Mothering

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5. Getting Better Acquainted



Sunday Night.

I have been hunting Sunday clothes in the barrels sent us by kind friends,--the garments the children bring with them must be saved for hard, every-day wear. This morning, when I eagerly exhibited the Sunday things to the boys, I was doomed to disappointment. They expressed boundless contempt for the short trousers, flouted the knickerbockers as "meal pokes," and declined to wear the pleated and belted coats. Even the little sailor suit I had found for Jason was refused with scorn, as not being "for men." White shirts most of them accepted, but collars and ties were different,--Taulbee argued that even preachers didn't wear those, so why should he?

I was non-plussed for five minutes; then my eyes chanced to rest on Killis, the noted traveller. Sending the others from the room, I handed him a dark-blue suit, very little worn, and requested him to get into my closet and put it on, just for my pleasure. He did so, and when I had fastened a collar and a soft red tie on him, I invited him to look in my glass. He was frankly delighted. "By dogs, now, did you ever see anybody look as good as me?" he inquired.

'By dogs, now, did you ever see anybody look as good as me?'

"I think I never did," I replied with entire truth.

"If these breeches was just long, I'd keep these here clothes and wear 'em," he said.

"Short breeches," I assured him, "are the very latest style out in the level country; and," I added, "a boy who has seen the world and ridden on a railroad train is the very one to set new styles here,--the others would all follow what you did."

"Dad burn my looks, then, if I don't keep these and wear 'em!"

"Very well," I said, carelessly; "go along now and let me dress."

My dress was half-way over my head when the entire dozen burst into my room without knocking. Taking refuge in the closet, I let them examine the "new-styles," and fight it out over disputed garments. Later, having pinned all the collars, tied all the ties, parted all the hair, and at the last moment washed difficult cracks in all the ears, I set forth with my family for the "church-house," swelling more and more with pride at every step. Never anywhere have I seen such an aristocratic-looking set of boys.

After dinner, made wise by experience, I took them for a long walk up Perilous, to a beautiful, retired glen where they could play, fight (without weapons) and make all the noise they needed to.

On the way back, we met several women and girls on nags, and I was pained to see that my boys did not remove their hats. When I told them they must do so, Philip demanded why.

"To show the respect you feel for women," I replied.

"But I haint got none," he answered candidly; "they never done nothing for me. I'd ruther take off my hat to a cow,--I git something back from her!"

This from the namesake of the Pattern of Chivalry! Philip is very much of a man, and a prodigious worker,--in the shop he does better work than most of the grown-up boys, and is actually permitted to make walnut furniture for the big house--but he certainly lacks minor virtues, such as courtesy and cleanliness.

After supper I happened to ask Killis about his name, and told him I thought he must be named for Achilles, a hero who lived several thousand years ago, and was the greatest fighter of his time. There were unanimous demands to hear all about him, and perforce I started in telling tales of the Trojan War. This time there was no drowsiness, but, as one great combat followed another, intense interest, and howls of remonstrance when I tried to stop.

I have found acceptable literary food for my babes,--but alas, what they want is not milk at all, but blood!

Wednesday Bed-time.

Jason, my "little pet" as the others call him, resents any allusion to the fact that he is small, and burns to play the man. In our garden work, he seizes shovels and mattocks almost as large as himself from the bigger boys, and whacks away joyously with them. To-day while we were making gravel walks, I caught him wheeling Geordie's barrow, while Geordie made feeble passes at the gravel-bank in the creek with Jason's little broken-handled pick. Geordie explained,

"That 'ere little Jason says he's aiming to leave if you give him little-boy jobs,--he wants big ones. I told him he could take my wheel-borrow awhile,--that I were willing to trade jobs with him, to favor him."

"I don't doubt you were," I said, sharply,--I begin to fear that Geordie's energy and talent reside mostly in his tongue.

"He's able to do it all right," continued Geordie, imperturbably. "By dogs, you ought to have seed him fight out two of them little day-schools at a time yesterday! Any boy can fight like that ought to labor some, and would have to if he weren't a pet!"

This evening while Keats gave me a glowing description of Nervesty's vinegar-pies (it would appear that his affection for her has no few of its roots in his stomach) and the other boys played numble-peg outside my window, what were my grief and surprise to hear the most fearful oaths I ever listened to issue from the sensitive lips of the "pure scholar." Of course all the boys swear; but this was the worst ever. Where can he have learned it, and his father such a perfect gentleman? When I called him in and rebuked him, he was much downcast,--said he didn't aim to cuss, but he had been at it so long he couldn't quit. I told him the only way was to keep on trying, and how very, very happy it would make me when he should succeed; and he promised to try and try, "because," he added, almost in a whisper, "I like you." "And I love you," I said, gathering his thin little body to my heart. How happy his words made me,--they are the first to indicate that any of the boys care for me. They have a great deal of reserve, and are hard to get acquainted with, especially Nucky. But at least they are not leaving as they did.