, Danny?"
What could Granny do? Scolding Dot was out of the question. And just then Hal came flying up the road.
Granny had seen the fall, and explained the matter.
"But she mustn't catch them! You're a naughty little Dot!"
Dot began to cry.
"Poor little girl!" said Hal, taking her in his arms. "It is wrong to catch them. See, now, the little fellow is dead, and can never run about any more. Isn't Dot sorry? She won't ever touch Hal's birdies again, will she?"
So Dot promised, and Hal kissed her. But she carried the dead birdie about, petting it with softest touches, and insisting upon taking it to bed with her.
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