He had remarked, early in the spring, that when he was really rich, when he had five or six millions of dollars, he was going to build a city in the form of a very large circle, only two streets deep, and inside of this circle was to be an immense farm.
“I shall begin,” he said, “by finding and buying a ready-made farm, for the farmhouse1 and barns and orchard2 and garden must all be old. I shall put all this in perfect order, without making it look new. Then I shall build twenty-five Swiss cottages, each with three rooms and a great deal of veranda3. I shall buy twenty-five excellent tents, and hide them about in the orchard and shrubberies, and I shall invite my friends, fifty families at a time, to come and stay a month with me on my farm; and if my friends should all be used up before the summer is over, I will ask some of them to nominate some of their friends. And in the meantime,” he added, dropping his millionaire tone of voice suddenly, “if we can find the farm and the farmhouse, we will make a beginning by going there for the summer, and planning the rest out.”
The others laughed at this dreadful coming down, but after that it became a favorite amusement to make additions to the “circular city,” and I could not begin to tell you all the plans which were made for the comfort and happiness and goodness of the “circular citizens,” as one thought of one thing, and one of another. And the best of this popular “pretend” was, that it set everybody thinking, and it was surprising to find how many of the plans for the dream-city might, in much smaller ways, of course, be carried out without waiting for all the rest.
For instance, when Tiny said that all the little girls should have dolls, her mother reminded her that she knew how to make very nicely those rag dolls which one makes by rolling up white muslin—a thick roll for the body, and a thin one for the arms; coarse thread sewed round where the neck ought to be, the top of the head “gathered” and covered with a little cap, eyes and nose and mouth inked, or worked in colored thread, upon the face, and the fact that the infant has only one leg concealed4 by a nice long petticoat and frock.
Mrs. Leslie promised to supply as many “rags” as Tiny would use, in the making and dressing5 of these dolls, and it became the little girl’s delight to carry one of them in her pocket, when she was going for a walk, and to give it to the poorest, most unhappy-looking child she could find. There are very few small girls who do not love to mother dolls, and Tiny’s heart would feel warm all day, remembering the joyful6 change in some little pinched face, and the astonished,—
“For me? For my own to keep?”
And when Johnny said that all the sick people should have flowers every day, his mother reminded him that the “can’t-get-aways” were glad even of such common things as daisies and buttercups and clover blossoms. And after that he took many a long walk to the fields outside the town, where these could be found.
They had all hoped to go back to Mr. Allen’s for the summer, but when Mrs. Leslie wrote to ask Mrs. Allen if they could be received, Mrs. Allen replied, that since Ann had married and left them, half the house seemed gone, and she really didn’t think she could take any boarders this summer.
“Perhaps you did not hear that Ann was married,” she wrote; “but I miss her so, all the time, that I feel as if everybody must know it. She’s married a widower7 with two little children,—a nice, quiet, pleasant sort of a man,—but we all told Ann she only took him because she fell in love with the children! And she does seem as happy as a queen, and, for that matter, so does he; but it provokes me to think how little we set by her, considering what she was worth, till after we’d lost her.”
It was a week or two after this letter was received, that Mr. Leslie made his discovery. He found the farmhouse, the “very identical” farmhouse, for which he was longing8, and he found it when he was not looking for it, as he was riding a horse which a friend had lent him.
The gate of the long lane which led up to the house was only half a mile from the railway station, and only eight miles from the town where the Leslies lived, and two dear old Quaker people, who “liked children,” lived there all alone, save for their few servants.
“No, they had never taken boarders,” Friend Mercy said, “and she was afraid the children—her married boys and girls—might not quite like it.”
But Mr. Leslie, at her hospitable9 invitation, dismounted, and tied his horse and sat down on the “settee,” under the lilac bushes, and drank buttermilk and ate gingerbread, and I am afraid he talked a good deal, and the result of it all was, that, just as he was going away, Friend Mercy said,—
“Well, thee bring thy wife and little ones to-morrow afternoon, Friend Leslie, and have a sociable10 cup of tea with us. I will talk with Isaac in the meantime, and with thy wife when she comes, and—we’ll see.”
Mr. Leslie had no desire to break his children’s hearts, so, although it was hard work not to, he did not tell them all that Friend Mercy and he had said to each other, for fear she should not “see her way clear” to take them; so he only told of his pleasant call, and of this magnificent invitation to a real country tea, in the “inner circle”; and they were so nearly wild over that, that it was a very good thing he stopped there!
Friend Mercy had suggested the four o’clock train, which would give the children time for “a good run” before the six o’clock tea. So, while Tiny and Johnny played in the hay, and sailed boats on the brook11, the older people talked; and the result was, that the Leslies were to be permitted to come and board in the “inner circle,” until the end of September.
A little talk which Friend Mercy had with her husband that evening, after the guests were gone, and when he said he was “afraid it wouldn’t work,” will explain this.
“Thee sees, Isaac,” she said, “those two dear little things have played here half the afternoon, and there was no quarrelling, or tale-bearing, or cruelty. They did not stone the chickens and geese, nor tease Bowser and the cat; and when I asked John to drive the cows to the spring—which, I will confess, I did with a purpose—he used neither stick nor stone. I would not have any children brought here who would teach bad tricks to Joseph’s and Hannah’s children, for the world; but with these I think we should be quite safe. Did thee notice how they put down the kittens, and came at once, when their father called them to go to the train? When they obey so implicitly12 such parents as these seem to be, there is nothing to fear.”
“Thee has had thy own way too long for me to begin to cross thee now, I’m afraid, mother,” said Friend Gray, with an indulgent smile. “So, if thy heart is really set upon it, let them come! The trouble of it will fall chiefly on thee, I fear.”
It did not seem to fall very heavily. The one strong, willing maid-of-all-work declared she could “do for a dozen like them.”
Mrs. Leslie and Tiny made the three extra beds, and dusted the rooms every morning; and both Tiny and Johnny found various delightful13 ways of helping14 “Aunt Mercy and Uncle Isaac,” as the dear old host and hostess were called by everybody, before a week was out.
The days went by on swift, sunny wings, and everybody was growing agreeably fat and brown. But, when they stopped to think of it, there was a shadow over the children’s joy.
They were in the “inner circle”—even the five or six millions, they thought, could do no more for them; but, oh, the hundreds and hundreds who were hopelessly outside!
It was not very long, you may be sure, before Aunt Mercy heard all about the “circular city”; and although at first she treated the whole matter as a joke, she soon caught herself making valuable suggestions. And then, when Tiny and Johnny began to lament15 to her about all the “outsiders,” she began to think in good earnest, and the day before the next market day she spoke16, and this is what she said,—
“Father is going to take some chickens to town, to-morrow, and there will be a good deal of spare room in the wagon17. That’s half. He passes right by the house where a good city missionary18 lives. That’s the other half. And the whole is, that if two little people I know would pick up all those early apples that the wind blew down last night, in the orchard, and make some nice big bunches of daisies and clover, with a sweet-william or a marigold in the middle of each, father would leave them at Mr. Thorpe’s door, to be given round to the poor people.”
Tiny and Johnny went nearly as wild over this announcement as they had gone over the news that they were to spend the summer in the inner circle—and then they went to work. By great good fortune, two of the grand-children came that very day, and asked nothing better than to help; and when, the next morning, at the appointed hour, which was five o’clock, these four conspirators19 brought out their treasures, there was a barrel of apples, and another barrel of bouquets20.
Uncle Isaac laughed, and said he had no idea what a “fix” he was getting himself into, when he let Mercy make that speech, but he took the fruit and flowers, all the same. And after that, it was really surprising to see the number of things which, it was found, “might as well go to those poor little ones as to the pigs.”
Wild raspberries, dewberries, blackberries, whortleberries, were all to be had for the picking; Johnny was told that it was only fair for him to keep one egg out of every dozen for which he had hunted, and these eggs, which he at first refused to take, and afterward21, when he found that Aunt Mercy was “tried” about it, accepted, were very carefully packed, and plainly labelled, “For the sickest children.” Then a very brilliant idea occurred to Tiny.
“Do the pigs have to eat all that bonny-clabber, Aunt Mercy?” she asked, one morning, as David, the “hired man,” picked up two buckets full of the nice white curds23, and started for the pig-pen.
“Why no, deary,” Aunt Mercy replied, “I was saying to father, only yesterday, that I was afraid we were over-feeding them, but we don’t know what else to do with it. Had thee thought of anything, dear?”
“If you really don’t need it,” said Tiny, hesitating a little, “I’ve watched thee make cottage cheese till I’m sure I could do it; and I wouldn’t be in the way—I’d be ever so careful, and clear up everything when I was done. And I thought dear little round white cheeses, tied up in clean cloths, would be such lovely things to send! Don’t thee think so, Aunt Mercy?”
Tiny was trying very hard to learn the “plain language”; she thought it was so pretty.
“Yes, indeed!” said Aunt Mercy, “and of course thee shall! That’s one of the best things thee’s thought of, dear. Father shall buy us plenty of that thin cotton cloth I use for my cheese and butter rags, the very next time he goes to town, and thee shall have all the spare clabber, after this.”
“But you must let Johnny and me pay for the cotton cloth, Aunt Mercy,” said Tiny, earnestly. “We’ve been saving up for the next thing we could think of, and we’ve forty-five cents.”
Aunt Mercy had her mouth open to say “No indeed!” but she shut it suddenly, and when it opened again, the words which came out were,—
“Very well, deary.”
So Johnny cut squares of cheese cloth, which was three cents a yard at the wholesale24 place where Uncle Isaac bought it, and Tiny scalded and squeezed and molded the white curd22 into delightful little round cheeses, and then Johnny tied them up in the cloths.
“And the cloths will be beautiful for dumplings, afterward!” said Tiny.
“Yes, if they can get the dumplings, poor things!” answered Johnny, soberly.
“There’s a way to make a crust, if the poor souls only knew it,” said Aunt Mercy, “that’s real wholesome25 and good for boiled crust and very cheap. It’s just to scald the flour till it’s soft enough to roll out, and put in a little salt. And another way, that’s most as cheap, and better, is to work flour into hot mashed26 potatoes, till it makes a crust that will roll out.”
The next time there was a barrel of “windfall” apples to go, Tiny and Johnny came to Aunt Mercy, each with a sheet of foolscap paper and a sharp lead pencil, and Tiny said, “Aunt Mercy, will thee please tell us, quite slowly, those two cheap ways to make apple-dumpling crust?”
So Aunt Mercy gave out the recipes as if they were a school dictation, and each of her scholars made twelve copies. It took a long time, and was a tiresome27 piece of work, but it was a fine thing when it was done!
The twenty-four copies were put in a large yellow envelope, addressed to “Mr. Thorpe,” and Johnny added a note, in the best hand he had left, after all that writing,—
“Dear Mr. Thorpe,—Will you please put one of these recipe papers with each batch28 of apples you give away? They are all right.
“Very respectfully,
“T. & J.”
This was the beginning of a most interesting correspondence. When Uncle Isaac came home the next evening, he brought an envelope addressed to “T. and J.,” and inside was a card, with “John Thorpe” on one side of it, and on the other, in a clear, firm hand,—
“God bless you both, my dear T. and J. You will never know how many sad lives you have gladdened, this summer. Is there any moss29 in your land of plenty? Have any of your wild-flowers roots? And may I not know your names?”
Now this was, as Tiny said, “Too beautiful for anything!” especially as the early apples and all the berries were about gone, and the children were beginning to wonder what they could find to send next.
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1
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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5
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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6
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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widower
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| n.鳏夫 | |
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8
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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15
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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16
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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conspirators
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| n.共谋者，阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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bouquets
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| n.花束( bouquet的名词复数 )；（酒的）芳香 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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curd
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| n.凝乳；凝乳状物 | |
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curds
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| n.凝乳( curd的名词复数 ) | |
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wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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mashed
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| a.捣烂的 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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