CHAPTER XX
BEN'S BIRTHDAY
A superb display of flags flapped gayly in the breeze on the Septembermorning when Ben proudly entered his teens. An irruption of buntingseemed to have broken out all over the old house, for banners of everyshape and size, color and design, flew from chimney-top to gable, porchand gate-way, making the quiet place look as lively as a circus tent,which was just what Ben most desired and delighted in.
The boys had been up very early to prepare the show, and when it wasready enjoyed it hugely, for the fresh wind made the pennons cut strangecapers. The winged lion of Venice looked as if trying to fly away home;the Chinese dragon appeared to brandish his forked tail as he clawed atthe Burmese peacock; the double-headed eagle of Russia pecked at theTurkish crescent with one beak, while the other seemed to be screamingto the English royal beast, "Come on and lend a paw." In the hurry ofhoisting the Siamese elephant got turned upside down, and now dancedgayly on his head, with the stars and stripes waving proudly over him. Agreen flag with a yellow harp and sprig of shamrock hung in sight of thekitchen window, and Katy, the cook, got breakfast to the tune of "St.Patrick's day in the morning." Sancho's kennel was half hidden under arustling paper imitation of the gorgeous Spanish banner, and the scarletsun-and-moon flag of Arabia snapped and flaunted from the pole over thecoach-house, as a delicate compliment to Lita, Arabian horses beingconsidered the finest in the world.
The little girls came out to see, and declared it was the loveliestsight they ever beheld, while Thorny played "Hail Columbia" on his fife,and Ben, mounting the gate-post, crowed long and loud like a happycockerel who had just reached his majority. He had been surprised anddelighted with the gifts he found in his room on awaking and guessed whyMiss Celia and Thorny gave him such pretty things, for among them was amatch-box made like a mouse-trap. The doggy buttons and the horsey whipwere treasures, indeed, for Miss Celia had not given them when theyfirst planned to do so, because Sancho's return seemed to be joy andreward enough for that occasion. But he did not forget to thank Mrs.Moss for the cake she sent him, nor the girls for the red mittens whichthey had secretly and painfully knit. Bab's was long and thin, with avery pointed thumb, Betty's short and wide, with a stubby thumb, and alltheir mother's pulling and pressing could not make them look alike, tothe great affliction of the little knitters. Ben, however, assured themthat he rather preferred odd ones, as then he could always tell whichwas right and which left. He put them on immediately and went aboutcracking the new whip with an expression of content which was droll tosee, while the children followed after, full of admiration for the heroof the day.
They were very busy all the morning preparing for the festivities tocome, and as soon as dinner was over every one scrambled into his or herbest clothes as fast as possible, because, although invited to come attwo, impatient boys and girls were seen hovering about the avenue asearly as one.
The first to arrive, however, was an uninvited guest, for just as Baband Betty sat down on the porch steps, in their stiff pink calico frocksand white ruffled aprons, to repose a moment before the party came in, arustling was heard among the lilacs, and out stepped Alfred TennysonBarlow, looking like a small Robin Hood, in a green blouse with a silverbuckle on his broad belt, a feather in his little cap and a bow in hishand.
"I have come to shoot. I heard about it. My papa told me what archingmeant. Will there be any little cakes? I like them."
With these opening remarks the poet took a seat and calmly awaited aresponse. The young ladies, I regret to say, giggled, then rememberingtheir manners, hastened to inform him that there would be heaps ofcakes, also that Miss Celia would not mind his coming without aninvitation, they were quite sure.
"She asked me to come that day. I have been very busy. I had measles.Do you have them here?" asked the guest, as if anxious to compare noteson the sad subject.
"We had ours ever so long ago. What have you been doing besides havingmeasles?" said Betty, showing a polite interest.
"I had a fight with a bumble-bee."
"Who beat?" demanded Bab.
"I did. I ran away and he couldn't catch me."
"Can you shoot nicely?"
"I hit a cow. She did not mind at all. I guess she thought it was afly."
"Did your mother know you were coming?" asked Bab, feeling an interestin runaways.
"No; she is gone to drive, so I could not ask her."
"It is very wrong to disobey. My Sunday-school book says that childrenwho are naughty that way never go to heaven," observed virtuous Betty,in a warning tone.
"I do not wish to go," was the startling reply.
"Why not?" asked Betty, severely.
"They don't have any dirt there. My mamma says so. I am fond of dirt. Ishall stay here where there is plenty of it," and the candid youth beganto grub in the mould with the satisfaction of a genuine boy.
"I am afraid you're a very bad child."
"Oh yes, I am. My papa often says so and he knows all about it,"replied Alfred with an involuntary wriggle suggestive of painfulmemories. Then, as if anxious to change the conversation from itssomewhat personal channel, he asked, pointing to a row of grinning headsabove the wall, "Do you shoot at those?"
Bab and Betty looked up quickly and recognized the familiar faces oftheir friends peering down at them, like a choice collection of trophiesor targets.
"I should think you'd be ashamed to peek before the party was ready!"cried Bab, frowning darkly upon the merry young ladies.
"Miss Celia told us to come before two, and be ready to receive folks,if she wasn't down," added Betty, importantly.
"It is striking two now. Come along, girls;" and over scrambled SallyFolsom, followed by three or four kindred spirits, just as their hostessappeared.
"You look like Amazons storming a fort," she said, as the girls cattleup, each carrying her bow and arrows, while green ribbons flew in everydirection.
"How do you do, sir? I have been hoping you would call again," addedMiss Celia, shaking hands with the pretty boy, who regarded with benigninterest the giver of little cakes.
Here a rush of boys took place, and further remarks were cut short, forevery one was in a hurry to begin. So the procession was formed at once,Miss Celia taking the lead, escorted by Ben in the post of honor, whilethe boys and girls paired off behind, arm in arm, bow on Shoulder, inmartial array. Thorny and Billy were the band, and marched before,fifing and drumming "Yankee Doodle" with a vigor which kept feet movingbriskly, made eyes sparkle, and young hearts dance under the gay gownsand summer jackets. The interesting stranger was elected to bear theprize, laid out on a red pin-cushion; and did so with great dignity, ashe went beside the standard bearer, Cy Fay, who bore Ben's choicestflag, snow-white, with a green wreath surrounding a painted bow andarrow, and with the letters W. T. C. done in red below.
Such a merry march all about the place, out at the Lodge gate, up anddown the avenue, along the winding paths, till they halted in theorchard, where the target stood, and seats were placed for the archerswhile they waited for their turns. Various rules and regulations werediscussed, and then the fun began. Miss Celia had insisted that thegirls should be invited to shoot with the boys; and the lads consentedwithout much concern, whispering to one another with condescendingshrugs, "Let 'em try, if they like; they can't do any thing."
There were various trials of skill before the great match came off, andin these trials the young gentlemen discovered that two at least of thegirls could do something; for Bab and Sally shot better than many of theboys, and were well rewarded for their exertions by, the change whichtook place in the faces and conversation of their mates.
"Why, Bab, you do as well as if I'd taught you myself," said Thorny,much surprised and not altogether pleased at the little girl's skill.
"A lady taught me; and I mean to beat every one of you," answered Bab,saucily, while her sparkling eyes turned to Miss Celia with amischievous twinkle in them.
"Not a bit of it," declared Thorny, st
outly; but he went to Ben andwhispered, "Do your best, old fellow, for sister has taught Bab all thescientific points, and the little rascal is ahead of Billy."
"She won't get ahead of me," said Ben, picking out his best arrow, andtrying the string of his bow with a confident air which re-assuredThorny, who found it impossible to believe that a girl ever could,would, or should excel a boy in any thing he cared to try.
It really did look as if Bab would beat when the match for the prizecame off; and the children got more and more excited as the six who wereto try for it took turns at the bull's-eye. Thorny was umpire, and keptaccount of each shot, for the arrow which went nearest the middle wouldwin. Each had three shots; and very soon the lookers-on saw that Ben andBab were the best marksmen, and one of them would surely get the silverarrow.
Sam, who was too lazy to practise, soon gave up the contest, saying, asThorny did, "It wouldn't be fair for such a big fellow to try with thelittle chaps," which made a laugh, as his want of skill was painfullyevident. But Mose went at it gallantly; and, if his eye had been as trueas his arms were strong, the "little chaps" would have trembled. But hisshots were none of them as near as Billy's; and he retired after thethird failure, declaring that it was impossible to shoot against thewind, though scarcely a breath was stirring.
Sally Folsom was bound to beat Bab, and twanged away in great style; allin vain, however, as with tall Maria Newcomb, the third girl whoattempted the trial. Being a little near-sighted, she had borrowed hersister's eye-glasses, and thereby lessened her chance of success; forthe pinch on her nose distracted her attention, and not one of herarrows went beyond the second ring to her great disappointment. Billydid very well, but got nervous when his last shot came, and just missedthe bull's-eye by being in a hurry.
Bab and Ben each had one turn more; and, as they were about even, thatlast arrow would decide the victory. Both had sent a shot into thebull's-eye, but neither was exactly in the middle; so there was room todo better, even, and the children crowded round, crying eagerly, "Now,Ben!" "Now, Bab!" "Hit her up, Ben!" "Beat him, Bab!" while Thornylooked as anxious as if the fate of the country depended on the successof his man. Bab's turn came first; and, as Miss Celia examined her bowto see that all was right, the little girl said, With her eyes on herrival's excited face,--
"I want to beat, but Ben will feel so bad, I 'most hope I sha'n't."
"Losing a prize sometimes makes one happier than gaining it. You haveproved that you could do better than most of them; so, if you do notbeat, you may still feet proud," answered Miss Celia, giving back thebow with a smile that said more than her words.
It seemed to give Bab a new idea, for in a minute all sorts ofrecollections, wishes, and plans rushed through her lively little mind,and she followed a sudden generous impulse as blindly as she often did awilful one.
"I guess he'll beat," she said, softly, with a quick sparkle of theeyes, as she stepped to her place and fired without taking her usualcareful aim.
Her shot struck almost as near the centre on the right as her last onehad hit on the left; and there was a shout of delight from the girls asThorny announced it before he hurried back to Ben, whispering anxiously,--
"Steady, old Man, steady; you must beat that, or we shall never hear thelast of it."
Ben did not say, "She won't get ahead of me," as he had said at thefirst; he set his teeth, threw off his hat, and, knitting his brows witha resolute expression, prepared to take steady aim, though his heartbeat fast and his thumb trembled as he pressed it on the bowstring.
"I hope you'll beat, I truly do," said Bab, at his elbow; and, as if thebreath that framed the generous wish helped it on its way, the arrowflew straight to the bull's-eye, hitting, apparently, the very spotwhere Bab's best shot had left a hole.
"A tie! a tie!" cried the girls, as a general rush took place toward thetarget.
"No, Ben's is nearest. Ben's beat!" Hooray shouted the boys, throwing uptheir hats. There was only a hair's-breadth difference, and Bab couldhonestly have disputed the decision; but she did not, though for aninstant she could not help wishing that the cry had been "Bab's beat!Hurrah!" it sounded so pleasant. Then she saw Ben's beaming face,Thorny's intense relief, and caught the look Miss Celia sent her overthe heads of the boys, and decided, with a sudden warm glow all over herlittle face, that losing a prize did sometimes make one happier thanwinning it. Up went her best hat, and she burst out in a shrill, "Rah,rah, rah!" that sounded very funny coming all alone after the generalclamor had subsided.
"Good for you, Bab! you are an honor to the club, and I'm proud of you",said Prince Thorny, with a hearty handshake; for, as his man had won, hecould afford to praise the rival who had put him on his mettle, thoughshe was a girl.
Bab was much uplifted by the royal commendation, but a few minutes laterfelt pleased as well as proud when Ben, having received the prize, cameto her, as she stood behind a tree sucking her blistered thumb, whileBetty braided up her dishevelled locks.
"I think it would be fairer to call it a tie, Bab, for it really was,and I want you to wear this. I wanted the fun of beating, but I don'tcare a bit for this girl's thing and I'd rather see it on you."
As he spoke, Ben offered the rosette of green ribbon which held thesilver arrow, and Bab's eyes brightened as they fell upon the prettyornament, for to her "the girl's thing" was almost as good as thevictory.
"Oh no; you must wear it to show who won. Miss Celia wouldn't like it.I don't mind not getting it; I did better than all the rest, and I guessI shouldn't like to beat you," answered Bab, unconsciously putting intochildish words the sweet generosity which makes so many sisters glad tosee their brothers carry off the prizes of life, while they are contentto know that they have earned them and can do without the praise.
But if Bab was generous, Ben was just; and though he could not explainthe feeling, would not consent to take all the glory without giving hislittle friend a share.
"You must wear it; I shall feel real mean if you don't. You workedharder than I did, and it was only luck my getting this. Do, Bab, toplease me," he persisted, awkwardly trying to fasten the ornament in themiddle of Bab's' white apron.
"Then I will. Now do you forgive me for losing Sancho?" asked Bab, witha wistful look which made Ben say, heartily,--
"I did that when he came home."
"And you don't think I'm horrid?"
"Not a bit of it; you are first-rate, and I'll stand by you like a man,for you are 'most as good as a boy!" cried Ben, anxious to dealhandsomely with his feminine rival, whose skill had raised her immenselyin his opinion.
Feeling that he could not improve that last compliment, Bab was fullysatisfied, and let him leave the prize upon her breast, conscious thatshe had some claim to it.
"That is where it should be, and Ben is a true knight, winning the prizethat he may give it to his lady, while he is content with the victory,"said Miss Celia, laughingly, to Teacher, as the children ran off to joinin the riotous games which soon made the orchard ring.
"He learned that at the circus 'tunnyments,' as he calls them. He is anice boy, and I am much interested in him; for he has the two thingsthat do most toward making a man, patience and courage," answeredTeacher, also as she watched the young knight play and the honored ladytearing about in a game of tag.
"Bab is a nice child, too," said Miss Celia; "she is as quick as a flashto catch an idea and carry it out, though very often the ideas are wildones. She could have won just now, I fancy, if she had tried, but tookthe notion into her head that it was nobler to let Ben win, and so atonefor the trouble she gave him in losing the dog. I saw a very sweet lookon her face just now, and am sure that Ben will never know why he beat."
"She does such things at school sometimes, and I can't bear to spoil herlittle atonements, though they are not always needed or very wise,"answered Teacher. "Not long ago I found that she had been giving herlunch day after day to a poor child who seldom had any, and when I askedher why, she said, with tears, 'I used to laugh at Abby, b
ecause she hadonly crusty, dry bread, and so she wouldn't bring any. I ought to giveher mine and be hungry, it was so mean to make fun of her poorness."
"Did you stop the sacrifice?"
"No; I let Bab 'go halves,' and added an extra bit to my own lunch, so Icould make my contribution likewise."
"Come and tell me about Abby. I want to make friends with our poorpeople, for soon I shall have a right to help them;" and, putting herarm in Teacher's, Miss Celia led her away for a quiet chat in the porch,making her guest's visit a happy holiday by confiding several plans andasking advice in the friendliest way.