Five Minute Stories

THE JACKET

THE FIREWORKS

Once upon a time a little girl went to see the fireworks on Boston Common. She was a very small girl, but she wanted to go just as much as if she had been big, so her mother said she might go with Mary, the nurse. She put on her best bonnet, and her pink frock, and off they went.

The Common was crowded with people, and in one part there was a dense throng, all standing together, and all looking in one direction. “We must stand there, too,” said Mary; “there’s where the fireworks are going to be.” So they went and stood in the dense crowd; and the little girl saw the back of a fat woman in a red plaid shawl, but she could not see anything else. Oh, yes! she saw the legs of the tall man who stood next to the fat woman, but they were not very interesting, being clad in a common sort of dark plaid: the shawl, at least, was bright, and she could tell the different colours by the lamplight.

Now there was a movement in the crowd, and people cried, “Oh! oh! look at that! Isn’t that a beauty?” And they clapped their hands and shouted; but the little girl saw only the plaid shawl and the uninteresting legs of the tall man. The people pressed closer and closer, so that she could hardly breathe. She held tight to Mary’s hand, and Mary thought she was squeezing it for pleasure, and said, “Yes, dear! ain’t they lovely?” The little girl tried to say, “I can’t see anything but the plaid shawl!” but just then the tall man turned round, and looked down on her and said, “Bless me! here’s a little girl right under my feet. Can you see anything, my dear?”

“Nothing but the red shawl and the back of your legs,” said the little girl, sadly.

“Hi, then!” said the tall man; “up with you!” And before the child could say a word, he had taken her two hands and lifted her lightly to his shoulder.

“Put your arm round my neck,” said the tall man. “I had a little girl once, just like you, and I know how to hold you. So, now you are all right!”

“Thank the kind gentleman, dear!” said Mary. “I’m sure it’s very good of him.”

The little girl was too shy to speak, but she patted the tall man’s neck, and he understood as well as if she had spoken. Now she saw wonderful sights indeed! Fiery serpents went up into the sky, wriggling and hissing, dragging long tails of yellow flame behind them. Coloured stars, red, blue and green, shot up in the air, hung for an instant, and then burst into showers of rainbow light. There were golden pigeons, and golden flower-pots, and splendid wheels, that went whirling round so fast it made the little girl dizzy to look at them. The child gazed and gazed, breathless with delight. Sometimes she forgot where she was, and thought this was fairy-land, all full of golden dragons, and fluttering elves, as the story books described it; but if she chanced to look down, there was Mary, and the kind face of the tall man, and the red shawl of the fat woman. By and by came a great burst of light, and in the midst of crimson flames she saw the Goddess of Liberty, standing on a golden ball, waving the starry flag in her hand: thousands of stars shot up, blazed and burst; loud noises were heard, like cannon-shots; then, suddenly, darkness fell, and all was over.

The crowd began to disperse.

“Now, little one,” said the tall man, “you have seen all there is to see.” And he made a motion to put her down; but the little girl clung tight to his neck.

“Did your little girl ever kiss you?” she whispered in his ear.

“Bless your little heart!” said the man, “she did, indeed; but it’s long since I’ve had a little girl to kiss me.”

The child bent down and kissed him heartily on the cheek. “If it hadn’t been for you,” she cried, “I should have seen nothing at all except the plaid shawl. I think you are the kindest man that ever lived, and I love you very much.” And then she slipped down, and taking her nurse’s hand, ran away home as fast as she could.

JINGLE

SEE-SAW

Punkydoodle was at one end of the see-saw, and Jollapin at the other. (Those are not the boys’ real names, but they will do just as well, and they look better on paper than Joe, and, – oh! well, no matter!) It was a very high see-saw, and they meant to have a fine time on it.

“I am an eagle!” cried Jollapin, as his end went up, up, till his breath was almost gone, and he had to hold on with all his might to keep from slipping. “I – am – an eagle, I say. Ho! see me fly up among the clouds! I am sailing – Oh, I say! don’t shake her like that, Punk, or you’ll have me off!”

“Well, you’ve been up long enough!” cried Punkydoodle. “It’s my turn now. Look at me! I am a flying dragon! Observe my fiery eyes, and my long wiggling tail! Hoish! I am going to descend on the fields and dwellings of men, and lay them waste; and I’ll never stop till they give me the king’s daughter for my bride. I may eat her up, but I am not sure. Depends upon how pretty she is! Hoish! I descend upon the – ” Here he descended with such swiftness that speech became impossible, and Jollapin soared aloft again.

“I am a balloon this time!” he cried.

“You look like one!” said Punkydoodle, who had not relished his sudden descent on the fields and dwellings of men.

“I’m not an old Skinny, anyhow!” retorted Jollapin. “I am a splendid balloon, and my name is the Air King. Proudly I ascend, rising triumphant through the ambient air.” (Jollapin had been reading the papers, and his speech was inflated, like the balloon he represented.) “I pass through the clouds; I pierce them; I rise above them. The earth lies beneath me like a – like a – ”

“Like a pancake!” suggested Punkydoodle, who had little imagination.

“I wish you wouldn’t interrupt me, Punk! But what do I see? Yes, I know it’s your turn now, but just wait a minute! What do I see? Another majestic air-ship, sailing gloriously toward me! That’s you, Punky! Now we’ll see-saw together, tiddledies up and down, and play the balloons are meeting. Ha! we meet! we salute in mid-air. I wave my gilded banner – ”

Here one balloon lost his balance and tumbled off, and the other tumbled on top of him, and there they both lay in a heap on the lawn.

“Anybody killed?” asked the elder brother, looking up from his hoeing.

“I – guess – not!” said Punkydoodle, rising slowly and feeling himself all over. “Jollapin is all right, ’cause he has plenty of fat to fall on, but I got a pretty good thump, I can tell you.”

“Too bad!” said the elder brother. “You need a change, dear boys; suppose you go and weed the pansy-bed, to take your minds off your injuries.”

NANCY’S NIGHTMARE

AMY’S VALENTINE

“John,” said little Amy, “did you ever send a valentine to anybody?”

John, the gardener, looked rather sheepish, and dug his spade into the geranium bed. “Well, miss,” he said, “I have done such things when I were a lad. Most lads do, I suppose, miss.”

Oh, that sly old John! He knew perfectly well that he had a valentine in his pocket at that moment, a great crimson heart, in a lace-trimmed envelope, directed to Susan, the pretty housemaid. But there was no need of saying anything about that to little miss, he thought.

“If you were not so very old, John,” continued Amy, looking seriously at him, “I should ask you to send me one, because my Papa is away, and I have no brothers, and I don’t know any lads, as you call them. But I suppose you are altogether too old, aren’t you, John?”

John straightened his broad shoulders and looked down rather comically at the tiny mite at his feet. “Why, Miss Amy,” he said, “whatever does make you think I be so very old? Your Papa is a good bit older than I be, miss.”

“My Papa!” cried Amy, opening her eyes very wide. “Why, John! you told me yourself that you were a hundred years old. And I know my Papa isn’t nearly so old as that!”

The gardener laughed. “More shame to me, miss,” he said, “for telling you what wasn’t true. Sure it’s only in fun I was, Miss Amy, dear, for I’m not forty years old yet, let alone a hundred. But I hear Mary calling you to your dinner; so run up to the house now, missy, and don’t think too much of what old John says to you.”

Away ran little Amy, and John, left alone with his geraniums, indulged in a quiet but hearty laugh.

“To think of that!” he said to himself. “A hundred years old! Sure I must take care what I say to that young one. But the pretty lass shall have her valentine, that she shall, and as pretty a one as I can make!” and John dug his spade into the ground with right good-will.

(It occurs to me that you children who live in the North may say here, “What was he doing to the geranium-bed in February?” but when I tell you that little Amy lives in Virginia, you will not think it so strange.)

Saint Valentine’s Day was bright and sunny, and Amy was up early, flying about the house like a bird, and running every five minutes to the front door “’Cause there might be a valentine, Mamma!”

Presently she spied the postman coming up the gravel walk, and out she danced to meet him. Oh! such a pile of letters as he took out of his leather bag.

“Miss Amy Russell?” said the postman.

“Oh!” cried Amy, “she’s me! I mean me’s her! I mean – oh! oh! one, two, three, four, five! Oh, thank you, Mr. Postman! You’re the best postman in the whole world!” And in she danced again, to show her treasures to Mamma. Gold lace, silver arrows, flaming hearts! oh, how beautiful they were! But suddenly – ting! tingle! ding! a tremendous peal at the front door-bell.

Down went the valentines in Mamma’s lap, and off flew the excited child again. But this time, when she opened the door, no sound escaped her lips. Her feelings were too deep for utterance.

There on the doorstep lay a valentine, but such a valentine! A large flat basket entirely filled with white carnations, with a border of scarlet geraniums, and in the middle a huge heart of deep red carnations, with the words “My Valentine” written under it in violets.

Amy sat down on the doorstep, with clasped hands and wide-open eyes and mouth. She rocked herself backwards and forwards, uttering little inarticulate shrieks of delight.

And John the gardener, peeping round the corner of the house, chuckled silently, and squeezed the hand of Susan, the pretty housemaid, who happened, curiously enough, to be standing very near him.

“Humph!” said John the gardener, “I haven’t forgotten how to make valentines, if I be a hundred years old!”

ONCE UPON A TIME

Once upon a time there was a little girl, just like you, who couldn’t count two. And she had a dreadful time about it! She did not know she had two feet, so she sometimes forgot to put on both her shoes; she did not know she had two eyes, so she would sometimes go to sleep with one eye, and stay awake with the other; she did not know she had two ears, so she would sometimes hear half of what Mamma said, and not hear the other.

One day Mamma called to her and said, “Pet, I want you to take this syrup and put it in my closet!”

Now Pet was only listening with one ear, and so she only heard the first half of what Mamma said: “I want you to take this syrup.” That was what she heard.

She liked the syrup very much, for she had ten drops in a teaspoon whenever she had a sore throat, and she had always wished Mamma would give her more.

And now she was just to “take it.” That must mean to take the whole bottle, if she liked. She put the bottle to her lips and took a good long draught. It was more than half-empty when she stopped to take breath, and then, – the syrup did not seem to taste good any longer. She put the bottle down.

Oh – dear – me! In about ten minutes Pet was the very sickest little girl you ever saw in your life. Mamma put her to bed, and sent for the doctor, and she had to take four different kinds of medicine before she got well, not one of which tasted good at all.

So now, you see, it is a very good plan for little wee girls to learn to count two.

THE PATHETIC BALLAD OF CLARINTHIA JANE LOUISA

A DAY IN THE COUNTRY

GOOSEY LUCY

It chanced one day that Lucy came into the kitchen just as Fido, her Aunt Mary’s little dog, was eating his dinner.

He had a good dinner, and he was making a great fuss over it, growling with pleasure, shaking his ears and wagging his tail.

His tail was a very funny one, with a little black bunch at the end of it, and it wiggled and waggled this way and that way.

“Fido,” said Lucy, “I don’t think you ought to wag your tail when you are eating. Mamma says we must sit very still at the table. To be sure, you are not sitting, and you are not at the table, but, all the same, I think you had better not wag your tail.”

Fido paid no attention to these sensible remarks, but continued briskly to wag the offending tail.

“Do you hear me Fido?” said Lucy. “I say, don’t wag it!”

Fido gave a short bark of protest, but took no further notice.

“Then I must hold it for you!” Lucy continued, severely. “Mamma held my hands once when I would not stop cutting holes in my pinafore; but I was young then, and I thought the spots ought to be taken out. But you are not young, Fido, and I wonder at you, that I do!”

Then Lucy took hold of the tail, and tried to hold it; but Fido danced about, and pulled it away, and then wagged it all the harder, thinking she meant to play with him.

“Indeed!” said Lucy, “I am not playing, Master Fido. Now you shall see!”

So she got a piece of stout twine, and tied Fido’s tail to the leg of a chair.

“There!” she said, “now finish your dinner, like a good little dog, and don’t give me any more trouble.”

But Fido would not eat his dinner with his tail tied up. He threw back his head, and gave a piteous little howl. Lucy sat down on a stool beside him, and folding her hands, as she had seen her mother do, prepared to give the naughty pet “a good talking to,” as nurse used to say.

At that moment, however, her mother’s voice was heard, calling “Lucy! Lucy! Where are you?”

“Here, Mamma!” cried Lucy. “I am coming! I meant to pick them up before dinner, anyhow! yes I did!” And she flew up stairs, for she knew quite well that she had set out all her doll’s dishes, tea-set and dinner-set and kitchen things, on the nursery floor, and left them there.

And now nurse had come in with baby in her arms, and had walked right over the pretty French dinner-set, and there was very little of it left to tell the tale.

Dear! dear! it was not at all nice to pick up the pieces, even if nurse had not been scolding all the time, and Mamma standing by with that grave look, waiting to see that it was properly done.

But how about Fido? Oh, Lucy had quite forgotten about Fido. But Fido had not forgotten himself, and a very hard time the poor little fellow was having.

He ran round the chair several times, till he brought himself up close against it; then he tried to unwind himself again, but only became more and more entangled. He pushed the hateful chair backwards till it struck a little table on which was a tray full of dishes. Over went the table, down went the tray, crash went the dishes!

“Yow! yow! yo-o-o-ow!” howled Fido.

“Oh! oh! oh!” shrieked Bridget, the cook, who came in at that moment; and then – whack! whack! whack! went the broomstick over the poor doggie’s back.

The noise was so great that Mamma came flying down, and nurse and Lucy, too, with the broken soup tureen in her hand.

“Oh, don’t beat him!” cried Lucy, “don’t beat him, Bridget! It was my fault, for I tied him to the chair, and then forgot about him.”

“And why, for the pity’s sake, miss, did ye tie the baste to the chair?” said Bridget, still angry. “Look at every dish I have in the kitchen all broken in smithereens!”

“He would wag his tail while he ate his dinner,” faltered Lucy, “and I wanted to teach him better manners; and so – and so – ” But here poor Goosey Lucy broke down completely, and sat down among the shattered dishes, and hugged Fido and wept over him.

And Fido, who had the sweetest temper in the world, wagged the poor abused tail (which had been quickly released by nurse), and forgave her at once.

And Bridget and nurse laughed; and Mamma kissed her little foolish daughter, and bade her not cry any more.

But Lucy had to go to bed, all the same, for Mamma said it was the only proper place for a child who had broken (or caused to be broken, which amounted to the same thing), seventy-two dishes, large and small, in less than half an hour. And I suppose Mamma was right, don’t you?

GOOSEY LUCY’S NEW YEAR’S CALLS

“Where are you going, Uncle Fred?” asked Lucy.

“I am going to make New Year’s calls, little girl,” replied Uncle Fred.

“And how do you make them? What are they made of?” inquired Lucy.

“Oh – ah – my dear child!” said Uncle Fred, who was looking for his umbrella in a great hurry, “they are not made of anything. You – ah – you just call, you know, on all the people you know. Oh, here it is! Good-by, little girl! I must be off.”

And off he hurried, leaving Lucy, mystified, in the hall.

“You just call!” she repeated. “Just call all the people you know. Why, that is easy enough, but what a funny thing to do!”

She pondered a few minutes and then continued, “I think I will go and make New Year’s calls. It must be great fun! Perhaps I shall meet Uncle Fred, and then we can call together, and that will be just twice as loud.”

Away ran the little girl to her room. Blue coat, blue leggings, blue mittens, swan’s-down hood, all were on in three minutes’ time; and without a thought of Mamma or nurse or anybody else, Lucy slipped out of the door, and ran merrily down the street.

Oh, how fresh and clear the air was! How the snow sparkled in the sunlight! What a fine thing it was to make New Year’s calls!

And now the question was, where she should call first. Why, at Grandma’s, of course! her house was in the square, just round the corner. And then she would go to Aunt Maria’s, and then, – well, she would think about the next place as she went along, but here was Grandmamma’s house now.

Lucy looked up at all the windows, but no one was in sight.

So much the better! She planted herself squarely on the curbstone, and opening her mouth to its fullest extent, shouted, “Grandmamma! Grandmamma! Grandmamma!! GrandMAMMA!!!”

Her grandmother, who was sitting quietly by the fire, reading, heard the piercing screams, and running to the window as fast as her dear old feet could carry her, saw Lucy, panting and crimson, with her mouth just opening for another shout.

Something had happened at home, – an accident, probably! No time must be lost. Grandmamma threw up the sash.

“Run and call the doctor!” she cried. “Quick, dear! Don’t stop to tell me about it, but run! I will be there in three minutes!” And she shut the window, and trembling with anxiety, hastened to put on her shawl and bonnet, and almost ran through the snow to her daughter’s house.

Meanwhile, Lucy ran on in high glee. “I hadn’t thought of the doctor!” she said, “but of course I will go there, as Grandmamma wishes it. What fun it is!”

The doctor’s house was soon reached, and Lucy’s shouts brought the good man quickly to the door.

“Bless me!” he said, “Mrs. Graham’s little girl! Baby ill again, I suppose? All right, my dear!” he cried to Lucy. “I’ll be there instantly. Run and tell them I’m coming!” and he shut the door and called for his boots.

Lucy danced along, enchanted with her new play, and soon reached Aunt Maria’s house, where she called again, with might and main. Now, Aunt Maria was slightly deaf, and when she heard her own name resounding in a clear, shrill scream, “Aunt Mari-i-i-i-ia!!” she thought it was a cry of fire!

Throwing up the window (she was a very nervous and excitable person), she shrieked, “Fire! fire! Police! watchman! Help! help! Fire!! FIRE!!!” till everyone within a dozen blocks heard her, and came rushing to the rescue with buckets and fire extinguishers.

Lucy was rather frightened at all this, and thought, on the whole, she would not make any more calls that day.

So she went home. And there were Grandmamma and the doctor and Mamma, all waiting for her, with very grave faces.