CHAPTER XVII. COMPOSITION DAY
"Hurry up, boys, it's three o'clock, and Uncle Fritz likes us to bepunctual, you know," said Franz one Wednesday afternoon as a bell rang,and a stream of literary-looking young gentlemen with books and paper intheir hands were seen going toward the museum.
Tommy was in the school-room, bending over his desk, much bedaubed withink, flushed with the ardor of inspiration, and in a great hurry asusual, for easy-going Bangs never was ready till the very last minute.As Franz passed the door looking up laggards, Tommy gave one last blotand flourish, and departed out the window, waving his paper to dry ashe went. Nan followed, looking very important, with a large roll in herhand, and Demi escorted Daisy, both evidently brimful of some delightfulsecret.
The museum was all in order, and the sunshine among the hop-vines madepretty shadows on the floor as it peeped through the great window. Onone side sat Mr. and Mrs. Bhaer, on the other was a little tableon which the compositions were laid as soon as read, and in a largesemicircle sat the children on camp-stools which occasionally shut upand let the sitter down, thus preventing any stiffness in the assembly.As it took too much time to have all read, they took turns, and on thisWednesday the younger pupils were the chief performers, while the elderones listened with condescension and criticised freely.
"Ladies first; so Nan may begin," said Mr. Bhaer, when the settling ofstools and rustling of papers had subsided.
Nan took her place beside the little table, and, with a preliminarygiggle, read the following interesting essay on,
"THE SPONGE
"The sponge, my friends, is a most useful and interesting plant. Itgrows on rocks under the water, and is a kind of sea-weed, I believe.People go and pick it and dry it and wash it, because little fish andinsects live in the holes of the sponge; I found shells in my new one,and sand. Some are very fine and soft; babies are washed with them. Thesponge has many uses. I will relate some of them, and I hope my friendswill remember what I say. One use is to wash the face; I don't like itmyself, but I do it because I wish to be clean. Some people don't, andthey are dirty." Here the eye of the reader rested sternly upon Dick andDolly, who quailed under it, and instantly resolved to scrub themselvesvirtuously on all occasions. "Another use is to wake people up; I alludeto boys par-tic-u-lar-ly." Another pause after the long word to enjoythe smothered laugh that went round the room. "Some boys do not getup when called, and Mary Ann squeezes the water out of a wet spongeon their faces, and it makes them so mad they wake up." Here the laughbroke out, and Emil said, as if he had been hit,
"Seems to me you are wandering from the subject."
"No, I ain't; we are to write about vegetables or animals, and I'm doingboth: for boys are animals, aren't they?" cried Nan; and, undaunted bythe indignant "No!" shouted at her, she calmly proceeded,
"One more interesting thing is done with sponges, and this is whendoctors put ether on it, and hold it to people's noses when they haveteeth out. I shall do this when I am bigger, and give ether to the sick,so they will go to sleep and not feel me cut off their legs and arms."
"I know somebody who killed cats with it," called out Demi, but waspromptly crushed by Dan, who upset his camp-stool and put a hat over hisface.
"I will not be interruckted," said Nan, frowning upon the unseemlyscrimmagers. Order was instantly restored, and the young lady closed herremarks as follows:
"My composition has three morals, my friends." Somebody groaned, but nonotice was taken of the insult. "First, is keep your faces clean second,get up early third, when the ether sponge is put over your nose, breathehard and don't kick, and your teeth will come out easy. I have no moreto say." And Miss Nan sat down amid tumultuous applause.
"That is a very remarkable composition; its tone is high, and there isa good deal of humor in it. Very well done, Nan. Now, Daisy," and Mr.Bhaer smiled at one young lady as he beckoned the other.
Daisy colored prettily as she took her place, and said, in her modestlittle voice,
"I'm afraid you won't like mine; it isn't nice and funny like Nan's. ButI couldn't do any better."
"We always like yours, Posy," said Uncle Fritz, and a gentle murmur fromthe boys seemed to confirm the remark. Thus encouraged, Daisy read herlittle paper, which was listened to with respectful attention.
"THE CAT
"The cat is a sweet animal. I love them very much. They are clean andpretty, and catch rats and mice, and let you pet them, and are fondof you if you are kind. They are very wise, and can find their wayanywhere. Little cats are called kittens, and are dear things. I havetwo, named Huz and Buz, and their mother is Topaz, because she hasyellow eyes. Uncle told me a pretty story about a man named Ma-ho-met.He had a nice cat, and when she was asleep on his sleeve, and he wantedto go away, he cut off the sleeve so as not to wake her up. I think hewas a kind man. Some cats catch fish."
"So do I!" cried Teddy, jumping up eager to tell about his trout.
"Hush!" said his mother, setting him down again as quickly as possible,for orderly Daisy hated to be "interruckted," as Nan expressed it.
"I read about one who used to do it very slyly. I tried to make Topaz,but she did not like the water, and scratched me. She does like tea, andwhen I play in my kitchen she pats the teapot with her paw, till I giveher some. She is a fine cat, she eats apple-pudding and molasses. Mostcats do not."
"That's a first-rater," called out Nat, and Daisy retired, pleased withthe praise of her friend.
"Demi looks so impatient we must have him up at once or he won't holdout," said Uncle Fritz, and Demi skipped up with alacrity.
"Mine is a poem!" he announced in a tone of triumph, and read his firsteffort in a loud and solemn voice:
"I write about the butterfly, It is a pretty thing; And flies about like the birds, But it does not sing. "First it is a little grub, And then it is a nice yellow cocoon, And then the butterfly Eats its way out soon. "They live on dew and honey, They do not have any hive, They do not sting like wasps, and bees, and hornets, And to be as good as they are we should strive. "I should like to be a beautiful butterfly, All yellow, and blue, and green, and red; But I should not like To have Dan put camphor on my poor little head."
This unusual burst of genius brought down the house, and Demi wasobliged to read it again, a somewhat difficult task, as there was nopunctuation whatever, and the little poet's breath gave out before hegot to the end of some of the long lines.
"He will be a Shakespeare yet," said Aunt Jo, laughing as if she woulddie, for this poetic gem reminded her of one of her own, written at theage of ten, and beginning gloomily,
"I wish I had a quiet tomb, Beside a little rill; Where birds, and bees, and butterflies, Would sing upon the hill."
"Come on, Tommy. If there is as much ink inside your paper as there isoutside, it will be a long composition," said Mr. Bhaer, when Demi hadbeen induced to tear himself from his poem and sit down.
"It isn't a composition, it's a letter. You see, I forgot all about itsbeing my turn till after school, and then I didn't know what to have,and there wasn't time to read up; so I thought you wouldn't mind mytaking a letter that I wrote to my Grandma. It's got something aboutbirds in it, so I thought it would do."
With this long excuse, Tommy plunged into a sea of ink and flounderedthrough, pausing now and then to decipher one of his own flourishes.
"MY DEAR GRANDMA, I hope you are well. Uncle James sent me a pocketrifle. It is a beautiful little instrument of killing, shaped likethis [Here Tommy displayed a remarkable sketch of what looked likean intricate pump, or the inside of a small steam-engine] 44 are thesights; 6 is a false stock that fits in at A; 3 is the trigger, and 2is the cock. It loads at the breech, and fires with great force andstraightness. I am going out shooting squirrels soon. I shot severalfine birds for the museum. They had speckled breasts, and Dan likedthem very much. He stuffed them tip-top, and they sit on the tree quitenatural, o
nly one looks a little tipsy. We had a Frenchman working herethe other day, and Asia called his name so funnily that I will tellyou about it. His name was Germain: first she called him Jerry, but welaughed at her, and she changed it to Jeremiah; but ridicule wasthe result, so it became Mr. Germany; but ridicule having been againresumed, it became Garrymon, which it has remained ever since. I do notwrite often, I am so busy; but I think of you often, and sympathize withyou, and sincerely hope you get on as well as can be expected withoutme. Your affectionate grandson,
"THOMAS BUCKMINSTER BANGS.
"P.S.? If you come across any postage-stamps, remember me.
"N.B. Love to all, and a great deal to Aunt Almira. Does she make anynice plum-cakes now?
"P.S.? Mrs. Bhaer sends her respects.
"P.S.? And so would Mr. B, if he knew I was in act to write.
"N.B. Father is going to give me a watch on my birthday. I am glad as atpresent I have no means of telling time, and am often late at school.
"P.S.? I hope to see you soon. Don't you wish to send for me?
"T. B. B."
As each postscript was received with a fresh laugh from the boys, by thetime he came to the sixth and last, Tommy was so exhausted that he wasglad to sit down and wipe his ruddy face.
"I hope the dear old lady will live through it," said Mr. Bhaer, undercover of the noise.
"We won't take any notice of the broad hint given in that last P.S.The letter will be quite as much as she can bear without a visit fromTommy," answered Mrs. Jo, remembering that the old lady usually took toher bed after a visitation from her irrepressible grandson.
"Now, me," said Teddy, who had learned a bit of poetry, and was so eagerto say it that he had been bobbing up and down during the reading, andcould no longer be restrained.
"I'm afraid he will forget it if he waits; and I have had a deal oftrouble teaching him," said his mother.
Teddy trotted to the rostrum, dropped a curtsey and nodded his head atthe same time, as if anxious to suit every one; then, in his baby voice,and putting the emphasis on the wrong words, he said his verse all inone breath: