Children's Book Classics - Kate Douglas Wiggin Edition: 11 Novels & 120+ Short Stories for Children. Kate Douglas WigginЧитать онлайн книгу.
internal organs are filled with ink, which it disgorges when pressed to do so, but just now it is ‘too full for utterance,’ as you will see by the blots.
We have decided not to make this a real round-robin letter, like the last, because we want to write what we like, and not have it read by the person who comes next.
I have been badgered to death over my part of the communication sent to you last week, for the young persons connected with this camp have a faculty of making mountains out of mole-hills, as you know, and I have to suffer for every careless little speech. However, as we didn’t wish to bore you with six duplicate letters, we invented a plan for keeping off each other’s ground, and appointed Geoff a committee of one to settle our line of march. It is to be a collective letter, made up of individual notes; and these are Geoff’s sealed orders, which must be obeyed, on pain of dismissal from the camp:
No. 1 (Polly) is to amuse!
No. 2 (Phil) … inform.
No. 3 (Geoff) … edify!!
No. 4 (Madge) … gossip.
No. 5 (Bell) … versify.
No. 6 (Jack) … illustrate.
So, my dear, if you get any ‘information’ or happen to be ‘edified’ by what I write, don’t mention it for worlds! (I just screamed my fears about this matter to Jack, and he says ‘I needn’t fret.’ I shall certainly slap that boy before the summer is over.)
I could just tell you a lovely story about Dicky’s getting lost in the woods the day before yesterday, and our terrible fright about him, and how we all joined in the boy-hunt, until Geoff and Bell found him at the Lone Stump; but I suppose the chronicle belongs to Phil’s province, so I desist. But what can I say? Suppose I tell you that Uncle Doc and the boys have been shooting innocent, tame sheep, skinning and cutting them up on the way home, and making us believe for two days that we were eating venison; and we never should have discovered the imposition had not Dicky dragged home four sheep-skins from the upper pool, and told us that he saw the boys ‘peeling them off a venison.’ Perhaps Phil may call this information, and Margery will vow that it is gossip and belongs to her; any way, they consider it a splendid joke, and chuckle themselves to sleep over it every night; but I think the whole affair is perfectly maddening, and it makes me boil with rage to be taken in so easily. Such a to-do as they make over the matter you never saw; you would think it was the first successful joke since the Deluge. (That wasn’t a dry joke, was it? Ha, ha!)
This is the way they twang on their harp of a thousand strings. At breakfast, this morning, when Jack passed me the corn-bread, I said innocently, ‘Why, what have we here?’ ‘It is manna that fell in the night,’ answered Jack, with an exasperating snicker. ‘You didn’t know mutton, but I thought, being a Sunday-school teacher, you would know something about manna.’ (N.B.—He alludes to that time I took the infant class for Miss Jones, and they all ran out to see a military funeral procession.) ‘I wish you knew something about manners,’ snapped I; and then Aunt Truth had to warn us both, as usual. Oh dear! it’s a weary world. I’d just like to get Jack at a disadvantage once!
We climbed Pico Negro yesterday. Bell, Geoff, Phil, and I had quite an experience in losing the trail. I will tell you about it. Just as—
(Goodness me! what have I written? Oh, Elsie, pray excuse those horizontal evidences of my forgetfulness and disobedience. I have bumped my head against the table three times, as penance, and will now try to turn my thoughts into right channels. This letter is a black-and-white evidence that I have not a frivolous order of mind, and have always been misunderstood from my birth up to this date.)
We have had beautiful weather since—but no, of course Phil will tell you about the weather, for that is scarcely an amusing topic. I do want to be as prudent as possible, for Uncle Doc is going to read all the letters (not, of course, aloud) and see whether we have fulfilled our specific obligations.
(I just asked Bell whether ‘specific’ had a ‘c’ or an’s in the middle, and she answered ‘“c,” of course,’ with such an air, you should have heard her! I had to remind her of the time she spelled ‘Tophet’ with an ‘f’ in the middle; then she subsided.)
(I just read this last paragraph to Madge, to see if she called it gossip, as I was going to take it out if it belonged to her topic, but she said No, she didn’t call it gossip at all—that she should call it slander!)
You don’t know how we all long to see you, dear darling that you are. We live in the hope of having you with us very soon, and meanwhile the beautiful bedstead is almost finished, and a perfect success. (I wish to withdraw the last three quarters of that sentence, for obvious reasons!!)
Dear, dear! Geoffrey calls ‘Time up,’ and I’ve scarcely said anything I should. Never, never again will I submit to this method of correspondence; it is absolutely petrifying to one’s genius. When I am once forced to walk in a path, nothing but the whole out-of-doors will satisfy me.
I’m very much afraid I haven’t amused you, dear,—
But when I lie in the green kirkyard,
With the mould upon my breast,
Say not that ‘She did well or ill,’
Only, ‘She did her best.’
Now, do you think that will interfere with Bell, when it’s only a quotation? Any way, it’s so appropriate that Uncle Doc will never have the heart to strike it out. The trouble is that Geoff thinks all the poetry in the universe is locked up in Bell’s head, and if she once allows it to escape, Felicia Hemans and the rest will be too discouraged ever to try again! (I can’t remember whether F. H. is alive or not, and am afraid to ask, but you will know that I don’t mean to be disrespectful.)
Laura, Anne, and Scott Burton were here for the play, and Laura is coming down again to spend the week. I can’t abide her, and there will probably be trouble in the camp.
The flame of my genius blazes high just now, but Geoff has spoken, and it must be snuffed. So good-bye!
Sizz-z-z!! and I’m out!
Pollioliver.
II. From Philip to Elsie
Camp Chaparral, July 8, 188–.
My dear Elsie,—I believe I am to inform you concerning the daily doings of our party, not on any account, however, permitting myself to degenerate into ‘gossip’ or ‘frivolous amusement.’
They evidently consider me a quiet, stupid fellow, who will fulfil such a task with no special feeling of repression, and I dare say they are quite right.
They call me the ‘solid man’ of the camp, which may not be very high praise, to be sure, as Geoffrey carries his head in the clouds, and Jack is—well, Jack is Jack! So, as the light of a tallow dip is valuable in the absence of sun and moon, I am raised to a fictitious reputation.
We fellows have had very little play so far, for the furnishing of the camp has proved an immense undertaking, although we have plenty of the right sort of wood and excellent tools.
We think the work will pay, however, as Dr. Paul has about decided to stay until October, or until the first rain. He writes two or three hours a day, and thinks that he gets on with his book better here than at home. As for the rest of us, when we get fairly to rights we shall have regular study hours and lose no time in preparing for the examinations.
I suppose you know that you have a full bedroom set in process of construction. I say ‘suppose you know,’ because it is a profound secret, and the girls could never have kept it to themselves as long as this.
The lounging-chair is my allotted portion, and although it is a complicated bit of work,