Real Folks Part 16

"Mother and Mr. Geoffrey are doing heaps, too! We shall have to publish a book," said Diana, biting the end of her pencil, and taking it easy. Diana hardly ever got the rhymes made in time; but then she always admired everybody's else, which was a good thing for somebody to be at leisure to do.

"Uncle Oldways and Lilian are folding up," said Hazel.

"Five minutes more," said Miss Craydocke, keeping the time with her watch before her. "Hus.h.!.+"

When the five minutes were rapped out, there were seven papers to be read. People who had not finished this time might go on when the others took fresh questions.

Hazel began reading, because she had been ready first.

"'What is the difference between sponge-cake and doughnuts?'

'Hallelujah.'"

"Airiness, lightness, and insipidity; Twistiness, spiciness, and solidity.

Hallelujah! I've got through!

That is the best that I can do!'"

There was a shout at Hazel's pinsticking.

"Now, Uncle t.i.tus! You finished next."

"My question is a very comprehensive one," said Uncle t.i.tus, "with a very concise and suggestive word. 'How wags the world?' 'Slambang.'"

"'The world wags on With lies and slang; With show and vanity, Pride and inanity, Greed and insanity, And a great slambang!'"

"That's only _one_ verse," said Miss Craydocke. "There's another; but he didn't write it down."

Uncle t.i.tus laughed, and tossed his Crambo on the table. "It's true, so far, anyway," said he.

"_So far_ is hardly ever quite true," said Miss Craydocke

Lilian Ashburne had to answer the question whether she had ever read "Young's Night Thoughts;" and her word was "Comet."

"'Pray might I be allowed a pun, To help me through with just this one?

I've tried to read Young's Thoughts of Night, But never yet could come it, quite.'"

"O, O, O! That's just like Lilian, with her soft little 'prays' and 'allow me's,' and her little p.u.s.s.y-cat ways of sliding through tight places, just touching her whiskers!"

"It's quite fair," said Lilian, smiling, "to slide through if you can."

"Now, Mr. Geoffrey."

And Mr. Geoffrey read,--

"'What is your favorite color?' 'One-hoss.'"

"'Do you mean, my friend, for a one-hoss shay, Or the horse himself,--black, roan, or bay?

In truth, I think I can hardly say; I believe, for a nag, "I bet on the gray."

"'For a shay, I would rather not have yellow, Or any outright, staring color, That makes the crowd look after a fellow, And the little _gamins_ hoot and bellow.

"'Do you mean for ribbons? or gowns? or eyes?

Or flowers? or gems? or in sunset skies?

For many questions, as many replies, Drops of a rainbow take rainbow dyes.

"'The world is full, and the world is bright; Each thing to its nature parts the light; And each for its own to the Perfect sight Wears that which is comely, and sweet, and right.'"

"O, Mr. Geoffrey! That's lovely!" cried the girl voices, all around him. And Ada made a pair of great eyes at her father, and said,--

"What an awful humbug you have been, papa! To have kept the other side up with care all your life! Who ever suspected _that_ of you?"

Diana and Hazel were not taken so much by surprise, their mother had improvised little nursery jingles for them all their baby days, and had played Crambo with them since; so they were very confident with their "Now, mother:" and looked calmly for something creditable.

"'What is your favorite name?'" read Mrs. Ripwinkley. "And the word is 'Stuff.'"

"'When I was a little child, Looking very meek and mild, I liked grand, heroic names,-- Of warriors, or stately dames: Zen.o.bia, and Cleopatra; (No rhyme for that this side Sumatra;) Wallace, and Helen Mar,--Clotilda, Berengaria, and Brunhilda; Maximilian; Alexandra; Hector, Juno, and Ca.s.sandra; Charlemagne and Britomarte, Was.h.i.+ngton and Bonaparte; Victoria and Guinevere, And Lady Clara Vere de Vere.

--Shall I go on with all this stuff, Or do you think it is enough?

I cannot tell you what dear name I love the best; I play a game; And tender earnest doth belong To quiet speech, not silly song.'"

"That's just like mother; I should have stopped as soon as I'd got the 'stuff' in; but she always shapes off with a little morriowl,"

said Hazel. "Now, Desire!"

Desire frantically scribbled a long line at the end of what she had written; below, that is, a great black mora.s.s of scratches that represented significantly the "Slough of Despond" she had got into over the winding up, and then gave,--

"'Which way would you rather travel,--north or south?'

'Goosey-gander.'"

"'O, goosey-gander!

If I might wander, It should be toward the sun; The blessed South Should fill my mouth With ripeness just begun.

For bleak hills, bare, With stunted, spare, And scrubby, piney trees, Her gardens rare, And vineyards fair, And her rose-scented breeze.

For fearful blast, Skies overcast, And sudden blare and scare Long, stormless moons, And placid noons, And--all sorts of comfortablenesses,--there!'"

"That makes me think of father's horse running away with him once,"

said Helena, "when he had to head him right up against a brick wall, and knock everything all to smash before he could stop!"

"Anybody else?"

"Miss Kincaid, I think," said Mr. Geoffrey. He had been watching Dorris's face through the play, flas.h.i.+ng and smiling with the excitement of her rhyming, and the slender, nervous fingers twisting tremulously the penciled slip while she had listened to the others.

"If it isn't all rubbed out," said Dorris, coloring and laughing to find how badly she had been treating her own effusion.

"You see it _was_ rather an awful question,--'What do you want most?' And the word is, 'Thirteen.'"

She caught her breath a little quickly as she began:--

"'Between yourself, dear, myself, and the post, There are the thirteen things that I want the most.

I want to be, sometimes, a little stronger; I want the days to be a little longer; I'd like to have a few less things to do; I'd better like to better do the few: I want--and this might almost lead my wishes,-- A bigger place to keep my mops and dishes.

I want a horse; I want a little buggy, To ride in when the days grow hot and muggy; I want a garden; and,--perhaps it's funny,-- But now and then I want a little money.

I want an easy way to do my hair; I want an extra dress or two to wear; I want more patience; and when all is given, I think I want to die and go to heaven!'"