IN WHICH MARTHA MARY INVADES THE CASTLE,
AND FATHER PROVES THAT HE CAN DO OTHER
THINGS BESIDES WRITING BUSINESS IN BIG BOOKS.
ALSO SOMEONE ARRIVES
FATHER was very busy in his den, with the blinds all drawn and the small log fire lit and a huge stack of papers on his desk. So Martha Mary was rather afraid when she tapped at his door; you see, the Den was Father’s private property, just like a castle, and no outsiders, not even the children, went in very often.
“Who is there?” called Father.
“Please, it is me,” said Martha Mary.
“Who is ‘me’?” demanded Father.
“Martha Mary, and may I come in?”
Father shoved the big pile of papers aside and opened the door.
“Well, Sister,” he said, “what is the trouble? Has Liza fallen in the lake?”
“Father! No! Liza never does.”
“Then what is the trouble?”
Martha Mary put her arm about Father’s waist just as she always did when she wanted to ask him a favor. Father always would grant the favor then.
“Please,” she said. “Do you think you could do something for us?”
“Depends what, Sister.”
“Well, Mother Dear has gone to town and Flip has driven her to the train and we have played everything and don’t know what to do. So we thought, as long as Flip wasn’t here, you might be able to tell us a story. Do you think you could?”
Father laughed. “The fact is,” he said, “I’m afraid my stories would not interest you. You see, I don’t know anything about fairies. But I might try, I suppose——”
Before he had finished what he supposed, Martha Mary had danced down the hall and back she came with the whole Sherman family, including Hermit. It only needed Mother Dear and Flip to make the invasion of the den complete. Hermit was the oldest, so he chose the rug before the fire and Liza lay down by his side. Walter and Edward Lee each sat on an arm of Father’s Morris chair, Martha Mary sat on the floor with her head on Father’s knee, and John lay on his stomach before the fire and pulled Hermit’s tail.
Father took some time to commence, so Martha Mary, who knew it would be hard work for him, tried to help him along.
“You don’t need to tell about Fairies,” she said. “Kings and queens will do, or even every-day people. And Flip never begins with ‘once upon a time.’”
“Is that so?” asked Father. “Well, I am going to be different. My story is going to commence with ‘once upon a time’ and it isn’t going to be about Kings or Queens or Fairies, or not even every-day people.”
“I know,” said John. “It’s about pirates.”
“It is not.”
“About ice cream,” said Liza.
“Sorry, Butterfly. Not even ice cream.”
“I give up,” said Edward Lee, although he hadn’t been guessing at all.
“You would never guess,” said Father. “So be quiet and I’ll tell you. It happened ever and ever and ever so long ago—I mean once upon a time.”
“When was that?” asked Walter.
“A long time ago. Now, if you are going to interrupt, I will not go on. It happened once upon a time, in the year eighteen hundred and sixty-four. There was a small boy—oh, about nine years old—and his name was Leonard. Of course people did not call him that; everybody has to have some short name. It would never do to call him Lenny, because that sounded girlish, like Jennie, so they called him Mick; you see, he had red hair and freckles just like a little Irishman.”
“Was he?” interrupted Martha Mary.
“Certainly not! He was an American. And he lived on a large farm and didn’t have much to do all day but build forts and shoot peas in a willow gun and fight heaps and heaps of make-believe enemies. His Father was a soldier, gone away to fight the Southerners, and the only reason he wasn’t perfectly happy was because he was not old enough to go to war himself. So he used to make-believe and he beat the Southerners almost every day. One morning he was in the chicken yard, fighting the hens with a wooden sword, and all at once he heard—— Guess what?”
“His Mother calling.”
“No, he heard real music, with fifes and drums and horns playing the most wonderful tune he had ever heard. He jumped up and rushed across the field as quickly as his short legs would carry him, stumbling all the time, because it was the kind of music a person tries to keep in step with. Down to the fence at the edge of the farm he went and way off down the road he saw a cloud of dust, coming nearer all the time, while the music grew louder and louder. It was so exciting that he became all hot and red and he cut his legs all up climbing on to the stone fence. There he sat until the cloud of dust came right across the field and he saw it was thousands and thousands of soldiers. But they weren’t like what he thought they would be; not at all like the way his Father looked when he marched away to war. They had no brass buttons or gold braid and their swords didn’t shine at all. They were all dirty and tired and hungry, but they walked just as lively as though they were on a picnic, and they danced—some of them—and cheered and sang the song that goes ‘while we were marching through Georgia.’”
“I know it,” said Martha Mary.
“I wish you would keep still,” said John. “This is a wonderful story.”
“Mary should know it,” said Father. “It’s a fine song. And so they tramped along, singing as loud as they could, and if you had heard them you wouldn’t have been able to keep still, either. Well, Mick was very much excited. He jumped up and down on the stone wall, waving his hat and almost crying, he was so happy. Then, what do you think? He jumped so much that he tumbled off the wall and right into the road. It hurt awfully, too, but he couldn’t cry, because all the soldiers would see him and he was a soldier’s son. He just lay still and bit his lower lip. Then the most wonderful thing happened. A big man rode along and saw Mick, and he swung his sword above his head so it shone in the sun, even if it was all rusty.
“‘Halt!’ he shouted, and all the soldiers stood still.
“The big man jumped off his horse and picked up Mick and said:
“‘What’s the matter, Son?’
“Mick just scowled and said, ‘Nothing.’
“‘Does it hurt much?’ asked the man.
“‘No,’ said Mick. He was determined not to cry.
“The big man winked to one of the soldiers and said:
“‘I know what will fix it. Swing him up.’
“The soldier saluted and said, ‘On your horse, General?’
“‘Certainly,’ said the General. So the soldier picked Mick up and put him on the neck of the big brown horse and the General swung up behind him.
“‘Now,’ he said, ‘give your orders!’
“‘What shall I say?’ asked Mick.
“‘You are the commander,’ said the General. ‘What are your orders?’
“At first Mick couldn’t believe his ears. Of course it sounded too good to be true, so you could hardly blame him. But he wasn’t going to lose the chance, so he swung around and faced the thousands of soldiers and shouted just as loud as he possibly could:
“‘Forward, march!’
“Then he remembered something Tom, the farmhand, had once shouted, so he shouted it:
“‘Down with the rebels! We’ll eat them alive! Forward!’
“You should have heard the soldiers shout. They cheered and shouted and called, ‘Eat ’em alive!’ and down the road went the whole army, with Mick leading them.
“He did not mind the way he bounced on the horse; he didn’t mind anything, excepting that he was a real soldier and commanding the most wonderful army. On and on the army marched, singing ‘Bring the good old bugle, boys,’ and Mick sang with them. He didn’t know the words so he just shouted, but that didn’t make any difference, because everyone was making such a noise that no one could hear what he was singing. Tramp, tramp, they marched and you could hear the bugles and almost hear the cannon if you closed your eyes and made-believe. And so they came to the end of the stone wall and the General whispered to Mick:
“‘Command them to stop!’
“Mick shouted, ‘Halt!’
“Then the General jumped down from his horse and lifted Mick off and gave him a whole pocket of empty cartridges. He saluted him just as though he were a grown-up soldier and said:
“‘Have you any further orders, Sir, before we leave you?’
“Mick thought a moment, then said: ‘Yes. Go ahead and beat all the rebels and eat ’em alive.’
“Again the General saluted him, and he saluted the General, and the General said:
“‘What is your name?’
“‘Mick Leonard Sherman. What is yours?’
“‘That’s queer,’ said the General. ‘Mine is Sherman, too. Now we are going to march ahead, all the way to the sea, and we’ll beat all the rebels.’
“Then he sprang to his horse and shouted, ‘Forward!’
“Down the road and around the turn went the whole army, while Mick sat on the fence and watched till the very last soldier was out of sight.
“That was the last Mick ever saw of them. But the soldiers, all cheered by their song and by the brightness of their flag of red and white and blue, marched on. Days and days they tramped, building bridges across the rivers they came to, helping one another when they grew very tired, capturing spies that they met, and winning all battles. Oh, but they were wonderful fighters! For miles and miles away you could hear their cannons roaring and every shot of their guns brought them nearer to victory and peace. For you know after all, Chicks, they had to fight, as every true American would fight, to help his country, but they longed for peace. They didn’t at all enjoy killing their enemies. But right was on their side and so they fought, on and on, and always their flag went on before them, and all enemies were swept away. Of course they had to win, because the last command Mick Leonard Sherman had given them was to beat all the rebels and eat them alive.
“And that is all.”
“That was a story,” said John.
“And I knew all the time,” said Martha Mary.
“Knew what, Sister?”
“It was General Sherman marching from Atlanta to the sea.”
“You’re right.”
“And I knew,” said Edward Lee.
“What did you know, Son?”
“Mick was Uncle Leonard.”
“Again right. And that is not all. Guess where Mother Dear has gone!”
“Give up!” they all shouted together.
“She has gone to the City to meet Uncle Leonard and bring him here.”
Even as he said it the do-si-do cart rolled into the garden and out rushed all the children to greet the wonderful uncle who had commanded General Sherman’s army years and years ago. He laughed and got red, because he didn’t know why they were all so very glad to see him. They almost forgot Mother Dear, all excepting Liza, and she was too young, anyway, to care very much about soldiers and Generals and fighting for the Stars and Stripes.