Under the Lilacs Part 14

"A regular summer house!" said Th.o.r.n.y, surveying it with approval.

"What's the matter, Randa? Won't it do?" he asked, as the stout maid dropped her arms with a puff, after vainly trying to throw the hammock rope over a branch.

"That end went up beautiful, but this one won't; the branches is so high, I can't reach 'em; and I'm no hand at flinging ropes round."

"I'll fix it;" and Ben went up the pine like a squirrel, tied a stout knot, and swung himself down again before Th.o.r.n.y could get out of the chair.

"My patience, what a spry boy!" exclaimed Randa, admiringly.

"That 's nothing; you ought to see me s.h.i.+n up a smooth tent-pole," said Ben, rubbing the pitch off his hands, with a boastful wag of the head.

"You can go, Randa. Just hand me my cus.h.i.+on and books, Ben; then you can sit in the chair while I talk to you," commanded Th.o.r.n.y, tumbling into the hammock.

"What's he goin' to say to me?" wondered Ben to himself, as he sat down with Sanch sprawling among the wheels.

"Now, Ben, I think you'd better learn a hymn; I always used to when I was a little chap, and it is a good thing to do Sundays," began the new teacher, with a patronizing air, which ruffled his pupil as much as the opprobrious term "little chap."

"I'll be--whew--if I do!" whistled Ben, stopping an oath just in time.

"It is not polite to whistle in company," said Th.o.r.n.y, with great dignity.

"Miss Celia told me to. I'll say 'confound it,' if you like that better," answered Ben, as a sly smile twinkled in his eyes.

"Oh, I see! She 's told you about it? Well, then, if you want to please her, you'll learn a hymn right off. Come, now, she wants me to be clever to you, and I'd like to do it; but if you get peppery, how can I?"

Th.o.r.n.y spoke in a hearty, blunt way, which suited Ben much better than the other, and he responded pleasantly,--

"If you won't be grand I won't be peppery. n.o.body is going to boss me but Miss Celia; so I'll learn hymns if she wants me to."

"'In the soft season of thy youth' is a good one to begin with. I learned it when I was six. Nice thing; better have it." And Th.o.r.n.y offered the book like a patriarch addressing an infant.

Ben surveyed the yellow page with small favor, for the long s in the old-fas.h.i.+oned printing bewildered him; and when he came to the last two lines, he could not resist reading them wrong,--

"The earth affords no lovelier fight Than a religious youth."

"I don't believe I could ever get that into my head straight. Haven't you got a plain one any where round?" he asked, turning over the leaves with some anxiety.

"Look at the end, and see if there isn't a piece of poetry pasted in.

You learn that, and see how funny Celia will look when you say it to her. She wrote it when she was a girl, and somebody had it printed for other children. I like it best, myself."

Pleased by the prospect of a little fun to cheer his virtuous task, Ben whisked over the leaves, and read with interest the lines Miss Celia had written in her girlhood:

"MY KINGDOM

A little kingdom I possess, Where thoughts and feelings dwell; And very hard I find the task Of governing it well.

For pa.s.sion tempts and troubles me, A wayward will misleads, And selfishness its shadow casts On all my words and deeds.

"How can I learn to rule myself, To be the child I should,-- Honest and brave,--nor ever tire Of trying to be good?

How can I keep a sunny soul To s.h.i.+ne along life's way?

How can I tune my little heart To sweetly sing all day?

"Dear Father, help me with the love That casteth out my fear!

Teach me to lean on thee, and feel That thou art very near; That no temptation is unseen, No childish grief too small, Since Thou, with patience infinite, Doth soothe and comfort all.

"I do not ask for any crown, But that which all may will Nor seek to conquer any world Except the one within.

Be then my guide until I find, Led by a tender hand, Thy happy kingdom in myself, And dare to take command."

"I like that!" said Ben, emphatically, when he had read the little hymn.

"I understand it, and I'll learn it right away. Don't see how she could make it all come out so nice and pretty."

"Celia can do any thing!" and Th.o.r.n.y gave an all-embracing wave of the hand, which forcibly expressed his firm belief in his sister's boundless powers.

"I made some poetry once. Bab and Betty thought it was first-rate, I didn't," said Ben, moved to confidence by the discovery of Miss Celia's poetic skill.

"Say it," commanded Th.o.r.n.y, adding with tact, "I can't make any to save my life,--never could but I'm fond of it."

"Chevalita, Pretty cretr, I do love her Like a brother; Just to ride Is my delight, For she does not Kick or bite,"

recited Ben, with modest pride, for his first attempt had been inspired by sincere affection, and p.r.o.nounced "lovely" by the admiring girls.

"Very good! You must say them to Celia, too. She likes to hear Lita praised. You and she and that little Barlow boy ought to try for a prize, as the poets did in Athens. I'll tell you all about it some time.

Now, you peg away at your hymn."

Cheered by Th.o.r.n.y's commendation, Ben fell to work at his new task, squirming about in the chair as if the process of getting words into his memory was a very painful one. But he had quick wits, and had often learned comic songs; so he soon was able to repeat the four verses without mistake, much to his own and Th.o.r.n.y's satisfaction.

"Now we'll talk," said the well-pleased preceptor; and talk they did, one swinging in the hammock, the other rolling about on the pine-needles, as they related their experiences boy fas.h.i.+on. Ben's were the most exciting; but Th.o.r.n.y's were not without interest, for he had lived abroad for several years, and could tell all sorts of droll stories of the countries he had seen.

Busied with friends, Miss Celia could not help wondering how the lads got on; and, when the tea-bell rang, waited a little anxiously for their return, knowing that she could tell at a glance if they had enjoyed themselves.

"All goes well so far," she thought, as she watched their approach with a smile; for Sancho sat bolt upright in the chair which Ben pushed, while Th.o.r.n.y strolled beside him, leaning on a stout cane newly cut.

Both boys were talking busily, and Th.o.r.n.y laughed from time to time, as if his comrade's chat was very amusing.

"See what a jolly cane Ben cut for me! He's great fun if you don't stroke him the wrong way," said the elder lad, flouris.h.i.+ng his staff as they came up.

"What have you been doing down there? You look so merry, I suspect mischief," asked Miss Celia, surveying them front the steps.

"We've been as good as gold. I talked, and Ben learned a hymn to please you. Come, young man, say your piece," said Th.o.r.n.y, with an expression of virtuous content.

Taking off his hat, Ben soberly obeyed, much enjoying the quick color that came up in Miss Celia's face as she listened, and feeling as if well repaid for the labor of learning by the pleased look with which she said, as he ended with a bow,--

"I feel very proud to think you chose that, and to hear you say it as if it meant something to you. I was only fourteen when I wrote it; but it came right out of my heart, and did me good. I hope it may help you a little."

Ben murmured that he guessed it would; but felt too shy to talk about such things before Th.o.r.n.y, so hastily retired to put the chair away, and the others went in to tea. But later in the evening, when Miss Celia was singing like a nightingale, the boy slipped away from sleepy Bab and Betty to stand by the syringa bush and listen, with his heart full of new thoughts and happy feelings; for never before had he spent a Sunday like this. And when he went to bed, instead of saying "Now I lay me," he repeated the third verse of Miss Celia's hymn; for that was his favorite, because his longing for the father whom he had seen made it seem sweet and natural now to love and lean, without fear upon the Father whom he had not seen.

CHAPTER XII

GOOD TIMES