The Merryweathers Part 17

"Oh! that's different!" said w.i.l.l.y.

"Most things are different," said Mrs. Merryweather, "if you look at them in a different way. Is that ready, son?"

"As ready as it is ever going to be. I've chopped till my arm is almost broken."

"So I see! It looks as if you had cracked it. Well, now, it isn't time yet to make the rolls, so we can take breath a bit. Come out on the porch, and let us play something till the kettle boils."

"I don't feel like playing!" said w.i.l.l.y, dolefully; "I don't feel like doing anything, Mammy."

Mrs. Merryweather looked at him a moment; then taking his hands in hers, she said suddenly, "'For heaven's sake let us sit upon the ground, and tell sad stories of the death of kings!' That is a pa.s.sage from Richard II., and it seems to fit the occasion. Sit down, w.i.l.l.y; right here on the floor by me; I'll begin. Two minutes for composition!"

She was silent, looking out over the water, while w.i.l.l.y glanced sidewise at her, half-interested in spite of himself.

"I have it!" she said, presently.

"King John put on such frightful airs, He met his death by eating pears.

"Your turn, w.i.l.l.y! two minutes!"

"Oh, Mammy, I can't play!"

"But you _are_ playing. Only one minute more."

"Well, then--does it have to be the real way they died? because I don't know."

"No! facts not required in this game."

"Well, then--

"King Og Was lost in a bog."

"Your metre is faulty," said his mother, thoughtfully, "but the statement is interesting. My turn; you shall hold the watch for me."

"Time's up!" cried w.i.l.l.y, beginning to kindle.

"Oh! is it? What short minutes! Let me see!

"King Xerxes Was killed by Turkses."

[Ill.u.s.tration: MRS. MERRYWEATHER'S VIGIL.]

"Oh! I wanted Xerxes. Wait, Mammy. I have one!

"King David Could not be saved!"

"Good!" cried his mother. "That is the best yet. But we might branch out a little, I think, w.i.l.l.y. This condensed couplet is forcible, but not very graceful. How do you like this?

"Tiglath-pileser, Tiglath-pileser, He tried to buy a lemon-squeezer; But no such thing had e'er been seen, So in a melancholy green, Oh, very green, and very yellow, He pined away and died, poor fellow!"

"That is splendid," said w.i.l.l.y, "but you took a little more than two minutes. My turn now!

"The great and mighty Alexander Was bit to death by a salamander."

"_Done_ to death is more poetic!" said his mother.

"Yes, but 'bit' is more savage. I like 'bit.' Your time's up, Mammy!"

"Oh! w.i.l.l.y, I am going to give you a subtle one this time; one in which something is left to the imagination.

"The Emperor Domitian Consulted a physician!"

"But you didn't kill him."

"No, but the physician did."

"Really?"

"No, not really. What do you think of this game?"

"I think it's bully. Did you really just make it up, Mammy?"

"Just! Now the kettle is boiling, and we must come in; but as we go, let me inform you that--

"The Emperor Tiberius He died of something serious; But now we'll stop, And make the pop- Ov_ers_ before we weary us!"

w.i.l.l.y's gloom was effectually banished, and he continued to slaughter kings till the supper-horn blew.

The effect of this and other mental exercises, added to a cup of tea, was such that when bed-time came, Mrs. Merryweather found herself singularly wide awake. In vain she counted hundreds; in vain she ransacked her memory for saints, kings, and cities alphabetically arranged; in vain she made a list of Johns, beginning with the Baptist and ending with John O'Groats; the second hundred found her wider awake than ever, as she tossed on her narrow cot. Mr. Merryweather, in the opposite cot, was breathing deep and regularly; he was sound asleep, at least, and that was a good thing. Other than this, no sound broke the perfect stillness of the night. The full moon rode high, and lake and woodland were flooded with silver light. A glorious night! Mrs.

Merryweather sighed; what was the use of staying in bed on such a night as this, when one could not sleep? If only there were some excuse for getting up!

Suddenly she remembered that, the night being very warm, and the two children apparently entirely recovered from their slight indisposition, they had been allowed to sleep out on the Point, in accordance with a promise made some days ago by their father. She had not been quite willing, but had yielded to pressure, and they had gone out, very happy, with their blankets and the india-rubber floor-cloth.

Mrs. Merryweather sat up in bed. "I ought to go and see if those chicks are all right!" she said. "After all, they certainly were not quite well this afternoon, whatever Miles may say." She glanced half-defiantly at the other cot, but Miles said nothing. She rose quietly, put on wrapper and slippers, and opening noiselessly the screen-door of the tent, slipped out into the open, and stood for a moment looking about her. How beautiful it was! what a wonderful silver world! Sleep was good, but surely, to be awake, on such a night as this, was better.

She stole past the other tents, pausing an instant at the door of each to listen for the regular breathing which is the sweetest music a mother can hear; then she made her way out to the Point, through the sweet tangle of fern and berry-bushes, under the bending trees that dropped dew on her head as she pa.s.sed.

The Point lay like the prow of some great vessel in a silver sea. One tall pine stood for the mast; under this pine, rolled in scarlet blankets, their rosy faces turned toward the moon, lay the children, sound asleep. w.i.l.l.y had curled one arm under his head, and his other hand was locked in his sister's.

"Dear little things!" murmured their mother. "That means that Kitty-my-pretty was a little bit frightened before she went to sleep.

Dear little things!"

She stood there for some time looking down at them.

"The moon is full on their faces!" she said. "My old nurse would tell me that they would be moonstruck 'for sartain sure!' How terrified I used to be, lest a ray of moonlight should s.h.i.+ne on my bed, and I should wake a lunatic!"

She glanced up at the moon; looked again, and yet again. "That is very singular!" said Mrs. Merryweather. "Something seems to be happening to the moon."

Something _was_ happening to the moon. It was as if a piece had been bitten out of the s.h.i.+ning round. Was it a little cloud? no! no cloud could possibly look like that, so black, so thick, so--"Good gracious!"

said Mrs. Merryweather; "it is an eclipse!"