“Papa,” said Max, on finding himself alone with his father and sister that evening, “we’ll spend the Fourth here, won’t we?”
“Probably, my son,” was the reply. “I do not now expect to leave Minersville before the middle or perhaps the last of July. But why do you ask?”
“I was thinking whether we mightn’t get up some sort of a celebration,” said Max.
“Oh, yes, do let us, papa!” cried Lulu. “It would be such fun.”
“Would it?” he said, smiling at her eagerness. “I should think that would depend on how we celebrate. What would you two like to do to show your patriotism on the nation’s birthday?”
“We shall want your help in deciding what might be done, papa,” said Max.
“We might treat the mission school, couldn’t we, papa?” asked Lulu.
“I like that idea,” he answered, “but we must consider what sort of treat it shall be.”
“Good things to eat, such as they do not get every day—nuts, candies, raisins, oranges, figs, cakes, anything nice that we can get. Could we send away somewhere for such things, papa? I’m afraid they are not to be had in the stores here; at least not many of them.”
“I think I can order by telegraph and have them brought in season by express on the railroad,” he answered. “We have about a week in which to make our arrangements.”
“Oh, good! then you’ll do it, won’t you, papa?”
“I think so,” he said, in an indulgent tone.
“And let’s distribute some small flags among the children,” said Max. “And have fireworks in the evening.”
“Oh, yes, yes!” exclaimed Lulu, clapping her hands and jumping up and down in delight. “Mayn’t we, papa?”
“I think we will,” he said; “but before we quite decide the question we will talk the matter over with Mr. Short. He knows the tastes of the people here much better than we do, and may have some good suggestions to make.”
“Perhaps the minister and the teacher might give some good suggestions, too,” Max said.
“Very likely,” replied his father. “We will consult them also.”
The proposed consultations were held early the next morning, and the necessary orders dispatched to the nearest points where they could be filled.
Max and Lulu were very full of the subject, and talked of it at the table not a little, exciting a good deal of interest and curiosity in the mind of Marian, as she overheard a remark now and again while attending to their wants.
There was a fine natural grove of forest trees on the outskirts of the village, and there it had been decided the town’s people were to be invited to assemble on the morning of the Fourth to listen to an oration by the foremost lawyer of the place, and the reading of the Declaration of Independence by Captain Raymond; also to join in the singing of patriotic songs.
The children of the mission-school would be taken to the grove in a body, marching in procession, carrying flags and banners. After the exercises were over they would be marched back to the schoolroom and treated to cakes, candies, fruits and ices.
There were to be fire-works in the evening, set off in front of Mrs. McAlpine’s boarding-house, which, cornering on two very wide streets, was quite a good place for the display.
“Mr. Short seemed really pleased with the idea of having a celebration, didn’t he, papa?” Lulu said, at the dinner table.
“I thought so,” returned her father. “And it was fortunate that he knew some one capable of delivering an oration on the subject at so short notice, and that arrangements could be made in season for a little advertisement of our plans for the Fourth, in this week’s issue of the county paper.”
“I daresay it will be the first celebration of the Fourth of July ever seen by Albert or his father,” remarked Max. “I hope every thing will go off nicely, so that they may be favorably impressed.”
On leaving the table Lulu seated herself in the porch with a book. She was still sitting there alone when Marian came out with her hat on and a basket in her hand.
“Do you feel inclined for a walk, Miss Lulu?” she asked. “I am going down town on an errand for mother, and should be delighted to have your company if you would like to go.”
“Yes, I should,” returned Lulu. “I’ll go if I can get permission. Papa is in his room writing letters; can you wait a minute while I run and ask him?”
“Oh, yes, indeed; two minutes, if you wish,” replied Marian sportively, and Lulu hurried into the house.
She was back again almost immediately, with hat, gloves and parasol.
“Papa says I may go with you to do your errand, but must come directly home again.”
“I didn’t suppose you would have to ask permission just to go down town with me,” remarked Marian, in surprise, as they walked on together; “your father seems to pet you so that I had an idea you could do exactly as you pleased.”
“Oh, no, indeed!” Lulu answered, with a contented little laugh. “Papa pets and indulges us all, but still he is very strict about some things. I must never go anywhere without asking leave; not outside of the grounds, by myself, when I’m at home.”
“I suppose that is because he’s afraid something might harm you? something or somebody?” Marian said, interrogatively.
“Yes, I know that’s his reason, and it’s because he loves me so dearly. If it wasn’t for that I’d be very rebellious sometimes, I’m afraid; for I’m naturally very wilful, always wanting to have my own way.”
“Yes; but one would bear almost any thing for the sake of being loved so,” Marian said with an involuntary sigh; then suddenly changed the subject.
“Miss Lulu, won’t you tell me about the celebration you were talking of at breakfast and dinner to-day! I mean particularly why Americans should make so much of that day? I’m afraid you must think I ought to be ashamed of my ignorance, and I suppose I ought; but you must remember that I’ve lived in America only a few years, and have not mingled much with native-born citizens.
“It was a Mormon missionary that persuaded father and mother to come over, and most of the people I’ve known about here have been Mormons from foreign lands, and they are all taught by the Mormon leaders to believe that the United States Government is the worst and most tyrannical in the world, and to hate it accordingly.
“So, of course, they haven’t made anything of celebrating the Fourth of July. I do know enough to be aware that it’s the patriotic people who do that.”
“We keep it because it’s the nation’s birthday,” said Lulu; “and we’ve good reason to be glad, and thankful to God, that our nation was born; for instead of our government being the worst and most tyrannical, it is the very best and freest in the world.”
“The nation’s birthday? How do you mean? I don’t quite understand.”
“It was the day of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. The Continental Congress signed it.
“You see, when the colonies began the struggle with England that we call the Revolutionary War, they had not thought of separating from her (they loved her, and called her the mother country), but as the fight went on the breach grew wider and wider, till, after a while, the people began to see that it could never be healed; and that the only thing to do, if they would be anything better than slaves to Great Britain, was to become a separate nation; declare themselves free and independent, and fight the British till they forced them to go back where they belonged and let us alone.
“Of course the declaration had to be made and signed by the leaders of the people, and that made us a new nation—one by ourselves—and so we call it the nation’s birthday; although most of the fighting to carry it out, and make the British and other nations own that we were really what we called ourselves, had to be done afterwards.
“It’s quite a nice story about the signing, and if you like I’ll tell it to you some time. To-morrow, papa and Mr. Austin and Max and Albert are all going with a hunting party, and I shall be at home alone; that will give me a good opportunity to tell the story, if you can find time to sit with me for awhile.”
“Thank you, Miss Lulu,” said Marian; “I shall certainly try to find the time, and will be very glad to hear the story.”
Here the conversation came to an end, as they were just on the threshold of the store to which Marian’s errand led her.
While she attended to that, Lulu, glancing curiously about, spied a box of narrow ribbons of various colors, asked to be allowed to look at them, inquired the price, and selecting a red, a white, and a blue piece, said, “You may please wrap these up for me,” and taking out her purse, paid for them.
She noticed that Marian watched the proceeding with some little surprise and curiosity, though she asked no question and made no remark.
“I suppose you are wondering what I bought these ribbons for?” Lulu said, as they left the store.
“Yes,” replied Marian, “but still more that you should buy them without asking permission, when you couldn’t even walk down the street with me till you had asked your father if you might.”
“Oh, that was quite a different thing:” said Lulu. “Papa allows me to spend my pocket money as I please,—at least, within certain bounds. He wouldn’t let me buy whiskey or tobacco or dime novels, of course,” she added, with a laugh.
“I should think not, indeed,” said Marian, joining in the laugh; “yet I dare say he would be as likely to let you, as you to wish to do so.”
“Yes; I can’t say that I have any inclination to spend my money so, even to prove my independence; though, now I come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I would be allowed to buy tobacco if it was as a present to some of our old colored people who are very fond of it.”
“It must be fine to have money of your own to do as you will with,” remarked Marian, “I never was so fortunate, but I hope to earn for myself some day. Poor mother has always had a struggling time,” she went on, “and I could never have the heart to take pocket money from her, if she offered it, but the folk about town say your father is very, very rich, Miss Lulu.”
“Just say Lulu, Marian; you needn’t call me Miss,” Lulu said. “I suppose it is true that papa is rich, but he never says so, and always tells us he is only the Lord’s steward, bound to use the money entrusted to him for the upbuilding of Christ’s cause and kingdom, and that no one—no matter how rich—has any right to be wasteful, extravagant, or idle. And he says that not only money, but time and ability to do anything useful, are talents entrusted to us to be used and increased—the money and talents, I mean, are to be increased—that at last the Lord may say to us each, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.’”
“I think your father must be a very good, Christian man,” was Marian’s answering remark.
“Indeed he is!” returned Lulu emphatically, “he’s always a Christian, always loving Jesus, and trying his very best to please and honor him by doing exactly as the Bible says.”
The captain had finished his correspondence and gone out to mail his letters, and as Max, too, was out, Lulu found no one in their rooms when she went back to them on her return from her walk with Marian.
But on the table beside which her father had been sitting lay a pile of clothes fresh from the iron; just brought in from the wash.
“There,” thought Lulu to herself, “if Mamma Vi were here she would soon take papa’s clothes from that pile and see if there were any buttons to sew on or stockings to darn; and if there were she’d sit right down and attend to it. She lets Christine or Alma attend to Max’s clothes, but unless she is sick, no one but herself must do papa’s, because, as she says, it is a great pleasure to her to care for her husband’s comfort.
“I always love to do things for papa, too, and I like to be kind and helpful to Max, for he’s a dear, kind brother to me. And of course my own mending belongs to me; so I’ll just sit down to this pile of clothes and put them all in order.”
She hastened to put away her hat and gloves and get out her work-basket, which was thoroughly furnished with all the needed articles and implements, and when her father came in he found her seated in a low chair between table and window, busily plying her needle.
“My little busy bee,” he said, regarding her with a pleased smile, then bending down, kissed her forehead.
She laughed and held up her rosy lips in mute invitation. He kissed them, too, then laying his hand tenderly on her head, said, “My little girl looks quite matronly. Are you playing at being Mamma Vi?”
“Yes, sir, I am like her in at least one thing.”
“What is that?”
“In feeling it a pleasure to do anything for you, sir. Papa, I thought it was just dreadful when you wouldn’t let me wait on you for four whole days, because I’d been disobedient and rebellious.”
“Yes, I know you did; and it was hard for me, too; hard to do without my dear little daughter’s loving services.”
“But you denied yourself for my sake—to make me good, because you know no one can be happy who is not good—you dear papa!” she said, with a grateful loving look up into his face.
“Yes, my darling, that was exactly it,” he said, repeating his caresses, “and it makes me very happy that of late I have rarely needed to punish, or even reprove you. It is so much pleasanter to commend and reward my children, than to punish them.”
He had drawn up a chair and seated himself by her side. “I did better for myself than I was aware of in bringing my eldest daughter along,” he remarked. “I had no thought of making use of you to keep my clothes and Max’s in order.”
“But you are pleased to have me do it, papa?”
“I am.”
“Papa, I bought something when I was at the store with Marian. See!” opening a brown paper parcel, which she took from the table beside her, and displaying the ribbons.
“Ah! what use do you expect to make of your purchases?” he asked.
“Badges for the school children. They are the national colors, you see, papa.”
“Yes; it is a good idea, and I presume the children will be much pleased. When do you propose to make your badges?”
“To-morrow, papa, while you and Max are off on your hunting expedition. But I mean to finish all this mending first.”
“That’s right. I am glad you have found something to do to keep you from being lonely while we are away. I should like to take you along but for exposing you to danger.”
“Mightn’t I as well be exposed to it as Max?” she asked in a playful tone.
“Max is older, and a boy,” he said. “You are very fearless, I know, but women and girls are not so strong physically as our sex, and it is not to be expected that they can endure the same amount of exposure and fatigue. You could hardly be of much assistance in fighting a grizzly, for instance,” he added laughingly, bending over her and softly smoothing her hair as he spoke.
“No, sir,” she returned, laughing a little; “I’m not fearless enough to enjoy the idea of facing one of them. And it frightens me to think of you and Max fighting one. Oh, papa, don’t try it!”
“My child, would you have your father a coward?” he asked.
“No, sir; oh, no, indeed! I know you are brave, as brave as can be, and it makes me very proud; but what’s the use of fighting bears?”
“To rid the country of them, as dangerous enemies to settlers. Also their flesh is good for food, and the skin, too is valuable. But here comes Max, and there is our tea-bell. Put up your work and let me lead you to the table.”
Max met them in the hall.
“Where have you been, my son!” asked the captain.
“Out to the mine, with Albert, papa. You know you gave me permission to walk with him when I chose, provided we did not go farther than that from the town.”
“So I did; I’m glad you went, for I should not wish you to be cooped up in the house in such weather as this.”
They sat down to the table, and after the blessing had been asked, Max began telling about his walk.
“We found the sun rather hot, going,” he said, “but coming back it was very pleasant, indeed; there was a nice breeze from the mountains.”
“Had you any adventures,” asked Lulu.
“No, hardly that,” he answered with a slight laugh; “but as we were going, Albert thought he heard a little child crying in the bushes, and started off to hunt for it. I kept straight on, and he was much disgusted with what he called my heartlessness.
“I said, ‘I don’t believe there is any child there’; and he answered, ‘There is, then; I’m certain of it, for I heard it cry, and dare say it’s some poor little thing that has wandered away from home and is lost. Didn’t you hear it?’”
“Then I said, ‘I heard something, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a child. I’ve read that a panther will imitate the cry of a child so that almost any one would be deceived, and hunting for the child might get so near the panther that it could spring on him before he could get out of its way, or even knew it was there. But, if you think best, I’ll go with you into the bushes and make sure whether there is a baby there or not.’”
“Oh, Max, you knew what it was all the time; didn’t you?” laughed Lulu.
“Yes; but we went and hunted thoroughly through the bushes without finding anything. Albert never suspected and wondered very much that we found neither child nor panther. I presume he’s wondering about it yet.”
“I’m glad he didn’t find you out,” Lulu said, with satisfaction; “because I hope we’ll have some more fun with him. You’ll try it one of these evenings when we’re all together on the porch, won’t you, Max?”
“Perhaps; if I can think of something.
“Albert’s very full of the bear hunt for to-morrow, papa; says he wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Ah? And how does my boy feel about it?”
“Pretty much the same, I believe, papa,” Max answered, with a light laugh. “I’m sorry for Lu that she’s only a girl and can’t have the pleasure of going along.”
“I could if papa would let me,” replied Lulu demurely; “but I wouldn’t be a boy for the sake of being allowed to go.”
“You think a boy’s privileges are more than counterbalanced by a girl’s?”
“Yes; papa takes me on his knee, while you can only sit by his side; and I shall stay at home with him, while you will have to go away to the Academy at Annapolis.”
“I go of my own free will,” returned Max; “I don’t believe papa would compel me against my will.”
“Not at all,” said the captain, “and I am glad you are both so well satisfied.”