CHAPTER VI.
MAKING POETRY.
But when Prudy had come to bed, Dotty could talk more freely.
"O, dear," said she, hiding her face in her sister's bosom; "I don'twant them to laugh at me, but I've lost my boots and my basket, and beendripped in the rain, and got a thorn in my foot too, till it seems as ifI should die!"
"But you'll never do so again, little sister," said Prudy, who couldthink of no other consolation to give.
"And lightning besides, Prudy! And she made me throw away my beautifulpicnic basket, and she kept hers, and it never hurt her a bit! Don'tyou think she was just as mean! What makes grandma let me go with her,do you s'pose? I shall grow real bad! Won't you tell her to stop it?"
Dotty moaned with pain, and between her moans she talked very fast.
"And all this time," said she, "we haven't any ducks!"
Prudy, who was dropping off to sleep, murmured, "No."
"But it's real too bad, Prudy. I never saw such a lazy old hen--did you?Prudy, _did_ you?"
Presently, when Prudy thought it must be nearly morning, there was aclutch upon her shoulder, and a voice cried in her ear,--
"I don't see what makes you go to sleep, Prudy Parlin, when my footaches so bad! And O, how I want a drink o' water!"
Prudy thought she should never find the match-box; but she did at last,and lighted the lamp after several trials. It was dreary work, though,going down stairs with those sticks in her eyes, to get the water.
Dotty drained the nipperkin at two draughts, and said it wasn't halfenough.
"O, you shall have all you want, little sister," said Prudy, kindly;"you may drink up the whole barrel if you like."
So down she went again, and this time brought a pitcher. On her returnshe found Dotty weeping in high displeasure.
"You told me to drink up that whole barrel, you did," cried theunreasonable child, shaking her head.
"Did I?" said Prudy; "well, dear, I didn't mean anything."
"But you _said_ so--the whole, whole barrel," repeated Dotty rockingback and forth; "you talk to me just as if I--was--black!"
"Hush!" said Prudy, "or you'll wake grandma. Let me see; do you want meto tell you a conundrum? Why does an elephant carry his trunk?"
"I don't know; I s'pose he can't help it; it grows on the end of hisnose."
"That isn't the answer, though, Dotty; it's because--because he's atraveller!"
"An elephant a traveller? Where does he travel to? I don't believe it."
"Well," replied Prudy, "I can't see any sense in it myself. O, stop aminute! Now I know; I didn't tell it right. This is the way; 'Why is anelephant like a traveller? Because he carries a trunk!' Isn't thatfunny?"
"I don't care anything about your elephants," said Dotty; "if you don'ttry to please me, Prudy Parlin, you'll have to wake up grandma, andcall her in here, or I shall cry myself sick!"
Patient Prudy crept into bed, but left the lamp burning.
"Suppose we make up some poetry?" said she.
"Why, you don't know how to make up poetry--do you?" said Dotty, leaningon her elbow, and looking with dreamy eyes at the engraving of ChristusConsolator at the foot of the bed. "I love poetry when they read it inconcert at school. Don't you know,--
'Tremendous torrents! For an instant hush!'
Isn't that splendid?"
"Very splendid, indeed," replied Prudy, pinching herself to keep awake.
"I think Torrence is _such_ a nice name," pursued Dotty; "don't you tellanybody but when I'm married and have some boys, I'm going to name someof them Torrence."
"Not more than one, Dotty!"
"O, no, I couldn't; could I? There mustn't but one of them have the samename; I forgot. 'Tremendous Torrence!' I shall say; and then he'll comein and ask, 'What do you want, mother?'"
Prudy suddenly hid her face under the sheet. The absurdity of littleDotty's ideas had driven the sleep out of her eyes.
"It would do very well for a name for a very queer boy," said she,stifling a laugh; "but a torrent _generally_ means the Niagara Falls."
"Does it?" said Dotty; "who told you so? But I guess I shall call him byit just the same though--if his father is willing."
Dotty looked very much interested.
"What will you call the rest of your boys?" asked Prudy, glad to talkof anything which kept her little sister pleasant.
"I shan't have but two boys, and I shall name the other one for hisfather," replied Dotty, thoughtfully; "I shall have eight girls, for Ilike girls very much; and I shall dress them in silk and velvet, withgold rings on their fingers, a great deal handsomer than Jennie Vance's;but they won't be proud a bit. They never will have to be punished; forwhen they do wrong I shall look through my spectacles and say, 'Why, myeight daughters, I am very much surprised!' And then they will obey mein a minute."
"Yes," returned Prudy; "but don't you think now we'd better go tosleep?"
"No, indeed," said Dotty, drawing herself up in a little heap andholding her throbbing foot in her hand; "if you don't make poetry I'mgoing to make it myself. Hark!--
'Once there was a little boy going down hill; He leaped, he foamed, he struggled; and all was o'er.'
"Do you call that poetry?" said Prudy, laughing. "Why, where's therhyme?"
"The rhyme? I s'pose I forgot to put it in. Tell me what a rhyme is,Prudy; _maybe_ I don't know!"
"A rhyme," replied her wise sister, "is a jingle like this: 'A boy and atoy,' 'A goose and a moose.'"
"O, is it? how queer! 'A hill and a pill,' that's a rhyme, too."
"Now," continued Prudy, "I'll make up some real poetry, and show youhow. It won't take me more than a minute; its just as easy asknitting-work."
Prudy thought for a few seconds, and then recited the following linesin a sing-song tone:--
"When the sun Had got his daily work done, He put a red silk cloud on his head, (_For a night-cap you know,_) And went to bed. He was there all sole alone; For just at that very time the moon (_That isn't a very nice rhyme, but I can't help it,_) Was dressed and up, And had eaten her sup- Per. 'Husband,' said Mrs. Moon, 'I can't stop to kiss you good by; I've got to leave you now and go up in the sky.'"
"O, how pretty!" said Dotty; "how it jingles! Did you make that up inyour own head?"
"Yes, indeed; just as fast as I could knit once round. I could do agreat deal better if I should spend more time. I mean to take a slatesome time and write it all full of stars, and clouds, and everythingsplendid. I shall say, 'What a pity it is that a nice husband and wife,like the sun and moon, can't ever live together, but have to keepfollowing each other round the sky and never get near enough to shakehands!' I'll pretend that it makes the moon look very sober indeed, butthe sun isn't so tender-hearted; so he can bear it better. O, Dotty,don't you let me forget to put that into poetry! I can jingle it off,and make it sound beautiful!"
"I should think you might put my verse into poetry, too. Can't you say'a pill rolled down hill?'" said Dotty.
"O, I can make poetry of it easier than that. You don't need to changebut one word:--
'There was a little boy going down hill, He leaped, he foamed, he struggled;--and all was _still_.'"
Dotty repeated it several times with much delight. "That's beautiful,"said she, "now honest; and I did almost the whole of it myself!"
After this she began to grow drowsy, and, forgetting her troubles, fellasleep, to the great relief of poor sister Prudy, who was not long infollowing her.
Next morning Prudy awoke at nearly the usual time; but her sister wasstill in the land of dreams, and she stole out of the room withoutdisturbing her.
"Grandmamma," said she, "Dotty has had an awful night! I've had to be upwith her, and trying to pacify her, most of the time."
"A whole hour," said grandma, smiling.
"O, grandma, it was nearly all night, but there didn't anybody know it;we talked low, so we needn't disturb you
."
Grandmother and Aunt Maria smiled at each other across the table.
"I dare say, my dear," said Aunt Maria, "you thought you were as quietas two little mice; but I assure you you kept everybody awake, exceptgrandpa and Susy."
"Why, Aunt 'Ria!"
"But we learned a lesson in poetry-making," said Aunt Louise, "which wasworth lying awake to hear. Don't you suppose, Maria, that even prosypeople, like you and me, might jingle poetry till in time it wouldbecome as easy as knitting-work?"
Prudy blushed painfully.
"I thought," said Grace, "the sun must look very jolly in his red silknight-cap, only I was sorry you forgot to tell what he had forbreakfast."
"Nothing but cold potatoes out of the cupboard," said Horace; "he keepsbachelor's hall. It's just as well the old fellow can't meet his wife,for she's made of green cheese, and he'd be likely to slice her up andeat her."
A tear glittered on Prudy's eyelashes. Horace was the first to observeit, and he hastened to change the subject by saying his johnny-cake wasso thin he could cut it with a pair of scissors. By that time Prudy'stears had slyly dropped upon her napkin, and she would have recoveredher spirits if Aunt Louise had not remarked carelessly,--
"Seems to me our little poetess is rather melancholy this morning."
Prudy's heart was swollen so high with tears that there would have beena flood in about a minute; but Horace exclaimed suddenly,--
"O, mother, may I tell a story? Once there were two old--two maidenladies in Nantucket, and they earned their living by going round theisland picking up the 'tag-locks' the sheep had left hanging to thebushes and rocks. Now, you wouldn't believe, would you, mother, thatthose two women could get rich by selling tag-locks?"
"I certainly should not," replied Mrs. Clifford, smiling fondly on heryoung son; for she saw and approved of his kind little scheme fordiverting his cousin's attention.
"Well, mother, they lived to be more than sixty years old; and when theymade their wills, how much money do you suppose they had to leave? Iwish you'd try to guess."
"Dear me," said Mrs. Clifford, "I'm sure I can't imagine: I shall haveto give it up."
"So must I," said grandmamma; "I make such poor work at guessing: Isuppose they lived very frugally?"
"A thousand dollars?" suggested Grace.
"A million?" said Susy.
"A shilling?" chimed in Aunt Louise.
"_Not one cent!_" replied Horace.
"Well, well," said grandmother, "you've caught us napping this time."
But only she and Aunt Maria appreciated Horace's gallantry towards hissensitive cousin Prudy.