The Four Corners. Blanchard Amy Ella

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Yo' gran'pa mean yo' pa to hev his shar' but de ole lady hol' on to uvvry thing whilst she 'bove groun'. Nemmin', yuh-alls has full an' plenty to eat. Ain' de tomats jest a-humpin' deyse'fs? Yo' ma has pickles an' cans o' 'em fo' de whole wintah, dey so many."

      "I like the little yellow ones best," remarked Nan, who was tired of the old man's long monologue. He was given to reciting these bits of family history to her though to no one outside the family itself would he have breathed a word. "I think these make the very nicest preserves," continued Nan, "and I like them raw, too. I always feel as if I were eating golden fairy fruit only they aren't sweet like I imagine fairy fruit would be." She stooped to gather a tiny red tomato from the vines at her feet. They used to call these love-apples, Aunt Sarah says, and they thought they were poisonous. "I am glad they found out it wasn't so," she said, popping the red morsel into her mouth. "What are you going to do now, Landy?"

      "Gwine tek a tu'n at de fence." When Landy's other occupations did not demand attention there was always the fence to turn to; something upon which to exhaust his energies. It was patched and mended beyond hope now, Mrs. Corner thought, and the repairs were creeping from the side to the front, for Landy had frequently "borrowed from Peter to pay Paul," and when a paling was missing from the front he had always promptly supplied it from the sides, replacing it by a board, a post, or whatever came handy, so that the two side fences presented a curious style of building. White, green or gray boards took their place as occasion required. Tops from empty boxes set forth some address in staring black letters, a bit of wire fence was hitched to a cedar post on one side and an old bed-slat on the other; but the fence served its purpose to keep out wandering cattle from the garden which was Landy's pride. And though Mrs. Corner sighed when she went that way, there was no money to be spared for new fences so the old one was eked out from year to year.

      Leaving Landy to work upon the fence, Nan supplied herself with more small tomatoes and went up to the house thinking of the grandmother across seas and determining to curb her own tongue lest it lead her into such trying ordeals as the being haunted by bitter words.

      CHAPTER II

      THE FAIRY GODMOTHER

      As she entered the long living-room, Nan found it deserted except for the presence of Lady Gray, who sleepily stretched out her paws on the broad window-sill where she was taking a nap, and winked one eye at Nan. "Nobody here, at least nobody who counts, if you will excuse the remark, Lady Gray," said Nan, "so I can try my song."

      She went to the corner where the melodeon stood. It was piled high with a variety of things; her mother's work-basket, Aunt Sarah's knitting, a scrap-book, and some sheets of paper from which Nan was taking cuttings, the twins' dolls, and a pile of books which she herself had taken from the shelves. All these had to be removed before the song could be tried.

      The warm summer sunshine sifted in through the vines that covered the western windows and disclosed the dinginess of the room. An old-fashioned paper, discolored by time, covered the walls; its green and gold had been pleasant to look upon in days gone by, but now it was patched and streaked. Upon the floor was a worn carpet; handsome old mahogany furniture which had lost its polish gave a well-filled appearance to the room, though the springs of the long sofa had been greatly weakened by frequent jumpings upon them, so that the seat of the sofa presented an uphill and down-dale surface, not rendered more inviting by the neutral-toned, frayed upholstery.

      A tall secretary with a beautifully leaded glass top had been chosen by some yellow-jackets as a place for building purposes, and they were droning about their mud-bedaubed residences along the edge of the secretary's top.

      A handsome centre-table with claw feet was littered with books and magazines. A set of chairs in about the same condition as the sofa evidenced that a constant use had been made of them. The shades at the windows were in a more or less worn condition. Over the mantel hung a portrait of a man in gray uniform, one hand on his sword. His eyes were like Nan's.

      Nan began industriously to pick out her tune by working the pedals of the old melodeon vigorously, an operation which was followed by a long-drawn wheezing complaint from somewhere in the interior of the instrument. But Nan did not perceive any reason for amusement; she carefully wrote down her notes one by one, saying aloud "D, d, f, a, – I wish that note would sound. I think it must be a – b, a, – I wonder if it is a; it comes so often, too, I ought to know. Oh, dear, e is out of order, too. Let me see, where was I? Oh, yes, 'blue his eyes,' it is eyes that ought to be e. I reckon I'll know what it is anyhow, even if I don't get it exactly right. 'Blue his eyes,'" she sang softly.

      "Nannie," came a voice from the window, "do shut up that dreadful wheezing thing; I want to take a nap."

      Nan jumped up and closed the melodeon with a bang. Why was it that Aunt Sarah always wanted to take a nap when she was "composing"? It was always so. Aunt Sarah might go days and never think of napping in the daytime, but let Nan but send forth one note and, if Aunt Sarah were anywhere within hearing distance, there came the order to stop. "I wish I could have it all to myself somewhere out of the way," she said. "I'll ask mother if I may get Landy to take it over in one of the old rooms, or up in the attic or somewhere so nobody will hear me."

      Acting upon this idea she sought out her mother who was busy at her sewing-machine. Mrs. Corner looked up brightly, though she did not stop her work when Nan appeared. "Well, daughter?" she said.

      "Oh, mother, mayn't I have the old melodeon all to myself somewhere; over in the barn, or in one of the shut up rooms of the wing or in the garret or somewhere so nobody can hear when I am playing?"

      "Playing?" An amused pucker came around Mrs. Corner's eyes. "It is truly playing that you do with it. I don't see how I can let you have it, for it is so useful to pile things on in the living-room."

      "But mother, a table would do just as well."

      "If one had the table."

      "I'm sure there must be one somewhere in the garret."

      "None that is whole."

      "There's one that is only a little rickety in the legs, and Landy could mend that."

      "Landy has no time for such things, at least, unless they are absolutely necessary. He has all that he can do."

      "Oh, but I do want it so very much. Aunt Sarah always wants to take a nap the minute I begin to play and I always have to stop."

      Mrs. Corner smiled again. "I'm not surprised. Don't be unreasonable, Nan. You know it is trying to hear any one wheeze out impossible tunes with one finger, or make distracting discords which are agony to a sensitive ear. You are getting too big to want to drum."

      A lump arose in Nan's throat. She was shy of divulging her ambitions. Her mother did not understand that she did not want to drum, but that this was a serious matter. She would not explain, however, but she hurried away with a sense of being aggrieved. Mary Lee and Phil were at that moment deeply interested in watching a family of tadpoles which were about to lose their tails. The two children kept them in an old half-cask and spent many moments in bending over it. Jack and Jean were playing house with paper-dolls in the orchard. No one wanted Nan and she did want her music. She made one more attempt, returning slowly to her mother's door. "If you only just knew, mother, how awfully much I want it, you'd let me have it."

      Her mother stopped stitching. "Poor little girl," she spoke sympathetically, "I wish you could have lessons, and that I could give you a good piano to practice on, for I do appreciate your love of music, but dear, I don't see that your efforts on that old worn-out melodeon will bring you the slightest reward; in fact, I have heard it said that it is not well to allow a child to practice on a poor instrument. Now, be reasonable, darling, and don't want impossibilities. СКАЧАТЬ