Part 6

Robin, who was two years her senior, and felt as if he were as much as ten, gave a great shout of laughter, and called out, “O Granny! you don’t know how funny Sissy talks.”

Grandmother went with a wet towel to wipe their hands and faces, and when she heard what the little Tot had said, she could not help smiling, notwithstanding the heaviness of her heart. As for Neighbor Harrington, she laughed outright.

“You see they are just as well satisfied as they would have been with a dozen turnovers,” said she. “But this is a sad blow for you, Neighbor May; coming, too, just at the time when you were taking so much comfort in the thoughts of going to see your daughter; and it will be a pretty heavy load for a woman of your years to bring up these orphans.”

“O, it’s wonderful how the dispensations of Providence are softened for us poor weak mortals,” replied Mrs. May. “Only think what a mercy it is that I have these treasures left? Why, she looks so much like her dear mother, that I seem to have my own little Jenny right over again; and I can’t seem to realize that it isn’t so. You see, Neighbor Harrington, that softens the blow wonderfully. As for bringing up the children, I have faith that the Lord will strengthen those who trust in him.”

“That’s just like you,” rejoined Neighbor Harrington. “You always talk in that way. You always seem to think that what happens is the best that could happen. You’re pretty much like this little one here. If you don’t get tarts and turnovers, you smack your lips and say, ‘Lasses top on bread! what can be gooder?’”

The neighbors bade each other a smiling good-night. When Mrs. Harrington returned home, she told her husband the mournful news, and added, “Mrs. May don’t seem to feel it so much as I should think she would.” Yet the good grandmother dropped many tears on the pillow where those little orphans slept; and kneeling by their bedside, she prayed long and fervently for support and guidance in rearing the precious souls thus committed to her charge.

She had long been unused to children; and they did, as Neighbor Harrington had predicted, make plenty of turnovers in the house. Robin had remarkable gifts in that line. Endless were his variations of mischief. Sometimes the stillness of the premises was suddenly disturbed by a tremendous fluttering and cackling, caused by his efforts to catch the cockerel. The next thing, there was the cat squalling and hissing, because he was pulling her backward by the tail. Then he was seized with a desire to explore the pig’s sleeping apartment, and by that process let him out into the garden, and had the capital fun of chasing him over flowers and vegetables. Once when the pig upset little Sissy in his rounds, he had to lie down and roll in the mud himself, with loud explosions of laughter. Quiet little Jenny liked to make gardens by sticking flowers in the sand, but it particularly pleased him to send them all flying into the air, at the point of his boot. When the leaves were gay with autumn tints, she would bring her apron full and sit at grandmother’s feet weaving garlands for the mantel-piece; and it was Master Robin’s delight to pull them to pieces, and toss them hither and yon. It was wonderful how patiently the good grandmother put up with his roguish pranks. “O Robin, dear, don’t behave so,” she would say. “Be a good boy. Come! I want to see how fast you grow. Take off your boots, and Jenny will take off hers, and stand even, and then we’ll see which is the tallest.”

“O, I’m ever so much taller. I’m almost a man,” responded Robin, kicking off his boots.

Honest little Jenny stood squarely and demurely while grandmother compared their heights. But roguish Robin raised himself as much as possible. To hide his mirth, he darted out of doors as soon as it was over, calling Jenny after him. Then he gave her a poke, that toppled her half over, and said, with a chuckle, “Sissy, I cheated grandmother. I stood tiptoe. But don’t you tell!”

But wild as Robin was, he dearly loved his grandmother, and she loved him better than anything else, excepting little Jenny. When Neighbor Harrington said, “I should think that boy would wear your life out,” she answered, with a smile: “I don’t know what I should do without the dear little creatures. I always liked to be called by my Christian name, because it sounds more hearty. There’s nobody to call me Jenny now. The little ones call me granny, and the neighbors call me old Mrs. Frank May. But I have a little Jenny, and every time I hear her name called, it makes me feel as if I was young again. But what I like best is to hear her tuning up her little songs. The little darling sings like a robin.”

“Then she sings like me,” exclaimed her ubiquitous brother, who had climbed up to the open window, holding on by the sill. “I can whistle most any tune; can’t I?”

“Yes, dear, you whistle like a quail,” replied his grandmother.

Satisfied with this share of praise, down he dropped, and the next minute they saw him rushing down the road, in full chase after a passing dog. Mrs. May laughed, as she said: “It seems as if he was in twenty places at once. But he’s a good boy. There’s nothing the matter with him, only he’s so full of fun that it will run over all the time. He’ll grow steadier, by and by. He brought in a basket of chips to-day without upsetting them; and he never made out to do that before. He’s as bright as a steel button; and if I am only enabled to guide him right, he will make such a man as my dear husband would have been proud to own for a grandson. I used to think it was impossible to love anything better than I loved my little ones; but I declare I think a grandmother takes more comfort in her grandchildren than she did in her own children.”

“Well, you do beat all,” replied Mrs. Harrington. “You’ve had about as much affliction as any woman I know; but you never seem to think you’ve had any trouble. I told my husband I reckoned you would admit it was a tough job to bring up that boy, at your age; but it seems you don’t.”

“Why the fact is,” rejoined Mrs. May, “the troubles of this life come so mixed up with blessings, that we are willing to endure one for the sake of having the other; and then our afflictions do us so much good, that I reckon they are blessings, too.”

“I suppose they are,” replied Mrs. Harrington, “though they don’t always seem so. But I came in to tell you that we are going to Mount Nobscot for huckleberries to-morrow; and if you and the children would like to go, there’s room enough in our big wagon.”

“Thank you heartily,” replied Mrs. May. “It will be a charming frolic for the little folks. But pray don’t tell them anything about it to-night; if you do, Robin won’t sleep a wink, or let anybody else sleep.”

The sun rose clear, and the landscape, recently washed by copious showers, looked clean and fresh. The children were in ecstasies at the idea of going to the hill behind which they had so often seen the sun go down. But so confused were their ideas of space, that, while Jenny inquired whether Nobscot was as far off as Illinois, Robin asked, every five minutes, whether they had got there. When they were lifted from the wagon, they eagerly ran forward, and Robin’s voice was soon heard shouting, “O Granny! here’s lots o’ berries!” They went to picking green, red, and black ones with all zeal, while grandmother proceeded to fill her basket. When Mrs. Harrington came, she said, “O, don’t stop to pick here. We shall find them twice as thick farther up the hill.”

“I’ll make sure of these,” replied Mrs. May. “I’m of the old woman’s mind, who said she always took her comfort in this world as she went along, for fear it wouldn’t be here when she came back.”

“You’re a funny old soul,” rejoined Neighbor Harrington. “How young you look to-day!”

In fact, the morning air, the pleasant drive, the joyous little ones, and the novelty of going from home, so renovated the old lady, that her spirits rose to the temperature of youth, her color heightened, and her step was more elastic than usual.

When they had filled their baskets, they sat under the trees, and opened the boxes of luncheon. The children did their full share toward making them empty. When Robin could eat no more, he followed Joe Harrington into a neighboring field to examine some cows that were grazing. The women took out their knitting, and little Jenny sat at their feet, making hills of moss, while she sang about

A kitty with soft white fur, Whose only talk was a pleasant purr.

The grandmother hummed the same tune, but in tones too low to drown the voice of her darling. Looking round on the broad panorama of hills, meadows, and cornfields, dotted with farm-houses, her soul was filled with the spirit of summer, and she began to sing, in tones wonderfully clear and strong for her years,

“Among the trees, when humming-bees At buds and flowers were hanging,”

when Robin scrambled up the hill, calling out, “Sing something funny, Granny! Sing that song about me!” He made a motion to scatter Jenny’s mosses with his foot; but his grandmother said, “If you want me to sing to you, you must keep quiet.” He stretched himself full length before her, and throwing his feet up, gazed in her face while she sang:

“Robin was a rovin’ boy, Rantin’ rovin’, rantin’ rovin’; Robin was a rovin’ boy, Rantin’ rovin’ Robin.

“He’ll have misfortunes great and sma’ But ay a heart aboon them a’; He’ll be a credit till us a’; We’ll a’ be proud o’ Robin.”