Lill\'s Travels in Santa Claus Land
E >>
Ellis Towne; Sophie May and Ella Farman >> Lill\'s Travels in Santa Claus Land
FLAXIE FRIZZLE.
Her name was Mary Gray, but they called her Flaxie Frizzle. She had
light curly hair, and a curly nose. That is, her nose curled up at the
end a wee bit, just enough to make it look cunning.
What kind of a child was she?
Well, I don't want to tell; but I suppose I shall have to. She wasn't
gentle and timid and sweet like you little darlings, oh, no! not like
you. And Mrs. Willard, who was there visiting from Boston, said she was
"dreadful."
She was always talking at the table, for one thing.
"Mamma," said she, one day, from her high chair, "your littlest one
doesn't like fish; what makes you cook him?"
Mamma shook her head, but Flaxie wouldn't look at it. Mrs. Willard was
saying, "When we go to ride this afternoon we can stop at the
slate-quarry."
_Who_ was going to ride? And would they take the "littlest one" too?
Flaxie meant to find out.
[Illustration: Flaxie Frizzle.]
"Do you love me, mamma?" said she, beating her mug against her red
waiter.
"When you are a good girl, Flaxie."
"Well, look right in my eyes, mamma. Don't you see I _are_ a good girl?
And _mayn't_ I go a-riding?"
"Eat your dinner, Mary Gray, and don't talk."
Her mother never called her Mary Gray except when she was troublesome.
"I want to tell you sumpin, mamma," whispered she, bending forward and
almost scalding herself against the teapot, "I _won't_ talk; I won't
talk _a_ tall."
But it was of no use. Mrs. Willard was not fond of little girls, and
Mrs. Gray would not take Flaxie; she must stay at home with her sister
Ninny.
Now Ninny--or Julia--was almost ten years old, a dear, good, patient
little girl, who bore with Flaxie's naughtiness, and hardly ever
complained. But this afternoon, at four o'clock, her best friend, Eva
Snow, was coming, and Ninny did hope that by that time her mamma would
be at home again!
Mrs. Gray and Mrs. Willard rode off in the carriage; and the moment they
were gone, Flaxie began to frisk like a wild creature.
First she ran out to the gate, and screamed to a man going by,--
"How d'ye do, Mr. Man? You _mustn't_ smoke! My mamma don't like it!"
"Oh, why _did_ you do that?" said Ninny, her face covered with blushes,
as she darted after Flaxie, and brought her into the house.
"Well, then, show me your new picture-book, and I won't."
As long as she was looking at pictures she was out of mischief, and
Ninny turned the leaves very patiently.
But soon the cat came into the room with the new kitten in her mouth,
and then Flaxie screamed with terror. She thought the cat was eating it
up for a mouse; but instead of that she dropped it gently on the sofa,
purring, and looking at the two little girls as if to say,--
"Isn't it a nice baby?"
Flaxie thought it was; you could see that by the way she kissed it. But
when she picked it up and marched about with it, the old cat mewed
fearfully.
"Put it down," said Ninny. "Don't you see how bad you make its mother
feel?"
"No. I's goin' to carry it over the bridge, and show it to my grandma;
she wants to see this kitty."
Ninny looked troubled. She hardly dared say Flaxie must not go, for fear
that would make her want to go all the more.
"What a funny spot kitty has on its face," said she, "white all over;
with a yellow star on its forehead."
"Well," said Flaxie, "I'll wash it off." And away she flew to the
kitchen sink.
"What are you up to now?" said Dora, the housemaid, who stood there with
her bonnet on. "You'll drown that poor little creetur, and squeeze it to
death too! Miss Ninny, why don't you attend to your little sister?"
Dear Ninny! as if she were not doing her best! And here it was
half-past three, and Eva Snow coming at four!
"O Dodo!" said she, "you're not going off?"
"Only just round the corner, Miss Ninny. I'll be right back."
But it was a pity she should go out at all. Mrs. Gray did not suppose
she would leave the house while she was gone.
As soon as "Dodo" was out of sight, Flaxie thought she could have her
own way.
"O Ninny! you're my darlin' sister," said she, with a very sweet smile.
"Will you lem me carry my kitty over to grandma's?"
"Why, no indeed! You mustn't go 'way over the bridge."
"Yes I mus'. 'Twon't hurt me _a_ tall!"
"But I can't let you, Flaxie Frizzle; truly I can't; so don't ask me
again."
Flaxie's lip curled as well as her nose.
"Poh! I haven't got so good a sister as I fought I had. Laugh to me,
Ninny, and get me my pretty new hat, or I'll shut you up in the closet!"
Ninny did laugh, it was so funny to hear that speck of a child talk of
punishing a big girl like her!
"Will you lem me go?" repeated Flaxie.
"No, indeed! What an idea!"
"I've got fi-ive cents, Ninny. I'll buy you anyfing what you want? Now
lem me! 'Twon't hurt me _a_ tall!"
Ninny shook her head, and kept shaking it; and Flaxie began to push her
toward the closet door.
"_Will_ you get my hat, Ninny? 'Cause when I die 'n' go to hebben, then
you won't have no little sister."
"No, I will not get your hat, miss, so there!"
All this while Flaxie was pushing, and Ninny was shaking her head. The
closet-door stood open, and, before Ninny thought much about it, she was
inside.
"There you is!" laughed the baby.
Then rising on her "tippy-toes," Flaxie began to fumble with the key.
Ninny smiled to hear her breathe so hard, but never thought the wee, wee
fingers could do any harm.
At last the key, after clicking for a good while, turned round in the
lock; yes, fairly turned. The door was fastened.
"Let me out! out! out!" cried Ninny, pounding with both hands.
Flaxie was perfectly delighted. She had not known till then that the
door was locked, and if Ninny had been quiet she would probably have
kept fumbling away till she opened it. But now she wouldn't so much as
touch the key, you may be sure. O, Flaxie Frizzle was a big rogue, as
big as she _could_ be, and be so little! There she stood, hopping up and
down, and laughing, with the blind kitty hugged close to her bosom.
"Laugh to me, Ninny!"
"What do I want to laugh for? Let me out, you naughty girl!"
"Well, _you_ needn't laugh, but _I_ shall. Now I's goin' to grandma's,
and carry my white kitty."
"No, no, you mustn't, you mustn't!"
"_You_ can't help it! I _is_ a goin'!"
"Flaxie! Flax-ee!"
Oh! where was Eva Snow? Would she never come? There was a sliding-door
in the wall above the middle shelf, and Ninny climbed up and pushed it
back. It opened into the parlor-closet, where the china dishes stood. If
she could only crawl through that sliding door she might get out by way
of the parlor, if she _did_ break the dishes.
But, oh dear! it wasn't half big enough. She could only put her head in,
and part of one shoulder. What should she do?
It was of no use screaming to that witch of a Frizzle; but she did
scream. She threatened to "whip her," and "tie her," and "box her ears,"
and "burn up her dollies."
But Flaxie knew she wouldn't; so she calmly pulled off her boots and put
on her rubbers.
Then Ninny coaxed. She promised candy and oranges and even wedding-cake,
for she forgot she hadn't a speck of wedding-cake in the world.
But, while she was still screaming, Flaxie was out of sight and hearing.
She hadn't found her hat; but, with her new rubbers on her feet, and the
blind kitty still hugged to her bosom, she was "going to grandma's." She
ran with all her might; for what if somebody should catch her before she
got there!
"The faster I hurry the quicker I can't go," said she, puffing for
breath.
It was a beautiful day. The wind blew over the grass, and the grass
moved in green waves; Flaxie thought it was running away like herself.
It was half a mile to the bridge. By the time she reached Mr. Pratt's
store, which was half way, she thought she would stop to rest.
"'Cause he'll give me some candy," said she, and walked right into the
store, though it was half full of men,--oh fie! Flaxie Frizzle!
Mr. Jones, a lame man, was sitting next the door, and she walked boldly
up to him.
"Mr. _Lame_ Jones, does you want to see my kitty?"
He laughed, and took it in his hands; and another man pinched its tail.
Flaxie screamed out:
"You mustn't hold it by the handle, Mr. Man!"
Then they all laughed more than ever, and clapped their hands; and Mr.
Jones said:
"You're a cunning baby!"
"Well," replied Flaxie, quickly, "what makes you have turn-about feet?"
This wasn't a proper thing to say, and it made Mr. Jones look sober, for
he was sorry to have such feet. Mr. Pratt was afraid Flaxie would talk
more about them; so he frowned at her and said:
"Good little girls don't run away bare-headed, Miss Frizzle! Is your
mamma at home?"
"Guess I'll go now," said Flaxie; "some more folks will want to see my
kitty."
Mr. Pratt's boy ran after her with a stick of candy, but could not catch
her. She called now at all the houses along the road, ringing the bells
so furiously that people rushed to the doors, afraid something dreadful
had happened.
"I fought you'd want to see my kitty," said the runaway, holding up the
little blind bundle; and they always laughed then; how could they help
it?
But somehow nobody thought of sending her home.
When she reached the bridge she was hungry, and told the "bridge-man"
she was "fond of cookies." His wife gave her a caraway-cake shaped like
a leaf.
"I'm fond o' that one," said she, with her mouth full. "Please give me
_two_ ones."
Just fancy it! Begging food at people's houses! Yet her mamma _had_
tried to teach her good manners, little as you may think it.
"I don't believe she has had any supper. It must be she is running
away," said the bridge-man's wife, as Flaxie left her door. "I ought to
have stopped her; but somebody will, of course."
But nobody did. People only laughed at her kitty, and then passed on.
Soon the sun set, and the new moon shone white against the blue sky.
Flaxie had often seen the moon, but it looked larger and rounder than
this. What ailed it now?
"Oh, I know," said she, "God has doubled it up."
She had changed her mind, and did not want to go to her grandmother's.
"Mr. Pratt fought I was bare-headed, and grandma'll fink I'm
bare-headed. Guess I won't go to g'andma's, kitty, I'll go to
preach-man's house; preach-man will want to see you."
On she went till she came to the church. Then she sat down on the big
steps, dreadfully tired.
"Oh, my yubbers ache so! Now go s'eep, Kitty; and when you want to wake
up, call me, and I'll wake you."
This was the last Flaxie remembered. When the postmaster found her, she
was sitting up, fast asleep, with her little tow head against the door,
and the kitty in her arms. The kitty was still alive.
Eva Snow had come and let Ninny out of the closet long ago; and lots of
people had been hunting ever since for Flaxie Frizzle. When the
postmaster and the minister brought her home between them, Mrs. Gray was
so very glad that she laughed and cried. Still she thought Flaxie ought
to be punished.
"O mamma," said Miss Frizzle next morning, very much surprised to find
herself tied by the clothes-line to a knob in the bay-window. "The men
laughed to me, they did! Mr. Lame Jones, he said I was very cunning!"
But for all that, her mamma did not untie her till afternoon; and then
Flaxie promised "honestly," not to run away again.
Would you trust her?
FIVE POUNDS OF CINNAMON.
They don't name girls "Roxy," and "Polly," and "Patty," and "Sally,"
nowadays; but when the little miss who is my heroine was a lady, those
short, funny old names were not at all old-fashioned. "Roxy,"
especially, was considered a very sweet name indeed. All these new
names, "Eva," and "Ada," and "Sadie," and "Lillie," and the rest of the
fanciful "ies" were not in vogue. Then, if a romantic, highflown young
mamma wished to give her tiny girl-baby an unusually fine name, she
selected such as "Sophronia," "Matilda," "Lucretia," or "Ophelia." In
extreme cases, the baby could be called "Victoria Adelaide."
In this instance baby's mother was a plain, quiet woman; and she
thought baby's grandmother's name was quite fine enough for baby; and so
baby was called "Roxy," and, when she was ten years old, you would have
thought little Roxy fully as old-fashioned as her name.
_I think it is her clothes_ that makes her image look so funny as she
rises up before me. She herself had brown hair and eyes, and a good
country complexion of milk and roses--such a nice complexion, girls! You
see she had plenty of bread and milk to eat; and a big chamber, big as
the sitting-room down stairs, to sleep in--all windows--and her bed
stood, neat and cool, in the middle of the floor; and she had to walk
ever so far to get anywhere--it was a respectable little run even out to
the barn for the hens' eggs; and it was half a mile to her cousin
Hannah's, and it was three quarters to school, and just a mile to the
very nearest stick of candy or cluster of raisins. Nuts were a little
nearer; for Roxy's father had a noble butternut orchard, and it was as
much a part of the regular farm-work in the fall to gather the
"but'nuts" as it was to gather the apples.
Don't you see, now, why she had such a nice complexion? But if you think
it don't quite account for such plump, rosy cheeks, why, then, she had
to chase ever so many ways for the strawberries. Not a strawberry was
raised in common folks' gardens in those days. They grew mostly in
farmers' meadows; and very angry those farmers used to be at such girls
as Roxy in "strawberry time"--"strawberry time" comes before "mowing,"
you know--for how they did wallow and trample the grass! Besides, the
raspberries and blackberries, instead of being Doolittle Blackcaps, and
Kittatinnies, and tied up to nice stakes in civilized little
plantations, grew away off upon steep hill-sides, and in the edges of
woods, by old logs, and around stumps; and it took at least three girls,
and half a day, and a lunch-basket, and torn dresses, and such
clambering, and such fun, to get them! _Of course_ Roxy had red cheeks,
and a sweet breath, and plump, firm white flesh--_so_ white wherever it
wasn't browned by the sunshine.
But otherwise she certainly was old-fashioned, almost quaint. Her hair
was braided tight in two long braids, crossed on her neck, and tied with
a bit of black thread; there was a pair of precious little blue ribbons
in the drawer for Sundays and high days. Roxy's mother would have been
awfully shocked at the wavy, flowing hair of you Wide Awake girls, I
assure you!
And Roxy's dress. _You_ never saw a "tow and linen" dress, I dare say.
Roxy's dresses were all "home-made"--not merely cut and sewed at home;
but Roxy's father raised the flax in the field north of the house, and
Roxy's mother spun the flax and tow into thread upon funny little
wheels. Then she colored the thread, part of it indigo blue, and part of
"copperas color," and after that wove it into cloth--not just enough for
a dress, but enough for two dresses for Roxy, two for herself, and some
for the men folks' shirts, besides yards and yards of dreadfully coarse
cloth for "trousers;" and perhaps there was a fine white piece for
sheets and pillowcases. Bless me! how the farmers' wives did work eighty
years ago!
And how that "blue and copperas check" did wear, and how it did shine
when it was freshly washed and ironed! Only it was made up so
ungracefully--just a plain, full skirt, plain, straight waist, and plain
straight sleeves. _You_ never saw a dress made so, because children's
clothes have been cut pretty and cunning for a great many years. Roxy's
dresses were short, and she wore straight, full "pantalets," that came
down to the tops of her shoes; for Mrs. Thomas Gildersleeve would have
thought it dreadful to allow her daughter to show the shape of her round
little legs, as all children do nowadays.
To finish up, Roxy wore a "tie-apron." This was simply a straight
breadth of "store calico," gathered upon a band with long ends, and tied
round her waist. Very important a little girl felt when allowed to leave
off the high apron and don the "tie-apron."
The first day she came to school with it on, her mates would stand one
side and look at her. "O, dear! you feel big--don't you?" they would say
to her. Maybe she would be obliged to "associate by herself" for a day
or so, until they became accustomed to the sight of the "tie-apron," or
until her own good nature got the better of their envy.
A "slat sun-bonnet," made of calico and pasteboard, completed Roxy's
costume on the summer morning of an eventful day in her life. It was
drawn just as far on as could be. It hid her face completely. She was
pacing along slowly, head bent down, to school. It was only eight
o'clock. Why was Roxy so early?
Well, this morning she preferred to be away from her mother. She was
"mad" at both her father and mother. "Stingy things!" she said, with a
great, angry sob.
About that time of every year, June, the children were forbidden to go
indiscriminately any more to the "maple sugar tub." The sweet store
would begin to lessen alarmingly by that time, and the indulgent mother
would begin to economize.
Every day since they "made sugar," Roxy had had the felicity of carrying
a great, brown, irregular, tempting chunk of maple sugar to school. She
had always divided with the girls generously. Her father did not often
give her pennies to buy cinnamon, candy, raisins, and cloves with; so
she used to "treat" with maple sugar in the summer, and with "but'nut
meats" in the winter, in return for the "store goodies" other girls had.
For a week now she had been prohibited the sugar-tub. This morning she
had asked her father for sixpence, to buy cinnamon. She had been
refused. "Stingy things!" she sobbed. "They think a little girl can live
without money just as well as not. O, I am so ashamed! I'd like to see
how mother would like to be invited to tea by the neighbors, and never
ask any of them to _her_ house. I guess she'd feel mean! But they think
because I am a little girl, there's no need of _my_ being polite and
free-hearted! Polly Stedman has given me cinnamon three times, and I
_know_ the girls think I'm stingy! I'm _so_ ashamed!" And Roxy's red
cheeks and shining brown eyes brimmed up and overflowed with tears.
Poor little Roxy! she herself had such a big sweet tooth! It was
absolutely impossible for her to refuse a piece of stick cinnamon or a
peppermint drop. Yesterday she had told the girls she should certainly
bring maple sugar to-day. She meant to, too, even if she "took" it. But
there her mother had stood at the broad shelf all the morning, making
pies and ginger snaps, and the sugar-tub set under the broad shelf.
There was no chance. She finally had asked her mother.
"No, Roxy; the sugar will be gone in less than a month. You children eat
more sugar every year than I use in cooking. It's a wonder you have any
stomachs left."
"I promised the girls some," pleaded Roxy.
"Promised the girls! You've fed these girls ever since the sugar was
made. Off with you! What do you suppose your father'd say?"
Roxy wouldn't have dared tell her father. He was a stirring,
hard-working man, that gave his family all the luxuries and comforts
that could be "raised" on the farm; but bought few, and growled over
what he did buy, and made no "store debts." It was high time, in fact,
that Roxy's indulgent mother should begin to husband the sugar.
Roxy saw there would be no chance to "take" the sugar; so she had
mournfully started off. Is it strange that so generous a girl would have
stolen, if she could? Why, children, I have seen many a man do mean,
wrong, dishonest deeds, in order to be thought generous, and a "royal
good fellow," by his own particular friends; and Roxy would a thousand
times rather have "stolen" than to have faced her mates empty-handed
this morning. She walked on in sorrowful meditation. She thought once of
going back, to see if there were eggs at the barn--she might take them
down to the store, and get candy. But she remembered they were all
brought in last night, and it was too early for the hens to have laid
this morning.
As she pondered ways and means in her little brain, a daring thought
struck her. That thought took away her breath. She turned white and
cold. Then she turned burning red all over. Her little feet shook under
her. But, my! What riches! What a supply to go to! How they would envy
her!
"I don't care--so. They needn't be so stingy with me! And Mrs. Reub uses
so much such things I don't believe it will ever be noticed in the
'account'--and, any way, it'll be six months before he settles up.
Nobody will know it till then, and maybe--_maybe_ I shall be dead by
that time, or the world will burn up!"
With these comforting reflections, Roxy straightened up her little
sun-bonneted head, doubled her little brown fists, and ran as hard as
she could--and Roxy could outrun most of the boys. On she ran, past the
school-house--it was not yet unlocked--right on down to the village. She
slacked up as she struck the sidewalks. She walked slower and slower, to
cool her bounding pulses and burning skin.
Still her cheeks were like two blood-red roses as she walked into the
cool, dark, old stone store; but for some reason, mental, moral, or
physical, while her cheeks remained red, her little legs and arms grew
stone cold and stiff, and spots like blood came before her eyes, and a
great ringing filled her ears, as Mr. Hampshire, the merchant himself,
instead of his clerk, came to wait upon her. "And what will you have,
Miss Roxy--some peppermints?"
"No, sir. If you please, Mrs. Reuben Markham wants two pounds of
raisins, and five pounds of cinnamon, and you are to charge it to Mr.
Markham."
It was strange, but her voice never faltered after she got well begun.
However, for all that, Mr. Hampshire stared at her. "_Five pounds of
cinnamon_, did you say, sis?"
"Yes, sir, if you please," answered Roxy, quietly, "and two pounds of
raisins."
So Mr. Hampshire went back, and weighed out the cinnamon and raisins,
and gave them to her. She was a little startled at the mighty bundle
five pounds of stick cinnamon made; but she took them and went out, and
Mr. Hampshire went back and charged the things to Mr. Reuben Markham.
Miss Roxy went speeding back to the school-house with her aromatic
bundle. Her face was fairly radiant. She had no idea five pounds of
cinnamon were so much. O, _such a lot_! She had made up her mind what to
do with it. She couldn't, of course, carry it home. She had no trunk
that would lock, or any place safe from her mother's eyes. But in the
grove, back of the school-house, there was a tree with a hollow in it.
By hard running she got there before any of the scholars came. She put
her fragrant packages in, first filling her pocket, and then stopped the
remaining space with a couple of innocent-looking stones.
Such a happy day as it was! She found herself a perfect princess among
her mates. She "treated" them royally, I assure you. Everybody was so
obliging to her all day, and it was so nice to be able to make everybody
pleased and grateful! Both the day of judgment and the dying day were
put afar off--at least six months off.
Meantime, during the forenoon, Mr. Hampshire kept referring to the idea
that any one could want _five pounds of cinnamon_ at one time. Still,
little Roxy was Mrs. Reub Markham's next neighbor, and it was
perfectly probable that she should send by her.
Some time in the afternoon Mr. Reuben Markham came down to the store. He
was a wealthy man, jolly, but quick-tempered. Mr. Hampshire and he were
on excellent terms. "How are you, Markham? and what's your wife baking
to-day?"
"My wife baking?"
"Yes. I concluded you were going to have something extra spicy. Five
pounds of cinnamon look rather suspicious. Miss Janet's not going to
step off--is she."
"I'm not in that young person's confidence. I should say not, however.
But what do you mean by your five pounds of cinnamon?"
"Why, Mrs. Gildersleeve's little girl was in here this morning, and said
Mrs. Markham sent for five pounds of cinnamon and two of raisins."
"Mrs. Gildersleeve's girl? I know Mrs. Markham never sent for no such
things. She knew I was coming down myself this afternoon."
He followed Mr. Hampshire down the store to the desk. There it was in
the day-book:--
"Reub Markham, Dr., per Roxy Gildersleeve.
To 5 pounds cinnamon, 40c., $2 00
" 2 " raisins (layer), 20c., 40
That Mr. Reub Markham swore, must also be set down against him. He drove
home in a red rage. Through the open school-house door, little Roxy
Gildersleeve saw him pass; but her merry young heart boded no ill. Her
mouth was tingling pungently with the fine cinnamon, and in her pocket
yet were eight moist, fat, sugary raisins, to be slipped in her mouth
one by one, four during the geography lesson, four during the spelling
lesson.
As it happened, Mr. Gildersleeve was cultivating corn in a field that
fronted the highway. He and his wealthier neighbor were not on the best
of terms. A line fence and an unruly ox had made trouble. Mr.
Gildersleeve had sued Mr. Markham, and beat him; and Mr. Gildersleeve
didn't take any pains now to look up as he saw who was coming.