Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team athttps://www.pgdp.net.
_"I'M HERE," SAID THE VOICE. "I'VE COME. I'M PHIL."_]
BLACK-EYED SUSAN
BY
ETHEL CALVERT PHILLIPS
AUTHOR OF "WEE ANN" AND "LITTLE FRIEND LYDIA"
WITH DRAWINGS BY HAROLD CUE
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN CO BOSTON & NEW YORK
BLACK-EYED SUSAN
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I--BLACK-EYED SUSAN OF FEATHERBED LANE CHAPTER II--OVER THE GARDEN WALL CHAPTER III--MADAME BONNET'S SHOP CHAPTER IV--THE SQUASH BABY CHAPTER V--DOWN AT MISS LIZA'S CHAPTER VI--THE GYPSIES CHAPTER VII--IN THE SCHOOLHOUSE CHAPTER VIII--SUSAN'S PRESENT CHAPTER IX--HICKORY DICKORY DOCK CHAPTER X--THE VISIT CHAPTER XI--HOW THE MONEY WAS SPENT CHAPTER XII--THANKSGIVING IN FEATHERBED LANE
*BLACK-EYED SUSAN*
CHAPTER I--BLACK-EYED SUSAN OF FEATHERBED LANE
A pair of black eyes, a head covered with short brown curls, two redcheeks, and a tip-tilted nose--that was Susan. A warm heart, a pair ofeager little hands always ready to help, little feet that trippedwillingly about on errands--that was Susan, too.
"The best little girl in Putnam County," said Grandfather, snugglingSusan up so close that his gray beard tickled her nose and made herlaugh.
"My little comfort," said Grandmother, with a hand on Susan's bobbingcurls that simply couldn't be made to lie flat no matter how much youbrushed and brushed.
Susan herself didn't say very much to this, but oh, how she did loveGrandfather, from the crown of his big slouch hat to the toes of hishigh leather boots that he delighted to wear both winter and summer!
As for Grandmother, who could help loving her, with her merry smile, hersoft pink cheeks shaded by a row of little white curls, and her jar ofcinnamon cookies on the low shelf in the pantry? Yes, her jar ofcinnamon cookies on the low shelf in the pantry, for, somehow, inSusan's mind, Grandmother and the cinnamon cookies were pleasantlymingled and together made up the love and comfort and cheer that toSusan meant home.
The house Susan lived in with Grandmother and Grandfather Whiting andSnuff the dog was a broad, low, white house that stood far back from theroad at the end of Featherbed Lane.
Susan thought this the funniest name she had ever heard.
As she and Grandfather, hand in hand, would carefully pick their wayover the stones that covered the road from house to highway, she nevertired of asking, "Grandfather, why do you call it Featherbed Lane? It'snot a bit like a feather bed. It's as hard as hard can be."
"Because there are just as many stones in this lane as there arefeathers in a feather bed," Grandfather would answer gravely. "Some dayyou must count them and see."
"But how many feathers are there in a feather bed?" Susan would ask."You must count them, too," was Grandfather's reply.
At the end of the lane, on the roadside, stood a little house with threewindows, a front door, and a pointed roof with a chimney. This wasGrandfather's law office, and here he was to be found at work every day,coming up to the house only at meal-time. Inside there was one big room,not only lined all round with books, but with books overflowing theirshelves and piled upon the chairs and tumbled upon the floor.Grandfather's big desk was drawn up close to the windows, and as Susanpassed in and out of the gate she never failed to smile and wave herhand in greeting.
If Grandfather were not busy, he would invite her in, and then Susan onthe floor would build houses of the heavy law books, using Grandfather'sshabby old hassock for table or bed as the case might be.
One cool May afternoon Susan climbed upon Grandfather's lap as he sat infront of the coal fire that burned in the office grate every day thatgave the least excuse for it.
Grandmother had gone calling in the village, and Susan was staying withGrandfather until her return. Susan cuddled her head down onGrandfather's broad shoulder.
"Say 'William Ti Trimity' for me, please," said she coaxingly.
So Grandfather obediently repeated,
William Ti Trimity, he's a good fisherman; Catches his hens and puts them in pens. Some lays eggs and some lays none. Wire, briar, limber lock, Three geese in a flock. One flew east, and one flew west, And one flew over the cuckoo's nest.
Susan gave Grandfather's cheek a pat by way of thanks.
"Sing to me now, please," was the next command.
Obligingly Grandfather tuned up and sang in his sweet old voice--
It rains and it hails and it's cold stormy weather. In comes the farmer drinking up the cider. You be the reaper and I'll be the binder, I've lost my true love, and right here I find her.
This was an old favorite, and it never failed to delight Susan to haveGrandfather in great surprise discover her as the lost true love "righthere" in his arms.
"Now, 'Chickamy,'" said Susan, smoothing herself down after the vigoroushug she felt called upon to bestow.
Chickamy, Chickamy, crany crow, Went to the well to wash his toe. When he came back the black-eyed chicken was gone--
said Grandfather in a mysterious voice.
"Can't you remember any more of it, Grandfather?" implored Susan. "Don'tyou know who Chickamy was, or who stole the black-eyed chicken? I dowish I knew."
"No, I can't remember," said Grandfather regretfully. "You know all Iknow about it, Susan. Only I do think Chickamy was a foolish fellow towash his toe just at that minute. Why didn't he take the black-eyedchicken with him or leave somebody at home to take care of him?"
"Yes, it is a pity," sighed the little girl. "Or why didn't he wash histoe in the tub at home? Well, anyway, Grandfather, now tell about thetime I came to live with you." And Susan re-settled herself comfortablyas Grandfather slipped down in his chair and stretched out his feettoward the low fire.
"It was a cold winter night," began Grandfather, with the ease of onewho has told his story many times, "and the ground was covered withsnow. All the little rabbits were snuggled down in their holes in theground trying to keep warm. All the little birds were cuddled togetherin their nests under the eaves. All the little boys and girls were soundasleep tucked in their warm beds--"
"All but one," interrupted Susan.
"Yes, all but one," agreed Grandfather, "and she was riding along in asleigh, and the sleigh-bells went _jingle jangle, jingle jangle_, andthe horses' feet went _crunch, crunch, crunch_, through the snow."
"Now, tell was I cold," prompted Susan, as Grandfather paused to spreadhis silk handkerchief over his head to keep off the draught.
"The little girl wasn't one bit cold," went on Grandfather smoothly,"because she was dressed in fur from head to foot. She wore a white furcoat and a white fur cap that came so far down over her face that allyou could see was the tip of her nose."
"And that was red," supplied Susan.
"And she had a pair of white furry mittens on her hands, and her feetwere wrapped in a white fur rug.
"Well, by and by the horse turned in a lane that was so packed with snowthat you couldn't tell whether it was a Featherbed Lane or not. _Crunch,crunch, crunch_, went the horses' feet, _jingle jangle, jingle jangle_,went the bells until they were almost up to the white house at the endof the lane.
"Now in that white house there sat a grandmother and a grandfatherbefore the fire.
"Presently the grandmother laid down her knitting.
"'I think I hear sleigh-bells in the lane,' said she.
"The grandfather put down his book.
"'I think I hear horses' feet,' said he.
&
nbsp; "Then the grandmother rose and looked out of the window.
"'I see a lantern,' said she, peering out through the snowflakes, for ithad begun to snow again.
"At that the grandfather flung open the door and in came--"
"Me!" exclaimed Susan. "And I didn't cry one bit. Did I?"
"Mercy, no," said Grandfather, opening his eyes wide at the verythought. "You just winked and blinked in the light, and when I held outmy arms you came straight to me."
"And what did you say, Grandfather?"
"I said, 'My little black-eyed Susan.'"
"And that has been my name ever since," said Susan with an air ofsatisfaction. "Now, tell what Grandmother was doing."
"Grandmother had both arms round your father who carried you in, foronce upon a time he was her little boy," concluded Grandfather.
"And you were so glad to see me that night because my mother had gone toheaven, weren't you?" mused Susan. "And then my father went away tobuild a big bridge, and then he went to the war and he never came back."
A silence fell for a moment upon Grandfather Whiting and Susan as theygazed into the fire, and then the little girl stirred and spoke.
"I think I will go and play with Flip awhile, Grandfather," said she.
She slipped down from Grandfather's lap, and, leaving him to fall into adoze, proceeded to set up housekeeping with Flip, her rag doll, behind apile of books in a corner.
Flip and Snuff, the shaggy brown setter, were Susan's constantplaymates, for the house in Featherbed Lane stood a little way out ofthe village and there were no children living near by.
The other side of the Lane, on a little knoll, perched the old Tallmanhouse, empty since last autumn when Miss Eliza Tallman had gone down tothe village to live with her niece.
Across the way and up the road stood the deserted little oldschoolhouse, long ago abandoned for the new brick building in the heartof the village.
But, although Susan had no near neighbors and often longed for some oneher own age to play with, still she dearly loved the lively Snuff whocould outrace her any day, who played a skillful game of hide and seek,and who returned tenfold the strength of her love with all the might ofhis affectionate pink tongue, his briskly wagging tail, and his faithfullittle heart.
As for Flip, it is hard to say what Susan would have done without her.She was a long thin wobbly rag doll, with a head flat like a turtle's,and not a single spear of hair on it. But to Susan, her brown eyes werethe tenderest and her rosy lips the sweetest to be found anywhere, andit was into Flip's sympathetic ear that Susan poured her griefs andtroubles, great or small. She was Susan's bedfellow, too, lying outsidethe coverlid where her little mother might easily put out her hand andtouch her in the night.
Susan had other good friends, too. There was the newel post opposite thefront door at home. Susan had never thought anything about the newelpost until one day, playing "lady come to see" with a shawl on for along skirt, she had tripped and bumped her head against the post. Now,this was fully six months ago, and when Susan was only a little girl, asshe would have been sure to explain, and so she did what other littlegirls have done before. Feeling the newel post to blame for her fall,she pounded it with both hands and kicked it with both feet. Andsuddenly, in the midst of the pounding and kicking, Susan spied a bigdent in the side of the post. Had she done that? Oh! what a mean, acruel girl she was! She hurried upstairs for her new hair-ribbon, whichshe tied round what she called the newel post's neck, and sitting downshe tried to smooth out the dent and soothe the newel post's hurtfeelings at the same time. Perhaps Grandmother could have explained thatdent as made by a trunk carelessly carried upstairs, but Susan alwaysbelieved that she had made it. She rarely passed the newel post withoutgiving it a pat, and, sitting on the stairs, she and Flip and the newelpost often had many a pleasant chat together.
And there was Snowball, the rubber cat, that had been Susan's favoritetoy when she was a baby. Snowball may once have deserved her name. Butnow she was a dingy gray that not even frequent scrubbings with soap andwater could freshen. She had lost her tail, she had lost her squeak, butSusan was loyal to her old pet and still lavished tender care upon her.
Then, too, there was the shawl dolly. Most of the time the dolly was aplain little black-and-white checked shawl spread over Grandmother'sshoulders or neatly folded on the hatbox in Grandmother's closet. Butwhenever Susan was a little ailing, Grandmother folded the shawl into asoft comfortable dolly, who cuddled nicely and who never failed to giveto Susan the comfort needed.
Just now Susan was playing school in the corner. She was the teacher,and Flip and the hassock, who this afternoon was a fat little boy namedBenny, were the scholars.
"Flippy, who made you?" asked the teacher.
"God," answered Flippy promptly.
Susan made her talk in a squeaky little voice.
"Benny, how much is two and two?" was the next question.
But Benny didn't answer. Perhaps he couldn't.
"Benny, how much is two and two?" repeated the teacher loudly.
Still no answer.
This was dreadful, and Susan felt that she must be severe. Shaking herfinger warningly at disobedient Benny, she went to Grandfather's desk toborrow his long black ruler, and, glancing out of the window, she saw abig red wagon toiling slowly up the road.
"It's the circus!" exclaimed Susan. "Grandfather, wake up, the circus iscoming."
Grandfather woke himself up with a shake and peered out of the window,over Susan's head.
"No, that is not the circus," said he. "That's a moving-van. Somebody'sfurniture is packed inside that wagon. Hello, they're turning in at theTallman place. Liza must have rented it."
And Grandfather and Susan, with great interest, watched the heavy vanturn and jolt along the driveway that led to the house next door.
"Here comes another van," called Susan, whose sharp eyes spied the redwagon far down the road.
This van bore what the movers call "a swinging load." On the back of thewagon were tied all the pieces of furniture that couldn't be crammed orsqueezed into the van itself.
The horses pulled and strained up the little hill until they weredirectly opposite Susan's gate, and then, with a crash, something felloff the back of the wagon.
"Look, look!" cried Susan, hopping up and down. "Look, Grandfather, it'sa rocking-horse!"
Sure enough, a dapple gray rocking-horse, with a gay red saddle, wasrocking away in the middle of the road as if he meant to reach BanburyCross before nightfall.
"There will be somebody for me to play with!" cried Susan, climbing upon Grandfather's desk in her excitement. "Maybe I will have a ride onthat rocking-horse. Won't there be somebody for me to play with,Grandfather?"
And Susan, her eyes shining, put both arms around Grandfather's neck andgave him a great hug.
"It looks that way," said Grandfather, as soon as Susan let him breatheagain. "It looks as if that rocking-horse was about your size, too. Buthere comes your grandmother. Perhaps she has heard something about it inthe village."
Like a flash Susan was off down the road, and by the time Grandfatherhad put on his hat and shut the office door Susan had learned all thenews that Grandmother had to tell.
"Grandmother knows all about it," called Susan, flying up the roadagain. "Miss Liza Tallman has rented her house for a year. And,Grandfather, there is a little boy as old as me and his name is PhilipVane."