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Part one of an Old Fashioned Thanksgiving by Louisa may Alcott.
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This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
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the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please
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visit LibriVox dot org. Nar Reader read by Maria Therees.
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Missus Bassett read by Elizabeth Klett.
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Seth Bassett read by Stephanie Heinrichs.
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Saw Bassett read by Gray Garrett.
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Tillie Bassett read by Eden Ray.
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Hendrick Roxy read by Lynde Silver.
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Rody read by Charlotte Dagat.
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Prue Bassett read by Ari L.
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Lipshaw.
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Mister Bassett read by Todd F.
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Bassett read by Samantha.
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Gubets Gard Hopkins read by Bill Mosely.
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Aunt Cynthia read by Lynn Thompson.
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Part one, Sixty years ago. Up among the New Hampshire Hills,
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the farmer basket with a household of sturdy sons and
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daughters growing up about him. They were poor in money,
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but rich in land and love for the wide acres
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of wood, corn and pasture. Land fed warmed and clothed
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the flock, while mutual patience, affection, and courage made the
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old farmhouse a very happy home. November had come. The
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crops were in, and barn buttery and bin river flowing
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with a harvest that rewarded the summer's hard work. The
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big kitchen was a jolly place just now. For in
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the great fireplace roe at a cheerful fire. On the
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walls hung garlands of dried apples, onions, and corn up
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aloft from the beams, shunk crooked neck squashes, juicy hams,
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and dried venison. For in those days deer still haunted
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the deep forests, and hunters flourished. Savory smells are in
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the air on the crane hung steaming kettles, and down
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among the red embers, copper saucepans simmered, all suggestive of
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some approaching feast. A white headed baby lay in the
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old black cradle that had rock seven other babies now,
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and then, lifting his head to look out like a
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round full moon, then subsided to kick and crow contentedly
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and suck the rosy apple he had no teeth to bite.
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Two small boys sat on the wooden settle, shelling corn
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for popping, and picking out the biggest nuts from the
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goodly store their own hands had gathered. In October four
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young girls stood a long dresser busily chopping meat, pounding spice,
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and slicing apples, and the tongues of Tilly, Prue, Roxy
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and Rody went as fast as their hands. Farmer Basset
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and f the oldest boy were torn round outside for
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Thanksgiving was at hand and almost be in order for
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that time honored day to infer it from table to hearth.
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Bustled bucks of missus Bassett, flushed and floury, but busy
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in blithe as the queen bee of this busy little
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hive should be.
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I do like to begin seasonable and have things to
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my mind. Thanksgiving dinners can't be drove, and it does
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take a sight of victuals to fill all these hungry stomachs.
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Said the good woman, as she gave a vigorous stir
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to the great kettle a cider apple sauce, and cast
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a glance of housewifely pride at the fine array of
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pies set forth on the buttery shelves.
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Only one more day and then it will be time
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to eat.
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I didn't take but one bowl of hasty pudding this morning,
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so I shall have plenty of room when the nice
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things come.
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Confide, it saith the soul as he cracked a large
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hazel nut as easily as a squirrel.
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No need of my starving beforehand. I always have room enough,
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and I'd like to have Thanksgiving every.
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Day, answered Solomon, gloating like a young ugur over the
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little pig that lay nearby, ready for roasting.
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Oh sakes, alive. I don't boys, it's a mercy. It
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don't come but once a year. I should be worn
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to a thread paper with all this extra work atop
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o my winter weavin' and spinnin'.
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Laughed their mother, as she plunged her plump arms into
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the long bread trowel and began to neat the dough,
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as if a famine was at hand. Tilly, the oldest girl,
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a red cheeked, black eyed lass of fourteen, was grinding
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briskly at the mortar, for spices were costly and not
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a grain must be wasted. Prue kept time with a chopper,
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and the twins sliced away at the apples till their
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little brown arms ached. For all knew how to work,
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and did so now with a will.
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I think it's real fun to have Thanksgiving at home.
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I'm sorry, Grandma's sick, so we can't go there as usual,
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but I'd like to miss around here.
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Don't you, girls, asked Tilly, pausing to take a sniff
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at the spicy pestle.
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If we've a kind of lonesome, it's only our own fox.
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I'd like to see all the cousins and aunts and have.
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Games Insang, cried the twins, who were regular little romps
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and could run, swim, coast and shout as well as
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their brothers.
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I don't care a mite for all that. It will
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be so nice to eat dinner together, warm and comfortable
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at home.
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Said quiet Prue, who loved her own cozy nooks like
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a cat.
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Calm, girls, fly round and get your chores done so
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we can clear away for dinner. Just as soon as
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I class my bread into the oven.
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Call missus Bassett presently, as she rounded off the last
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loaf of brown bread, which was to feed the hungry
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mouse that seldom tasted any other.
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Here's a man coming up the hill.
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Lively, guess it's God, Hopkins. Pa told em to bring
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a dozen oranges if they want to.
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Hie shouted, soul and seth running to the door, while
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the girls smacked their lips at the thought of this
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rare treat, and baby threw his apple overboard, as if
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getting ready for a new cargo. But all were doomed
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to disappointment, for it was not Gad with the much
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desired fruit. It was a stranger who threw himself off
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his horse and hurried up to mister Bassett in the
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yard with some brief message that made the farmer drop
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his axe and look so sober that his wife guessed
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at once some bad news that come, and crying mother's worse.
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I know she is out ran the good woman, forgetful
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of the flower on her arms, and the oven waiting
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for its most important batch. The man settled mister Chadwick
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down to Keene, stopped him as he passed, and told
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him to tell missus Bassett her mother was failing fast,
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and she'd better come to day. He knew no more,
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and having delivered his errand he rode away, saying it
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looked like snow, and you must be dogging, or he
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wouldn't get home till night.
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We must go right off, ol Dad, hitch up, and
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I'll be ready and lessen no time.
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Said Missus Bassett, wasting not a minute in tears and lamentations,
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but pulling off her apron as she went in with
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her mind in a sad jumble of bread, anxiety, turkey, sorrow, haste,
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and cider apple sauce. A few words told the story,
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and the children left their work to help her get ready,
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mingling their grief for Grandma with regrets for the lost dinner.
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I'm dreadful, sorry, DearS, but it can't be helped. I
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couldn't cook nor eat no way now. And if that
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blessed woman gets better sudden as she has before, we'll
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have cost for Thanksgiving, and I'll give you a dinner
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you won't forget in a hurry.
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Said Missus Bassett as she tied on her brown silk
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pumpkin hood with a sob for the good old mother
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who had made it for her. No a child complained
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after that, but ran about helpfully being moccasins, heating the footstone,
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and getting ready for a long drive, because Grandma lived
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twenty miles away and there were no rare roads in
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those days to whist people to and fro like magic.
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By the time the old yellow sleigh was at the door,
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the bread was in the oven, and Missus Bassett was
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waiting with her camlet coak on, and the baby done
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up like a small bale of blankets.
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Now, f you must look after the cattle like a man,
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and keep up the fires, for there's a storm ruin,
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and neither the children nor dumb creatures must suffer.
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Said mister Bassett as he turned up the collar of
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his rough coat and put on his blue mittens, while
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the old mare shook her bells as if he preferred
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a trip to Keen to hauling wood all day.
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Tilly, put extra comfortables on the beds tonight. The wind
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is so searchin' up chamber, have the baked beans, an
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engine puddin' for dinner, and whatever you do, don't let
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the boys get at the mince pies, or you'll have
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them down sick. I shall come back the minute I
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can leave. Mother Paul will come tomorrow anyway, So keep snuggin',
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be good. I depend on you, my daughter, use your judgment,
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and don't let nothing happen while mother's away.
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Yes, yes, good bye.
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Bye, good bye, called the children as Missus Bassett was
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packed into the sleigh and driven away, leaving a stream
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of directions behind her. F The sixteen year old boy
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immediately put on his biggest boots, assumed a sober, responsible manner,
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and surveyed his little responsibilities with a paternal air, jollied
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like his father's. Tillie tied on her mother's bunch of keys,
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rolled up the sleeves of her homespuning gown, and began
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to order about the younger girls. They soon forgot poor
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Granny and found it great fun to keep house all alone,
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for mother seldom left home, but ruled her family in
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the good old fashioned way. There were no servants for
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the little daughters or Missus. Bassett's only maids, and the
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stout boys helped their father, all working happily together with
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no wages, but love, learning in the best manner, the
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use of the heads and hands with which they were
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to make their own way in the world. Flakes that
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caused the farmer to predict bad weather soon increased to
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a regular snowstorm with gusts of wind rup among the hills.
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Winter came early and lingered long, but the children were busy,
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gay and warm indoors, and never minded the rising gale
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nor the whirling white storm outside till he got them
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a good dinner, and when it was over, the two
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elder girls went through their spinning. For in the kitchen
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stood the big and little wheels and baskets of wool
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rolls ready to be twisted into yarn for the winter's knitting.
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And each day brought its stent of work to the daughters,
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who hoped to be as thrifty as their mother. F
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kept up the glorious fire and superintended the small boys
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who popped corn and little boots on the hearth, while
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Roxy and Rody dressed corn cob dolls in the subtle
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corner and bows. The brindled mastiff laid on the braided mat,
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luxuriously warming his old legs. Thus employed, they made a
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pretty picture. These rosy boys and girls in their homespun
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suits and the rustic toys or tasks with most children
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nowadays would find very poor, tiresome Tillie and pruce sang
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as they stepped to and fro, drawing out the smoothly
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twisted threads to the musical hum of the great spinning wheels.
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The little girls chattered like magpies over their dolls and
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the new beds spread. They were planning to make all
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white dimity stars on a blue calico ground as a
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Christmas present. To mar The boys roared Af's jokes and
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had rough and tumble games over bows who didn't mind
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them in the least, And so the afternoon more pleasantly away.
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At sunset, the boys went out to feed the cattle,
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ring in heaps of wood, and lock up for the night,
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as the lonely farmhouse seldom had visitors. After dark, the
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girls got the simple supper of brown bread and milk,
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baked apples and a doughnut all round as a treat.
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Then they sat before the fire, the sisters knitting, the
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brothers with books or games. Her f loved reading and soul,
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and Seth never failed to play a few games of
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Morris with Barleycorn's on the little board they made themselves
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at one corner of the dresser read out a piece,
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said Tillie, from mother's chair, where she sat in state,
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finishing off the six woolen sock she had knit that month.
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It's the old history book, but here's a bit you
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may like, since it's about our.
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Folks, answered f, turning the yellow page to look at
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a picture to quaintly dressed children in some ancient castle.
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Yes, read that. I always like to hear about Lady
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Matildy I was named for and Lord Bassett, Paul's great
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great great grandpa. He's only a farmer now, but it's
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nice to know that we were somebody two or three
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hundred years ago.
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Said Tilly, bridling and tossing her curly head as she
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fancied that Lady Matilda might have done.
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Don't treat it to your words, because we don't understand him.
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Tell it, command it, roxy from the cradle where she
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was drowsily cuddled with Rody Well.
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A long time ago, when Charles the First was in prison,
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Lord Bassett was a true friend to.
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Him, began f plunging into his story without delay.
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The Lord had some papers that would have hung a
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lot of people. Of the King's enemies got a hold
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of him. So when he heard one day all of
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a sudden that soldiers were at that castle gate to
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carry him off, he had just time to call his
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girl to him and say, I may be going to
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my death, but I won't betray my master. There is
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no time to burn the papers, and I cannot take
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them with me. They are hidden in the old leathern
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chair where I sit. No one knows this but you,
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and you must guard them. Till I come or send
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you a safe messenger to take them away. Promise me
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to be brave and silent, and I can go without fear.
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You see, he wasn't afraid to die, but he was
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to seem a traitor, Lady Matilde promised solemnly, and the
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words were hardly out of her mouth when the men
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came in and her father was carried away a prisoner
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and sent off to the tower.
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But she didn't cry. She just called a brother and
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sat down in that chair with her head leaning back
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on those papers like the queen, and waited while the
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soldiers hunted the house over for him. Wasn't that a
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smart girl?
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Cried Tilly, beaming with pride, for she was named for
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this ancestress and knew the story by heart.
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I reckon. She was scared, though, when the men came
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swiring in and asked her if she knew anything about it.
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The boy did his part then, for he didn't know,
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and fired up and stood before his sister, and he says, says,
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he as bold as a lion. If my lord had
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told us where the papers be, we would die before
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we would betray him. But we are children and know nothing,
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and it is cowardly of you to try to fright
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us with oaths and drawn swords.
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As f quoted from the book, Seth planted himself before
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Tilly with a long picker in his hand, saying, as
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he flourished it valiantly, why.
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Didn't the boy take his father's sword and lay about him?
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I would if anyone was hush to Tilly.
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You, bantam, he was only a bit of a boy
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and couldn't do anything. Sit down, hear the rest of it.
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Command Tilly with a pat on the yellow head, and
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a private resolve that Seth should had the largest piece
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of pie at dinner next day, as he worried for
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his chivalry.
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Well, the men went off after turning the castle out
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of the window, but they said they should come again.
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So faithful Matility was full of trouble and hardly dared
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to leave the room where the chair stood. All day
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she sat there, and at night her sleep was so
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full fear about it, that she often got up and
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went to see that all was safe. The servants thought
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the fright had hurt her wits and let her be,
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But Rupert the boy stood by her and never was
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afraid of her queer ways. She was a pious maid,
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the book says, and often spent the long evenings written
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the Bible with her brother by her, all alone in
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the great room, with no one to help her bear
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her secret, and no good news of her father. At
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last word came that the king was dead and his
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friends banished out of England, and the poor children were
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in a sad plight, for they had no mother, and
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the servants all ran away, leaving only one faithful old
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man to help them.
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But the father did come, cried roxy eagerly, you'll see
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King King you death, half telling, half reading.
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Matilda was sure he would. So she sat on in
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the big chair, garden of papers, and no one could
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get her away till one day a man came with
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her father's ring and told her to give up the secret.
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She knew the ring, but would not tell until she
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had asked many questions so as to be very sure.
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And while the man answered all about her father and
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the king, she looked at him sharply. Then she stood
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up and sat in a tremble, for there was something
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strange about the man. Sir, I doubt you in spite
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of the ring, and I will not answer till you
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you pull off the false bear you wear that I
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may see your face and know if you are my
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father's friend or foe. Off came the disguise, and Matilda
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found it was my Lord himself come to take them
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with him out of England. He was very proud of
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that faithful girl, I guess, for the old chair still
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stands in the castle, and the name keeps in the family.
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Paul says, even over here where some of the baskets
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came along with the pilgrims.
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Our Tilly would have been as brave I know, and
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she looks like the old picture down to Grandma's, don't.
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She af cried Prue, whomired her bold bright sister very much.
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Well, I think you do the setin' part best, Prue,
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you are so patient. Till would fight like a wild cat,
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but she can't hold her tongue with her.
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Scent, answered f whereat. Tilly pulled his hair, and the
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story ended with a general Frowley. When the moon faced
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clocked behind the door struck nine till he tucked up
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to the children under the extree comfortables, and having kissed
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them all round as mother did, crept into her own nest,
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never minding the little drifts of snow that sifted in
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upon her coverlet between the shingles of the roof, though
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the storm that raged without. As if he felt in
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need of unusual vigilance, Old Boss laid down the map
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before the door, and Pussy had the warm hearth all
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to herself. If any late wanderer had looked in at midnight,
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he would have seen the fire blazing up again, and
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in the cheerful glow, the Old Cap linking her yellow
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eyes as she sat bowed upright beside the spinning wheel,
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like some sort of household gobbling, guarding the children while
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they slept. End of Part one.
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Part one of an Old Fashioned Thanksgiving by Louisa may Alcott.
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This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
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the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please
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visit LibriVox dot org. Nar Reader read by Maria Therees.
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Missus Bassett read by Elizabeth Klett.
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Seth Bassett read by Stephanie Heinrichs.
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Saw Bassett read by Gray Garrett.
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Tillie Bassett read by Eden Ray.
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Hendrick Roxy read by Lynde Silver.
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Rody read by Charlotte Dagat.
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Prue Bassett read by Ari L.
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Lipshaw.
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Mister Bassett read by Todd F.
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Bassett read by Samantha.
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Gubets Gard Hopkins read by Bill Mosely.
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Aunt Cynthia read by Lynn Thompson.
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Part one, Sixty years ago. Up among the New Hampshire Hills,
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the farmer basket with a household of sturdy sons and
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daughters growing up about him. They were poor in money,
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but rich in land and love for the wide acres
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of wood, corn and pasture. Land fed warmed and clothed
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the flock, while mutual patience, affection, and courage made the
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old farmhouse a very happy home. November had come. The
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crops were in, and barn buttery and bin river flowing
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with a harvest that rewarded the summer's hard work. The
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big kitchen was a jolly place just now. For in
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the great fireplace roe at a cheerful fire. On the
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walls hung garlands of dried apples, onions, and corn up
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aloft from the beams, shunk crooked neck squashes, juicy hams,
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and dried venison. For in those days deer still haunted
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the deep forests, and hunters flourished. Savory smells are in
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the air on the crane hung steaming kettles, and down
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among the red embers, copper saucepans simmered, all suggestive of
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some approaching feast. A white headed baby lay in the
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old black cradle that had rock seven other babies now,
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and then, lifting his head to look out like a
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round full moon, then subsided to kick and crow contentedly
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and suck the rosy apple he had no teeth to bite.
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Two small boys sat on the wooden settle, shelling corn
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for popping, and picking out the biggest nuts from the
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goodly store their own hands had gathered. In October four
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young girls stood a long dresser busily chopping meat, pounding spice,
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and slicing apples, and the tongues of Tilly, Prue, Roxy
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and Rody went as fast as their hands. Farmer Basset
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and f the oldest boy were torn round outside for
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Thanksgiving was at hand and almost be in order for
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that time honored day to infer it from table to hearth.
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Bustled bucks of missus Bassett, flushed and floury, but busy
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in blithe as the queen bee of this busy little
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hive should be.
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I do like to begin seasonable and have things to
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my mind. Thanksgiving dinners can't be drove, and it does
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take a sight of victuals to fill all these hungry stomachs.
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Said the good woman, as she gave a vigorous stir
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to the great kettle a cider apple sauce, and cast
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a glance of housewifely pride at the fine array of
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pies set forth on the buttery shelves.
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Only one more day and then it will be time
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to eat.
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I didn't take but one bowl of hasty pudding this morning,
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so I shall have plenty of room when the nice
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things come.
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Confide, it saith the soul as he cracked a large
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hazel nut as easily as a squirrel.
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No need of my starving beforehand. I always have room enough,
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and I'd like to have Thanksgiving every.
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Day, answered Solomon, gloating like a young ugur over the
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little pig that lay nearby, ready for roasting.
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Oh sakes, alive. I don't boys, it's a mercy. It
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don't come but once a year. I should be worn
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to a thread paper with all this extra work atop
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o my winter weavin' and spinnin'.
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Laughed their mother, as she plunged her plump arms into
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the long bread trowel and began to neat the dough,
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as if a famine was at hand. Tilly, the oldest girl,
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a red cheeked, black eyed lass of fourteen, was grinding
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briskly at the mortar, for spices were costly and not
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a grain must be wasted. Prue kept time with a chopper,
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and the twins sliced away at the apples till their
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little brown arms ached. For all knew how to work,
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and did so now with a will.
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I think it's real fun to have Thanksgiving at home.
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I'm sorry, Grandma's sick, so we can't go there as usual,
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but I'd like to miss around here.
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Don't you, girls, asked Tilly, pausing to take a sniff
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at the spicy pestle.
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If we've a kind of lonesome, it's only our own fox.
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I'd like to see all the cousins and aunts and have.
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Games Insang, cried the twins, who were regular little romps
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and could run, swim, coast and shout as well as
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their brothers.
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I don't care a mite for all that. It will
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be so nice to eat dinner together, warm and comfortable
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at home.
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Said quiet Prue, who loved her own cozy nooks like
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a cat.
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Calm, girls, fly round and get your chores done so
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we can clear away for dinner. Just as soon as
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I class my bread into the oven.
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Call missus Bassett presently, as she rounded off the last
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loaf of brown bread, which was to feed the hungry
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mouse that seldom tasted any other.
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Here's a man coming up the hill.
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Lively, guess it's God, Hopkins. Pa told em to bring
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a dozen oranges if they want to.
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Hie shouted, soul and seth running to the door, while
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the girls smacked their lips at the thought of this
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rare treat, and baby threw his apple overboard, as if
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getting ready for a new cargo. But all were doomed
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to disappointment, for it was not Gad with the much
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desired fruit. It was a stranger who threw himself off
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his horse and hurried up to mister Bassett in the
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yard with some brief message that made the farmer drop
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his axe and look so sober that his wife guessed
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at once some bad news that come, and crying mother's worse.
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I know she is out ran the good woman, forgetful
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of the flower on her arms, and the oven waiting
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for its most important batch. The man settled mister Chadwick
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down to Keene, stopped him as he passed, and told
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him to tell missus Bassett her mother was failing fast,
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and she'd better come to day. He knew no more,
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and having delivered his errand he rode away, saying it
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looked like snow, and you must be dogging, or he
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wouldn't get home till night.
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We must go right off, ol Dad, hitch up, and
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I'll be ready and lessen no time.
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Said Missus Bassett, wasting not a minute in tears and lamentations,
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but pulling off her apron as she went in with
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her mind in a sad jumble of bread, anxiety, turkey, sorrow, haste,
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and cider apple sauce. A few words told the story,
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and the children left their work to help her get ready,
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mingling their grief for Grandma with regrets for the lost dinner.
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I'm dreadful, sorry, DearS, but it can't be helped. I
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couldn't cook nor eat no way now. And if that
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blessed woman gets better sudden as she has before, we'll
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have cost for Thanksgiving, and I'll give you a dinner
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you won't forget in a hurry.
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Said Missus Bassett as she tied on her brown silk
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pumpkin hood with a sob for the good old mother
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who had made it for her. No a child complained
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after that, but ran about helpfully being moccasins, heating the footstone,
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and getting ready for a long drive, because Grandma lived
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twenty miles away and there were no rare roads in
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those days to whist people to and fro like magic.
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By the time the old yellow sleigh was at the door,
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the bread was in the oven, and Missus Bassett was
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waiting with her camlet coak on, and the baby done
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up like a small bale of blankets.
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Now, f you must look after the cattle like a man,
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and keep up the fires, for there's a storm ruin,
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and neither the children nor dumb creatures must suffer.
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Said mister Bassett as he turned up the collar of
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his rough coat and put on his blue mittens, while
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the old mare shook her bells as if he preferred
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a trip to Keen to hauling wood all day.
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Tilly, put extra comfortables on the beds tonight. The wind
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is so searchin' up chamber, have the baked beans, an
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engine puddin' for dinner, and whatever you do, don't let
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the boys get at the mince pies, or you'll have
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them down sick. I shall come back the minute I
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can leave. Mother Paul will come tomorrow anyway, So keep snuggin',
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be good. I depend on you, my daughter, use your judgment,
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and don't let nothing happen while mother's away.
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Yes, yes, good bye.
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Bye, good bye, called the children as Missus Bassett was
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packed into the sleigh and driven away, leaving a stream
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of directions behind her. F The sixteen year old boy
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immediately put on his biggest boots, assumed a sober, responsible manner,
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and surveyed his little responsibilities with a paternal air, jollied
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like his father's. Tillie tied on her mother's bunch of keys,
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rolled up the sleeves of her homespuning gown, and began
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to order about the younger girls. They soon forgot poor
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Granny and found it great fun to keep house all alone,
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for mother seldom left home, but ruled her family in
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the good old fashioned way. There were no servants for
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the little daughters or Missus. Bassett's only maids, and the
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stout boys helped their father, all working happily together with
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no wages, but love, learning in the best manner, the
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use of the heads and hands with which they were
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to make their own way in the world. Flakes that
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caused the farmer to predict bad weather soon increased to
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a regular snowstorm with gusts of wind rup among the hills.
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Winter came early and lingered long, but the children were busy,
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gay and warm indoors, and never minded the rising gale
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nor the whirling white storm outside till he got them
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a good dinner, and when it was over, the two
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elder girls went through their spinning. For in the kitchen
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stood the big and little wheels and baskets of wool
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rolls ready to be twisted into yarn for the winter's knitting.
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And each day brought its stent of work to the daughters,
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who hoped to be as thrifty as their mother. F
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kept up the glorious fire and superintended the small boys
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who popped corn and little boots on the hearth, while
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Roxy and Rody dressed corn cob dolls in the subtle
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corner and bows. The brindled mastiff laid on the braided mat,
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luxuriously warming his old legs. Thus employed, they made a
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pretty picture. These rosy boys and girls in their homespun
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suits and the rustic toys or tasks with most children
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nowadays would find very poor, tiresome Tillie and pruce sang
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as they stepped to and fro, drawing out the smoothly
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twisted threads to the musical hum of the great spinning wheels.
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The little girls chattered like magpies over their dolls and
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the new beds spread. They were planning to make all
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white dimity stars on a blue calico ground as a
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Christmas present. To mar The boys roared Af's jokes and
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had rough and tumble games over bows who didn't mind
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them in the least, And so the afternoon more pleasantly away.
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At sunset, the boys went out to feed the cattle,
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ring in heaps of wood, and lock up for the night,
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as the lonely farmhouse seldom had visitors. After dark, the
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girls got the simple supper of brown bread and milk,
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baked apples and a doughnut all round as a treat.
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Then they sat before the fire, the sisters knitting, the
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brothers with books or games. Her f loved reading and soul,
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and Seth never failed to play a few games of
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Morris with Barleycorn's on the little board they made themselves
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at one corner of the dresser read out a piece,
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said Tillie, from mother's chair, where she sat in state,
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finishing off the six woolen sock she had knit that month.
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It's the old history book, but here's a bit you
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may like, since it's about our.
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Folks, answered f, turning the yellow page to look at
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a picture to quaintly dressed children in some ancient castle.
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Yes, read that. I always like to hear about Lady
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Matildy I was named for and Lord Bassett, Paul's great
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great great grandpa. He's only a farmer now, but it's
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nice to know that we were somebody two or three
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hundred years ago.
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Said Tilly, bridling and tossing her curly head as she
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fancied that Lady Matilda might have done.
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Don't treat it to your words, because we don't understand him.
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Tell it, command it, roxy from the cradle where she
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was drowsily cuddled with Rody Well.
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A long time ago, when Charles the First was in prison,
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Lord Bassett was a true friend to.
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Him, began f plunging into his story without delay.
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The Lord had some papers that would have hung a
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lot of people. Of the King's enemies got a hold
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of him. So when he heard one day all of
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a sudden that soldiers were at that castle gate to
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carry him off, he had just time to call his
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girl to him and say, I may be going to
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my death, but I won't betray my master. There is
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no time to burn the papers, and I cannot take
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them with me. They are hidden in the old leathern
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chair where I sit. No one knows this but you,
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and you must guard them. Till I come or send
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you a safe messenger to take them away. Promise me
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to be brave and silent, and I can go without fear.
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You see, he wasn't afraid to die, but he was
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to seem a traitor, Lady Matilde promised solemnly, and the
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words were hardly out of her mouth when the men
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came in and her father was carried away a prisoner
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and sent off to the tower.
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But she didn't cry. She just called a brother and
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sat down in that chair with her head leaning back
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on those papers like the queen, and waited while the
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soldiers hunted the house over for him. Wasn't that a
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smart girl?
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Cried Tilly, beaming with pride, for she was named for
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this ancestress and knew the story by heart.
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I reckon. She was scared, though, when the men came
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swiring in and asked her if she knew anything about it.
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The boy did his part then, for he didn't know,
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and fired up and stood before his sister, and he says, says,
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he as bold as a lion. If my lord had
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told us where the papers be, we would die before
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we would betray him. But we are children and know nothing,
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and it is cowardly of you to try to fright
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us with oaths and drawn swords.
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As f quoted from the book, Seth planted himself before
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Tilly with a long picker in his hand, saying, as
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he flourished it valiantly, why.
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Didn't the boy take his father's sword and lay about him?
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I would if anyone was hush to Tilly.
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You, bantam, he was only a bit of a boy
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and couldn't do anything. Sit down, hear the rest of it.
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Command Tilly with a pat on the yellow head, and
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a private resolve that Seth should had the largest piece
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of pie at dinner next day, as he worried for
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his chivalry.
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Well, the men went off after turning the castle out
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of the window, but they said they should come again.
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So faithful Matility was full of trouble and hardly dared
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to leave the room where the chair stood. All day
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she sat there, and at night her sleep was so
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full fear about it, that she often got up and
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went to see that all was safe. The servants thought
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the fright had hurt her wits and let her be,
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But Rupert the boy stood by her and never was
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afraid of her queer ways. She was a pious maid,
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the book says, and often spent the long evenings written
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the Bible with her brother by her, all alone in
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the great room, with no one to help her bear
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her secret, and no good news of her father. At
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last word came that the king was dead and his
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friends banished out of England, and the poor children were
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in a sad plight, for they had no mother, and
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the servants all ran away, leaving only one faithful old
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man to help them.
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But the father did come, cried roxy eagerly, you'll see
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King King you death, half telling, half reading.
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Matilda was sure he would. So she sat on in
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the big chair, garden of papers, and no one could
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get her away till one day a man came with
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her father's ring and told her to give up the secret.
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She knew the ring, but would not tell until she
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had asked many questions so as to be very sure.
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And while the man answered all about her father and
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the king, she looked at him sharply. Then she stood
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up and sat in a tremble, for there was something
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strange about the man. Sir, I doubt you in spite
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of the ring, and I will not answer till you
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you pull off the false bear you wear that I
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may see your face and know if you are my
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father's friend or foe. Off came the disguise, and Matilda
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found it was my Lord himself come to take them
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with him out of England. He was very proud of
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that faithful girl, I guess, for the old chair still
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stands in the castle, and the name keeps in the family.
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Paul says, even over here where some of the baskets
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came along with the pilgrims.
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Our Tilly would have been as brave I know, and
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she looks like the old picture down to Grandma's, don't.
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She af cried Prue, whomired her bold bright sister very much.
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Well, I think you do the setin' part best, Prue,
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you are so patient. Till would fight like a wild cat,
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but she can't hold her tongue with her.
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Scent, answered f whereat. Tilly pulled his hair, and the
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story ended with a general Frowley. When the moon faced
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clocked behind the door struck nine till he tucked up
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to the children under the extree comfortables, and having kissed
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them all round as mother did, crept into her own nest,
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never minding the little drifts of snow that sifted in
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upon her coverlet between the shingles of the roof, though
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the storm that raged without. As if he felt in
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need of unusual vigilance, Old Boss laid down the map
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before the door, and Pussy had the warm hearth all
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to herself. If any late wanderer had looked in at midnight,
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he would have seen the fire blazing up again, and
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in the cheerful glow, the Old Cap linking her yellow
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eyes as she sat bowed upright beside the spinning wheel,
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like some sort of household gobbling, guarding the children while
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they slept. End of Part one.
