Read Online Under the Lilacs by Louisa May Alcott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louisa May Alcott
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told them about the little German girls in their funny black-silk caps,
short-waisted gowns, and woodenshoes, whom she used to see watering long webs of linen bleaching on the grass, watching great flocks of geese, or driving
pigs to market, knitting or spinning as they went.
Presently “Randa,” as she called her stout maid, came to tell her that “Master Thorny couldn’t wait another minute”; and she
went in to breakfast with a good appetite, while the children raced home to bounce in upon Mrs. Moss, talking all at once
like little lunatics.
“The phaeton at four — so sweet in a beautiful white gown — going to tea, and Sancho and all the baby things invited. Can’t
we wear our Sunday frocks? A splendid new net for Lita. And she likes dolls. Goody, goody, won’t it be fun!”
With much difficulty their mother got a clear account of the approaching festivity out of the eager mouths, and with still
more difficulty got breakfast into them, for the children had few pleasures, and this brilliant prospect rather turned their
heads.
Bab and Betty thought the day would never end, and cheered the long hours by expatiating on the pleasures in store for them,
till their playmates were much afflicted because they were not going also. At noon their mother kept them from running over
to the old house lest they should be in the way; so they consoled themselves by going to the syringa bush at the corner and
sniffing the savory odors which came from the kitchen, where Katy, the cook, was evidently making nice things for tea.
Ben worked as if for a wager till four; then stood over Pat while he curried Lita till her coat shone like satin, then drove
her gently down to the coach house, where he had the satisfaction of harnessing her “all his own self.”
“Shall I go round to the great gate and wait for you there, miss?” he asked, when all was ready, looking up at theporch, where the young lady stood watching him as she put on her gloves.
“No, Ben, the great gate is not to be opened till next October. I shall go in and out by the Lodge, and leave the avenue to
grass and dandelions, meantime,” answered Miss Celia, as she stepped in and took the reins, with a sudden smile.
But she did not start, even when Ben had shaken out the new duster and laid it neatly over her knees.
“Isn’t it all right now?” asked the boy, anxiously.
“Not quite; I need one thing more. Can’t you guess what it is?”— and Miss Celia watched his anxious face as his eyes wandered
from the tips of Lita’s ears to the hind wheel of the phaeton, trying to discover what had been omitted.
“No, miss, I don’t see—” he began, much mortified to think he had forgotten anything.
“Wouldn’t a little groom up behind improve the appearance of my turnout?” she said, with a look which left no doubt in his
mind that
he
was to be the happy boy to occupy that proud perch.
He grew red with pleasure, but stammered, as he hesitated, looking down at his bare feet and blue shirt—
“I ain’t fit, miss; and I haven’t got any other clothes.”
Miss Celia only smiled again more kindly than before, and answered, in a tone which he understood better than her words—
“A great man said his coat of arms was a pair of shirt-sleeves, and a sweet poet sung about a barefooted boy; so I need not
be too proud to ride with one. Up with you, Ben, my man, and let us be off, or we shall be late for our party.”
With one bound the new groom was in his place, sitting very erect, with his legs stiff, arms folded, and nose in the air,
as he had seen real grooms sit behind their masters infine dogcarts or carriages. Mrs. Moss nodded as they drove past the lodge, and Ben touched his torn hat-brim in the most dignified
manner, though he could not suppress a broad grin of delight, which deepened into a chuckle when Lita went off at a brisk
trot along the smooth road toward town.
It takes so little to make a child
short-waisted gowns, and woodenshoes, whom she used to see watering long webs of linen bleaching on the grass, watching great flocks of geese, or driving
pigs to market, knitting or spinning as they went.
Presently “Randa,” as she called her stout maid, came to tell her that “Master Thorny couldn’t wait another minute”; and she
went in to breakfast with a good appetite, while the children raced home to bounce in upon Mrs. Moss, talking all at once
like little lunatics.
“The phaeton at four — so sweet in a beautiful white gown — going to tea, and Sancho and all the baby things invited. Can’t
we wear our Sunday frocks? A splendid new net for Lita. And she likes dolls. Goody, goody, won’t it be fun!”
With much difficulty their mother got a clear account of the approaching festivity out of the eager mouths, and with still
more difficulty got breakfast into them, for the children had few pleasures, and this brilliant prospect rather turned their
heads.
Bab and Betty thought the day would never end, and cheered the long hours by expatiating on the pleasures in store for them,
till their playmates were much afflicted because they were not going also. At noon their mother kept them from running over
to the old house lest they should be in the way; so they consoled themselves by going to the syringa bush at the corner and
sniffing the savory odors which came from the kitchen, where Katy, the cook, was evidently making nice things for tea.
Ben worked as if for a wager till four; then stood over Pat while he curried Lita till her coat shone like satin, then drove
her gently down to the coach house, where he had the satisfaction of harnessing her “all his own self.”
“Shall I go round to the great gate and wait for you there, miss?” he asked, when all was ready, looking up at theporch, where the young lady stood watching him as she put on her gloves.
“No, Ben, the great gate is not to be opened till next October. I shall go in and out by the Lodge, and leave the avenue to
grass and dandelions, meantime,” answered Miss Celia, as she stepped in and took the reins, with a sudden smile.
But she did not start, even when Ben had shaken out the new duster and laid it neatly over her knees.
“Isn’t it all right now?” asked the boy, anxiously.
“Not quite; I need one thing more. Can’t you guess what it is?”— and Miss Celia watched his anxious face as his eyes wandered
from the tips of Lita’s ears to the hind wheel of the phaeton, trying to discover what had been omitted.
“No, miss, I don’t see—” he began, much mortified to think he had forgotten anything.
“Wouldn’t a little groom up behind improve the appearance of my turnout?” she said, with a look which left no doubt in his
mind that
he
was to be the happy boy to occupy that proud perch.
He grew red with pleasure, but stammered, as he hesitated, looking down at his bare feet and blue shirt—
“I ain’t fit, miss; and I haven’t got any other clothes.”
Miss Celia only smiled again more kindly than before, and answered, in a tone which he understood better than her words—
“A great man said his coat of arms was a pair of shirt-sleeves, and a sweet poet sung about a barefooted boy; so I need not
be too proud to ride with one. Up with you, Ben, my man, and let us be off, or we shall be late for our party.”
With one bound the new groom was in his place, sitting very erect, with his legs stiff, arms folded, and nose in the air,
as he had seen real grooms sit behind their masters infine dogcarts or carriages. Mrs. Moss nodded as they drove past the lodge, and Ben touched his torn hat-brim in the most dignified
manner, though he could not suppress a broad grin of delight, which deepened into a chuckle when Lita went off at a brisk
trot along the smooth road toward town.
It takes so little to make a child
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